Page 18 of The Cursed Crown

Rydekar opened an ivory carveddoor and revealed a room that look nothing like what she would have expected of Alder Braer, famous hunter and scholar. It had a feminine touch—a bed made of twisted vines, a door surrounded by crystal and mirrors. So many mirrors. Large, small, standing, wall mounted, silver, oak, polished, or tinted.

"Seriously?"

Rydekar was indifferent. "If you remained here, you could arrange them to your liking. As things stand, they'll suit our purpose. Tomorrow, we'll greet the court together. You will clearly state your intention to travel north in order to rally allies, and that you trust me to manage the decisions until then. After, you'll be outfitted, supplied, and assisted as well as I can arrange, and you may go."

So many commands. “Are you able to talk without giving an order?"

"Are you able to follow one?" he countered.

They stared at each other at the door, until seconds stretched in uncomfortable silence.

Rydekar was too close. His distinctive scent all but surrounded her. She couldn't bring herself to move away. She couldn't be the first to look away.

And she wasn't. Finally, he took a step back and turned his heels. "Sleep."

Another order.

She made a rude gesture behind his back, sticking her tongue out for good measure.

"And grow up, while you're at it," he called out.

Somehow, he’d sensed her childish antics. She wasn’t even a little bit sorry. The bastard deserved it.

The King’s Mask

Rydekar couldn't even begin to explain to himself why moving away from the door where he left the infuriating girl was so hard. She was purposely grating his nerves, infuriating him, testing him, teasing him like no one else dared. The girl needed serious spanking. But he knew what said spanking would lead to, and he had neither the time nor the inclination.

His little cousin was on her way north, and she wouldn't be coming back. Whether it be the wildlings of the dragons, the courtless shy folk, the army marching through the seelie land, or any other potential enemy, she was marching to her doom, and gleefully so.

Stop her. Keep her here. Protect her.

He would have given in to those instincts in another time—another life—but Rydekar had a long set of priorities in perfect order. First came his people, then this country, and finally his family. Everything else, including his own satisfaction, was far down the list. Rissa wasn’t an item he could afford to add to it. Not even as an addendum. She was no one to him. She had to remain so.

Instead of heading to bed, as he would prefer at this early hour, Rydekar made his way to the floor right below the royal apartments. Two sets of light-footed steps joined his by the time he reached the painted hall leading to his personal study. "You like the girl."

Rydekar just snorted, refusing to gratify Khal’s assumption with an answer.

“Come on, you can't fool me. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like she'sinteresting. Like she exists.”

Rydekar couldn’t deny that he had a tendency to gaze through the fog of people surrounding him. They were of little consequence to him, until they either entertained or challenged him. Rissa…she’d done both before she spoke a single word. Damn Khal for noticing.

“If you'd ever looked at your wife like that, you'd still be married.”

“Khal, for the love of all that's holy, stop winding him up.” Havryll wasn’t one to share his words, but when he spoke, people paid attention. Even Khal, who rarely even bothered to listen to what Rydekar had to say, always took notice of Havryll.

"Tell me you didn't see it," Rydekar’s hotheaded cousin persisted. “Tell me Rye wasn't salivating over Serissa like a hunter over prey.”

Rydekar's jaw tightened in annoyance, but at himself as much as Khal. He thought he'd been fairly good at hiding his attraction. Apparently not. He wondered whether Rissa had noticed it too. The possibility didn’t sit well with him. Knowing just how much he wanted her would give her power over him. A power she’d be quick to use.

Thinking back to the way the chit had clasped her lips on his to disrupt his focus earlier, his fist tightened. Soft, electrifying lips that smelled of spring and sin. If they’d been alone, if he’d had an hour to spread her out, if she’d been anyone else, he would have taken her there and then, feasting on her flesh until she screamed.

But they hadn’t been alone, he hadn’t had an hour, and she was Serissa Braer.

Rissa may not have tuned into his reaction yet, in any case. Anyone kissing him unexpectedly would have succeeded in weakening his concentration. Perhaps Khal simply knew him too well.

They'd been raised together within the halls of the high court. Khal was two years Rydekar's senior, a fact that as a child, he had reminded him of quite often. The lone heir to the high throne of Tenebris, Rydekar had been protected by several knights everywhere he went, to his acute annoyance.

Khal was a third son, a superfluous boy no one quite knew what to do with. He was sent to him to be the future king's default friend, an automatically loyal follower based on bloodline. Rydekar had hated the very thought of having his friends chosen for him, and Khal had felt quite put out having to leave his life behind to follow his little cousin around. They'd been a disaster, fighting at the slightest provocation for years. Then when Rydekar was twelve, assassins came for him. Khal put himself in the path of danger to save his cousin. All of a sudden, without notice, although he was barely entering puberty, Rydekar felt power surge within him, and was able to stop his enemy in their tracks, controlling the mind and body. Khal and Rydekar stopped fighting each other, and started to fight the rest of the world instead.

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