Page 36 of The Cursed Crown

Rydekar opened the buttons of his coat and shed the dark piece of clothing as she watched.

He removed layer after layer. When he lifted his shirt over his head, she finally cracked. "What are you doing?"

He grinned down at her. "I barely had time to shut my eyes an hour." That much was true. What Rydekar didn’t say was that he rarely ever slept longer than that. "Someone must care for you, and I need to relax."

"How are you going to ensure I'm not drowning in my vomit if you're sleeping?"

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

He lowered his leather breeches to the floor and stepped out of them. Rissa purposely kept her gaze on his eyes, to his amusement. She was too obstinate to look away, and far too intimidated to stare at his underpants.

He flopped on top of the covers, and crawled to the top of the bed until he could set his head on one of the many pillows.

"Are you going to lie down, or do I have to make you?" he asked lightly.

He liked the idea of making her. She shook her head and lowered herself under the covers, close enough for him to feel her heat, hear her heartbeats, and bask in her heady scent. It was stronger than before, colorful, and so irresistible. After a moment, he realized why it had changed in his mind. "You smell of winter fruit."

No wonder he wanted to take a bite.

"Well, you smell of winter," she retorted. Then she bit her lower lip, regretting it immediately.

"Oh?" He'd never heard that one.

Rissa shrugged, unwilling to elaborate.

"You're like a dessert, or a freshly picked flower. All sweet." Rydekar wondered how long it'd take for her smell to fade from his pillows.

He also wondered what she tasted like.

Bringing her here had been a mistake. The best kind of mistakes.

"Why do I smell like winter, Serissa?" And why had she blushed when she said it?

She hesitated. "The winters aren't very harsh in Volderas, but we do burn fires in the great halls. I remember my father coming home, removing his boots and letting the mud dry by the embers." Her smile was full of mischief again. "That's what you smell like. Warm mud."

He read what she wouldn't say perfectly. It wasn't the mud that had bothered her. It was that this specific memory had come to mind. Something that reminded her of a time when she'd been safe and comfortable, in her father's company.

Rydekar was bothered too, for a different reason.

"You love your father," was all he said.

Even if he hadn't remembered their very first meeting, the affection was evident from both of them when father and daughter had looked at each other. He'd heard it in her voice, and seen it in her eyes when she mentioned him.

"It's hard not to love Titus. He's fun, and honorable, and so confident he walks into any room andownsit." She envied that, he could tell.

"So do you," Rydekar told her. "As do I. We're the rulers of the world. We have power of life and death over our subjects. What we do shapes kingdoms."

"Speak for yourself."

"You're a queen, Serissa. Why deny it? Why fight against it?" He didn't understand.

"Even if your assumption that Denarhelm could kneel under one banner again, what makes you think that they'd kneel to me? My father is alive."

"Your father is the king of the Court of Sunlight. He had a chance at the high crown, and he turned his back on it. He rejected it. You're next in line."

"What if I reject it?" she quipped.

Infuriating woman. "Then Denarhelm will fall. Have you seen the lords? There are barely three of them under one roof, and they're squabbling over details, fighting to remain in control. One promises five thousand soldiers only if the others may deliver as much. Then, they bid against each other, because they are under the illusion their kingdoms are theirs to rule. They need someone to order them to act." And that someone couldn't be him. At least, not while Rissa breathed.

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