Page 77 of The Second Death of Locke
“No,” Eron said, speaking as Grey. “The captain and I are ready to go home, if you please.”
Her grandmother killed her own sons to give Cleoc’s mother a direct line to the throne. Her mother murdered her father when it was found he was cheating the treasury. Cleoc has held her throne, avoided a civil war and even made peace with one of the five nations. Is it any surprise that they fear her as much as they love her?
Report from Merrick Porter, Scaelan spy in Cleoc Strata, undated
eighteen
THEY AGREED THEIR LEAVEwould start the following day—first there was to be a dinner held in their honor, to thank them for delivering Cleoc’s heir. At the inn they were led to, they found they had all been given separate rooms. Ola and Brit offered to stay with Sela, along with the two guards the commander had insisted accompany them. Eron went to the room assigned to Grey. No one commented when Grey collected the clothes left for her from Eron’s room and moved them into Kier’s.
But Ola’s eyebrows said more than any of their mouths.
Once everyone was more or less where they were supposed to be, Kier closed the door behind them. They stared at one another for a moment, the silence desperately loud.
“How much time do we have?”
“Not much,” he said, unmoving. “Cleaned up, dressed and downstairs for our escort before the hour.”
Grey slipped off her coat. He raised an eyebrow. She crossed the space between them in three easy strides and pushed him against the door. She rose on her tiptoes, leaning her weight against him, and kissed him as sweetly as she could.
“And then,” she said against his mouth, “after dinner?”
He laughed, warm and certain, his hands coming to her waist. “I suppose I have a demonstration for the nation of Locke.”
She nipped his ear lobe. “Not the whole nation, surely.”
He moved quickly, sliding his hands down to grip her thighs, pulling her up into his arms, turning them so she was the one against the door. Both froze as the wood clattered in the frame, waiting for someone to check on them—but nothing.
Grey sighed, relaxing against the door, locking her legs around Kier’s waist. It felt so safe to be in the unyielding circle of his arms, his weight pressed against her, his focus hyper-fixated on the small section of skin where her neck met her shoulder and the span of her collarbone—
“Kier,” she said, tilting her head back to give him more access. But.
“Hmm?”
“Are you positive you don’t want to be a master?”
He pulled back so quickly her back came away from the door—but she was safe in his arms, always; he would not drop her. He did set her down, very gently disentangling from her.
“Yes,” he said.
“But you always wanted it. Titles, promotions… to be a commander. To go to unknown shores. To see the world.”
He laughed, looking at her with a bizarre incredulity. “I always wantedyou,” he said. “And I still can’t believe… that I have you. I think I do.”
“You do,” she said, shy under the weight of his gaze.
He pushed her hair behind her ears. “We can see the world together,” he said, kissing her forehead. “We can be free together.” He kissed her nose.
“Is that freedom?” Grey asked.
He cupped her face in his hands. She rested hers on his chest, relishing the heat of his skin through his shirt, the beat of his heart against her palm.
“It is its own kind of freedom,” Kier said.
She wasn’t sure about that, but it didn’t matter because he leaned in to kiss her, pushing her a heady sense of certainty. “We should clean up,” he said a few moments later. “We can talk after.”
Grey raised an eyebrow. “After the after. We have plans, Seward.”
“After the after,” he promised.
