Page 50 of Of Song and Scepter
“Stunned him.” Pride rings clearly in her voice.
My blood should not boil at the mere thought of harm coming to her. This female irks me to no end. She’s sharp and unrefined. She questions everything I say. She has demonstrated disdain for the culture I come from. She refuses to submit to my authority. She haunts my waking dreams.
“How?”
She flashes a lopsided smile, the tips of her fangs glinting in the dimming light of the tavern. “It’s my best secret, pretty prince. What right do you have to uncover it?”
My cheeks warm. I reach for her gloved wrist, needing to touch her. The warning bells peel loudly in my head—the forbidden nature of the touch, the danger of the consequence—and yet my fingers move. They encircle and tighten. The leather of her gloves slides under my touch. Her pulse quickens beneath my thumb.
The leather shreds in an instant as rows of wicked spines rise and slice through the sleeves. She hisses, tugging against my grip. We stare where my fingers encircle her wrist, our shaking breaths intermingling. The noise of the room fades, as if she and I are the only ones here.
With my other hand, I place a knuckle at the base of her spines, stroking upward. They quiver under my touch. I reach the tip of one, gently touching the point. My skin pricks.
“Ah,” I say, as a droplet of blood blossoms. “I remember these wicked things well.”
The spines flex again, as if deciding whether to flare or retreat.
“I’m willing to bet the dredgebeast is not your only secret,” I murmur, swiping my thumb up the line of the next spine. “Who are you?”
Our gazes lock. I stare into the depths of a soul more mysterious than I’ve ever known. I search her gaze, and, with an odd squeeze of my heart, I realize it’s void of the very thing I’m looking for—that burning lust for power. Instead, deep-seated pain molds into crafted defiance.
Slowly, her spines lower into the invisible sheaths beneath her soft skin. When I reach the crest of her elbow, she flinches. Her arm bends, revealing the mottled purple of a nasty bruise.Fresh.
She swallows a whimper, but not before I can hear her pain.
“Who did this to you?” I whisper.
“Your Highness, please,” she whispers, pulling once more against my hold on her wrist.
“Tell me who.”
“I handled it,” she says, her voice reaching me through the cloud of my anger, sounding distant.
If I was hot before, now, I am an inferno. My vision blackens around the edges. Magic burns in my stomach, begging for release, pressing against the fractures in my control.
The sound of the room returns with a chattering force, and the soft padding of the princess’s footsteps filter through.
I peel my fingers away, blinking out of my trance. I settle back into my chair and lift my mug of ale.
Aris stumbles into her seat, her hair freshly dripping with seawater. She notes the fresh mug of ale and eyes it warily. Thenher eyes shift to the shredded remnants of Enna’s gloves. She frowns.
“Thank you for the meal, Your Highness,” she says. “I think I should return to the palace. This establishment has no ladies’ room, would you believe it?”
“Oh, really? I’m sorry to have misled you, Your Highness. I hope you did not struggle to find it.”
Aris giggles, still drunk.
I grind my teeth, trying and failing to detach myself from the intensity of the last few moments alone with Enna. Even now, I know it will be fruitless. An evening with her did not cure me of her wiles, did not solve the mystery of her, as I foolishly hoped.
No, it made me want to spend more time with her. And that’s a dangerous thing for a crown prince to want.
Chapter thirty
Soren
I storm down thehallway toward my bedchamber, the soft slap of my bare feet echoing through the empty space. My hands flex and close inadvertently at my sides, moving of their own volition.
I did my duty. I fed the princess, talked with her, and delivered her to her chamber. Mentally, I check the task off my list. But emotionally? My heart squeezes painfully, brimming with a feeling I’m terrified to name.
