Page 58 of Vow of the Shadow King

It will slip off easier still.

My cheeks heat. Closing my eyes, I fall back into memory of last night. Of my back pressed against the door, of Vor’s face hovering just over mine. His breath hot and fast against my skin. I feel his finger on my chin, feel his hand traveling lower, slipping under my shift, smoothing over my body. Such ravenous hunger he’d awakened in me, only to leave me empty, desperate.

Today will be different.

Today must be different.

With a shake of my head, I set about dressing in the lovely gown, securing the belt, arranging the sleeves. Thankfully, I find a pair of soft shoes with sturdy soles to protect my still-sore feet. At least they’re not as damaged as I’d expected them to be this morning. I’ve heard rumor that the air of Eledria speeds recovery. Maybe it’s true.

Once dressed, I set to work on my hair, brushing and brushing until it gleams. Then, turning to the polished black stone mirror, I take a step only to catch my breath. The skirt, though layered and voluminous, boasts two long slits right up the front. When I walk, they part, exposing rather a lot of leg. I hastily grab a handful of fabric and pull it back into place, staring at my startled reflection in the stone. Then, slowly, I release a tight breath and relax my hand. Let the skirt fall back, revealing my leg once more. After all, it’s no more than most of the trolde women expose on a daily basis. Perhaps Vor won’t think anything of it. Or perhaps . . . I bite back a nervous little smile as heat creeps up my neck once more.

Voices rumble outside my door. I turn on heel, layers of skirt fluttering around my feet and knees. Is it Vor? Or has he sent some messenger to cancel our outing? I swallow the lump in my throat, pull my shoulders back, and hasten to the door. The voices are low, speaking in troldish. I cannot discern one word from the next, but I can discern the tension in the atmosphere, the conflict of two souls. One soul is Hael—bright and sparking with frustration and fear. The other is Vor. I’m sure of it.

I step back several paces, grip my skirts with both hands. He’s not backing out. Surely he’s not. He wouldn’t come all the way here, to my very door, just to deliver disappointing news in person. He wouldn’t.

I’m still trying to work up the courage to open the door myself when a knock sounds. “Princess?” Hael’s voice calls from the other side. “Are you dressed?”

“Yes.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling, send up a swift, silent prayer to my goddess. Then, reaching out to the latch, I pull the door open. Hael stands before me, imposing in her armor, but I can scarcely take her in. My eyes are drawn irresistibly over her shoulder. To Vor.

He is like a dream come to life. His sleeveless tunic is made of silky maroon-hued fabric, belted at the waist, and elegantly embroidered at the collar and cuffs in the now-familiar pattern of the knotted dragon that I see everywhere in this world. It’s loosely laced, open across the clavicle and upper chest, revealing strong, muscular definition to my admiring gaze. A metal brassard grips his upper arm, emphasizing the powerful swell of his bicep. A thin silver band across his forehead holds his white hair back from his high, smooth brow.

For a moment, I cannot think. I’m no longer aware of Hael standing between us. It’s just me and him. Alone in all this world. His eyes flick from my face, travel down my body, taking in the pink gown. He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t stare or ogle. And yet, in that momentary glimpse, a sudden surge of desire escapes from behind his careful barriers, heating my gods-gifted perceptions.

His gaze returns to mine, locks hard. And I smile. I know where his mind just went. And he knows that I know.

Perhaps the smile was a bad idea, however, for he firmly takes those feelings and shoves them back. His face a mask, he offers me a short bow. “Goodlusterling,Princess.”

I nod. “And to you, my King.”

“You look . . .” He stops. Blinks. Stands there with his mouth still open and his gaze firmly refusing to travel over my body once more. All the while Hael watches, disapproval simmering.

I duck my chin, spread my hands over the folds of skirt at my hips. “I wasn’t certain how to dress for our outing. I hope this will be appropriate for whatever you have planned.” I peek at him from under my lashes in time to see the dark centers of his eyes dilate.

He adjusts his stance, grips his hands behind his back. “So long as you are comfortable.”

Comfortableis probably not the first word I would use to describe this gown. “I am. Thank you.”

“I thought perhaps you should like to see the great Temple of Orgoth. It is one of the oldest established sites in Mythanar and considered a place of interest. People travel from across the Under Realm to worship there.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“After that perhaps a sojourn into Market Rise for a chance to see trolde culture. Then I thought we might end at the Overlook. It offers a view of the city as a whole and is well worth seeing.”

He’s nervous. It emerges through his barriers in little bursts. But his nerves give me courage. This time together means more to him than he wants to admit. “I’m ready for anything,” I say.

His eyes flash to mine again. Gods, is this how it’s to be between us from now on? Will every word, every look, every gesture be layered with double meaning which neither of us dares admit?

Hael coughs, dragging our unwilling attention back to her. “My King,” she says, touching a hand to the center of her breastplate, “I feel I must join you.”

No!

“No!” Vor’s response is as sharp as my own silent protest. He recovers himself and continues in a milder tone, “That will not be necessary, Captain. Thank you.”

The skin around her eyes tightens. “It is my duty to guard the princess.”

“A duty which I will assume for the next few hours.” Vor blinks coolly at her. “Come now, you’ve not rested since our return from Hoknath. Take a few hours for yourself. Bathe. Eat. Sleep if you can. I shall have the princess back in her chambers by mid-lusterling.”Hael eyes him from under her stern brow. When she opens her mouth to speak further protest, however, Vor cuts her off by neatly sidestepping her and offering me his arm. “If you are quite ready?”

“Yes.” The word bursts from my lips in a little gasp. I rest my fingertips on his bare forearm and cast a last glance back at my scowling bodyguard just before Vor leads me down the passage. Hael still looks as though someone has given her a sour brew to swallow.

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