Page 73 of The Arrow and the Alder

“Excellent, then perhaps you’ll forgive me when I tell you to piss off.”

He laughed at her—actually laughed!

Seph shoved her arrows back into her quiver—all but one, which she set as she turned her attention back to the training yard. Another orb appeared, and it moved in an arc until it settled rightin front ofAlder. His heart, specifically. If he’d ever had one.

Seph’s fingers flexed over her drawn bowstring, her arrowhead aimed at Alder’s chest. “Would you stop it? I’m trying to practice.”

“And I am trying to get your attention.”

“What, you didn’t get enough back there?”

Alder cocked his head. “You sound jealous.”

Seph fumed. “Move, before I shoot that smug look off of your face.”

“Go right ahead.” There was challenge in his voice. “However, I feel it is incumbent upon me to remind you of a certain bargain that you made regarding the bow currently in your hands.”

Seph flexed her hands. “Thenmove.”

His eyes danced, and he unfolded his arms, pushed himself off the post, and approached. All the while, that little orb floated two inches in front of his chest, moving as he moved, as if he were carrying it like insurance so that she didn’t turn her attention away from him. It wasn’t until he stopped directly before the point of Seph’s arrowhead that he waved a hand. The orb vanished, and then he was standingagainstthe arrowhead. His chest pressed to the chiseled stone, forcing Seph to deal with the towering and magnificent kith that was the Weald Prince.

Seph was struck by the notion that even though his mass of hair had made him larger, hefeltlarger without it. His unkempt appearance had made him wild, but refined Alder was dangerous—dangerous because every sharp angle and strong plane lured her in. Tempting her with the desire to be nearer, to trace those angles and planes, to taste those full and seductive lips with her own, to drag her fingers through the rich depths of his velvety black hair.

Depths she knew she could easily fall into if she didn’t hold on to her convictions with an iron grip.

This was the Alder who’d lured so many, but she could not stop her heart from pounding, traitor that it was. Apparently, she couldn’t trust it either.

“I’m leaving again tomorrow. This is not a rescue mission. It’s far more delicate than that, and I would like you to come with me,” he said lowly, his gaze never leaving hers as that arrow remained fixed between them.

These were not the words she’d expected, and it took them a moment to slip through the haze of his bearing and root inside of her.

“Tell me more,” she said, tone clipped so he didn’t hear her eagerness.

His gray eyes gleamed. “Abecka has an old friend who lives on Weald’s outer rim. His name is Basrain. He’s a brilliant, eccentric man, but more importantly, he’s an expert on the history of our people. He’s spent much of his life studying the past, the prophecies, and the significance of the artifacts that belong to both. Abecka is hopeful he might be able to provide insight concerning the coat. If anything, perhaps he can translate some of the enchantments that she can’t decipher.”

Ah, so this next mission was not so much about absconding with Massie’s prisoners as it was finding a solution to the coat—something Abecka and her elders had still failed to do. “Hopeful or desperate?” Seph asked.

“I find the two are closely related,” the Weald prince answered.

Seph was distractedly aware of how the pair of them might appear to any passersby, with the Light Princess’s arrow digging into the Weald Prince’s chest, but she held her bow like a barrier of protection. From her body or her heart, she couldn’t say.

“You’re certain we can trust him?” she asked.

“Abecka is, but what I need to know is if these…feelingsyou have toward me are going to interfere with your ability to fight at my side.” He wrapped a large hand around the shaft of her arrow, eyes never leaving her face as he pushed the arrow aside and took a single step closer.

His blazing heat filled all her spaces, and she was overcome with the scent of him.

“I need to know,” he continued, his words a breath between them, “if I can trust you.”

Seph stared at him. The bow trembled in her hands, and she wondered if he could feel it. He was still gripping her arrow, holding her bow askew, pushing past her boundaries to invade that space she guarded so diligently.

It took every ounce of willpower to hold his penetrating gaze as she asked, “How long is the journey?”

“Two days from here.”

“I can set my feelings aside for two days.”

He raised a skeptical brow.

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