Page 70 of Of Rime and Ruin
More?
Hunger for her claws at my heart, sharp and fierce with sudden desire. The longer I watch her, the more I want it. Want her, under my care. A chance to tame that troublesome tongue.
Earlier tonight, I thought she was dead and nearly succumbed to my relief. But I know I could not live with myself if I let that nightmare come true.
The princess turns toward the bookshelf, her eyes widening. Her fingers trace the stony spines. In the candlelight, her face falls into shadow, her eyes reflecting the flame. Watching me, from the corner of her eye.
She’s fucking beautiful.
Who am I to desire the likes of her?
“Are you trying to catch yourself on fire?” she asks.
I glance at my hands. The flames lick at my skin, hot, but not hot enough. The Beast prowls the periphery of my mind, refusing to submit.
When I look at her, I feel him growl. Possessive.
I yank my hands from the fire.
“That should keep you warm until dawn. The washroom is through that door.” I point to the attached doorway next to the wardrobe. “Good night.”
I practically run from the room. My foot knocks a bucket of iron firesticks, and they clatter to the floor. Pain throbs through my big toe. I hop over the mess, send her an apologetic smile, and hurry to the door.
“Good night, Grumpy Gills,” she calls after me with a muffled giggle.
I pause at the doorway, gripping the frame, and allow myself one last glance.
Her eyes shine in the amber glow of the fire. She drags her appraising gaze over me, and a warm pink colors her cheeks. Anddamnshe looks good in a blush.
My stomach twists into a tight knot, and the truth punches me square in my chest.
I’m in trouble. And if I’m not more careful, trouble will lure me somewhere I can’t afford to go—deeply, irrevocably obsessed with her, the princess I’ve made my prisoner.
Chapter thirty
Nahla
“Comingup,you’llfindthe throne room to your right.” Deirdre gestures to an engraved wooden door. “The king is in there now, so I can’t show you. Perhaps another time.”
“That’s okay. I’ve seen it already.” I shiver at the memory of my first time in that room. The king prowled before me, deciding my fate.
Asshole.
We round a turn, and I adjust my mental map of the building. It’s a minimalistic layout for a king. Winona’s palace is thrice its size, at least. And he doesn’t have a ballroom. Apparently, this used to be the royals’ warm-season home, and all the balls were held in the courtyard under the moon.
So far, I’ve found only two ways out of the castle—one door shore-side, another back-side into the courtyard. Centered in the building is a grand parlor with a lofted timber-frame ceiling, housing a double staircase to the second floor. The primary floor holds the kitchen, dining hall, and throne room. From thesecond-floor landing, the eastern wing leads to guest rooms and the queen’s quarters, the western to the king’s residence and library.
It’s a gorgeous home. The architecture has a handsome simplicity, dark and cozy. The style suits him. Efficient. His family’s wealth is subtle, built into the quality of the imported wood, the richness of tapestry and furs. He keeps no superfluous sitting rooms or expensive knick-knacks. A practical king—Winona will never believe me.
I smile, admiring his choices despite myself, as I trail my fingers along the wall. My fingers catch the hem of a navy-blue wall-hanging, and I lean closer to inspect it. Intricate leather stitching, done by someone’s careful hand. I inhale. It smells like him.
Perrin clears his throat, a gentle signal for me to move along. All morning, the young guard has trailed our little tour of three, pointing out his favorite paintings along the way, much to my delight.
His company is the best I could ask for in my glorified imprisonment. Perrin said the library is beautiful, but I have yet to see it.
Ahead of us, a scattered line of merfolk spans the length of the hallway. They hold various baskets and bags, their expressions troubled. Frowning. A few mermaids sit on the floor, tracing lazy patterns in the wood while their eyes glaze over.
The door swings open, and a male guard pokes his head out. “Next,” he calls. The first merman in line enters the room, and the line shuffles forward.
