Page 72 of The Arrow and the Alder

“Because I don’t miss a mark.”

Alder stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down at Seph. The sight of him there, with his piercing grays, imposing build, and all that natural authority was like a physical blow to Seph’s person.

“Your Highness!” Rasia said lightly, and Seph envied her for not being so distressed by the sight of the Weald Prince. Rasia climbed to her feet. “We were just talking about you.”

Alder arched one of his brows, his eyes fixed on Seph in a way that made her heart pound. “So I heard.”

Heat crept up Seph’s neck. “Why, Prince Alder, I’m surprised you could hear anything over the cheers of your victories.” She said his title on purpose, to separate them both from their brief and friendlier past.

Alder’s answering expression was impossible to read.

“I’ll just be going, then,” Rasia said, skipping away, taking all that whimsy and joy and distraction along with her.

Alder was still studying Seph from the top of the stairs, but she turned away from him to focus on her task.

“I notice you’re not cheering over my victories.” His voice was low and smooth and slid over Seph like velvet.

“I have things to do.” She pulled another arrow from her quiver and closed her eyes, but she didn’t feel the orb. Instead, Alder’s heat and warmth pulsed like a sun in her periphery. Then it drew steadily nearer.

She tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the little orb that’d just sprung into existence. She failed. This was impossible with his bearing bleeding its heat into every inch of her space.

Damn him!

“Abecka tells me you’re ready to come to the surface,” he said at last. His voice was low and far too close for Seph’s comfort.

Thankfully, she felt that little pulse ofeloitmove, and she fired her arrow. Two more sprang to life, and she darted left, whirling around as she shot those too. “I am. I imagine you’ve come to dissuade me.”

“Not at all.”

She’d reached for another arrow but opened her eyes instead. Alder was leaning back against a post, just a few paces from her, his arms folded over his broad chest. He watched her with those keen grays, though his expression was shuttered. “I just came to see if you’ve been practicing as relentlessly as everyone claims.”

“You mean you wanted to make sure my ignorance wasn’t going to get anyone killed.”

“I don’t regret what I said, and look how productive you’ve been.”

“That has nothing to do with you,” she snapped.

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, and she hated that her gaze followed. “How is your hand?”

She didn’t like being reminded of his former tenderness. It felt like a debt, and she didn’t want to owe him anything else ever again. “Still a little numb, but it doesn’t hurt, and it isn’t proving to be any sort of impediment, so despite whatever else I feel toward you, I am grateful to you for that.”

His eyes were daggers, and they carved like a paring knife, peeling away all her layers. “And what else is it that you feel toward me?”

Heat spread from her neck into her cheeks. She crossed the yard to retrieve her arrows. “I don’t think it is in either of our best interests for me to expand on that, Prince of Weald.”

“Best interesthas never stopped you before.”

“That wasbeforeI realized you’re the ruler of a kingdom my great-grandmother intends to make peace with.”

“Look at you. Three weeks as a princess, and you’ve already learned the lamentable art of diplomacy, where no one says anything of any import and everyone pretends to get along, all to preserve their own self-interest.”

Seph picked up an arrow and glared at him. “Abecka intends to fight alongside your people; therefore, I did not think it wise to stand here and tell you what a manipulative and self-serving ass you are.”

To her fury and to the detriment of her heart, Alder smiled. Broadly. It completely transformed him, and Seph’s belly did an unexpected and wholly unwelcome flop. “There you are, my little arrow. I have missed your sharp edges. No one speaks to me as candidly as you do.”

Seph had the sudden urge to strangle him. Or kiss him. It was the oddest, most infuriating dichotomy. “You appreciate my candor, do you?”

“You know I do.”

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