Page 136 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Good. He’d baffled her more times than she could count.
He sighed, the kind of heavy exhale that made Alaire wonder what burdens he carried.
When she noticed he’d finished his stew, she gathered both bowls. Using a splash from his canteen and the tea towel, shecleaned the dishes he’d packed. Then she set them aside and returned to her bedroll.
Dawson’s gaze met hers—sorrow and determination flickering in the depths. Duty. Family. Sacrifice. Three simple words that defined how Dawson would live the rest of his life, never choosing himself. She understood more of the weight he bore, the mask of indifference he wore like armor.
He burned cold; she flared warm. His veneer was icy, impenetrable. Hers blazed with always feeling too much.
“If I had a choice, this wouldn’t be the path I’d have chosen.”
His hands pressed into the earth at his sides. “What I want, what I desire…” He faltered, a flicker of longing flashing across his face before he tilted his head back to the inky sky. “It’s irrelevant in light of duty. I will do what’s required, no matter the cost.”
When his gaze returned to hers, his eyes held nothing but resolve. “The past cannot be changed. All I can do is meet the challenges ahead and navigate what’s to come for the sake of my family, my house, my kingdom.”
Alaire nodded, the weight of his words sinking deep. She ached to reach out, to offer comfort, her fingers twitching at her sides. But she held back. Neither of them dared to cross the boundary, though they brushed against it again and again.
This game they played was a safe distraction. They both knew it could never be more. Alaire was half-fae, her bloodline diluted. The Consortium would never permit a royal courtship between them.
The fire snapped, sending sparks into the night. Alaire stared into the flames, pretending she couldn’t feel his gaze. Dawson lounged as if he belonged there, infuriatingly comfortable in the chill.
“Cold?” His voice was low, edged with amusement.
She rolled her eyes, folding her arms tight. “I’m fine.”
He arched a brow, firelight carving sharp shadows across his maddeningly handsome features. “Why am I not surprised?” His gaze swept down her, deliberate and scorching. “Beautifulandstubborn.”
“I prefer gorgeous, resilient, and wonderful,” she countered, refusing to admit the way her skin prickled under his stare.
Dawson smirked, that infuriating curve of lips that made her stomach flip. Rising, he crossed the small space and lowered himself beside her.
His scent—frosted evergreen and salted wind—wrapped around her. She should move. Gods, she should definitely move. But she didn’t.
“I can practically hear your teeth chattering,” he murmured near her ear, breath ghosting over her skin. “Admit you’re cold, and I might be convinced to share.”
Alare shot him a glare. “I’d rather freeze,” she shot back, ignoring her thundering pulse.
Before she could blink, he tugged off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders in one smooth motion. His fingers lingered at her collarbone.
“Don’t be dramatic. Despite your love of arguing, you are cold. This will help.”
Her mouth parted, ready with a retort—but it died when his arm settled along her lower back, his palm warm and steady. Every nerve in her body sparked at the contact, her composure unraveling thread by thread.
“Stop fighting me, Alaire.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “You’re shivering.”
Her body pressed closer to his heat. “I’m not shivering,” she ground out.
Dawson’s lip twitched. “Denial looks good on you.” His thigh brushed against hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Alaire clenched her jaw. “You?—”
“This level of charm cannot be taught. It just is.” His fingers toyed with the edge of the jacket at her shoulder, each graze leaving fire in its wake. “Hard to talk tough when you’re practically cuddled against me.”
Heat crept up her neck. She scooted away. “I amnotcuddled against you,” she snapped.
He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “If it walks like a cuddle and talks like a cuddle…”
She twisted toward him, their faces inches apart. Gods, she hated the way her breath caught when he looked at her like that. Those turquoise eyes burned in the firelight, magnetic, pulling her in with promises she shouldn’t even be entertaining.
