Page 3 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Lara stood her ground, even as heat ignited in the pit of her stomach.
He’d crossed a line.
“I would be your lover,” he murmured. “I would give you long … hot … nights to remember.”
The fire in her belly started to pulse. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” He reached out then, a hand brushing a damp strand of hair off her cheek. “It would be such a shame to allow your loveliness to go to waste.”
A heartbeat passed. “I won’t be taking a lover,” she said coldly.
His gaze shadowed, and he pulled his hand back. “Why?”
“That’s my business, not yours.”
Jaw clenching, she shoved the brush she’d been using at him before ducking around his broad body and heading toward the edge of the enclosure. She’d had enough of this conversation.
“Wait, My Queen.” Alarm edged his voice now, his arrogance faltering. “You can’t go off on your own. I must escort you.”
Lara halted and swiveled, pinning him with a glare. “I don’t require your company, Captain.” She bit the words out. “Finish seeing to our horses. I can find my own way back to my tent.”
And she could. It was safe enough now that they’d almost finished making camp. The enforcers would have dropped most of the ward-stones, and the faint strains of singing, as the bards wove a protection sain, reached her now.
Meanwhile, stubbornness hardened Roth’s features. His lips then parted. He was about to argue with her. “Enough, Captain,” she cut him off. “I will give you grace this time … but don’t speak to me like that ever again.”
Roth’s mouth closed, his strong jaw flexing. He understood his mistake now.
Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the enclosure. Wisely, he didn’t follow.
And as she walked, Lara seethed.
How dare he?
When she’d taken the throne, she’d made it clear she was ‘handfasted’ to Albia. She wouldn’t marry again. She’d meant it too. And no, she didn’t need to deny herself lovers, but she would.
That was the second thing she’d promised herself.
No man would ever dominate her again. She was High Queen now.Shemade the rules.
Her captain wasn’t the first man to show interest in her since she’d taken the throne—the overking of Braewall had proposed marriage and been swiftly rejected—but he was the first bold enough to offer toserviceher.
Heat rose to her cheeks, embarrassment prickling over her. Things would be strained between them after this. It was the last thing she needed on the eve of battle.
As she strode, mist swirled in, drifting sinuously through the camp.
Lara was about to turn right then and make her way into the press of conical hide tents when something to her left caught her attention.
A beguiling flame flickered within the pines.
Her step faltered, and she drew to a halt. Suddenly, her anger at Roth, and her humiliation, faded.
The flame transfixed her.
She loved fire—the way it chased away cold and darkness, and how red and gold danced in its depths. It had always been her friend. She’d secretly played with fire over the years—on the rare occasions when she was alone—yet a warning whispered to her now. This was no friendly lantern flame.
Never follow the lights.
She’d been cautioned countless times as a child. Her mother had repeated it to her regularly, as had her nursemaid. Corpse candles were lethal. You couldn’t let one ensnare you, or you’d be lured into a treacherous bog or a marsh and meet a watery end. If you were out in the wilderness and happened to spy a flickering light in the darkness, you should immediately avert your gaze.
