Placing the sword gently on the sofa cushion—as it deserved—she wrapped her arms around Ronan in a tight embrace. It was reckless and dangerous, being close to him like that, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I love it,” she whispered into his shoulder.
His strong arms curled around her waist, and she could feel him smiling into her neck.
She felt the hard planes of him press against her, and her heart fluttered. For weeks, she’d held tight control of her thoughts and attention. Still, she found her gaze straying to him far too often, impossible to pull away. She had been terrified he would notice and call her out—or worse, notice and not acknowledge her. Because despite her plans and logic, if their kiss didn’t haunt him like it haunted her, she wouldn’t know what to do.
“Blessed Amhrána, Clía,” he whispered, leaning back just enough for them to see each other, bathed in firelight. He tucked a loose curl that had fallen in her face back behind her ear. His forehead fell against hers, his breath brushing against her lips.
Something pulled her even closer.
His eyes met hers, soft but intent. “Clía, I...” It was more breath than words. There was a question there, and she found herself nodding before she could think twice.
She was familiar with the calluses of his hands, the strengthof his muscles, and the sharp angles of his face, but the softness of his kiss surprised her. It was so different from when they’d collided in the garden so long ago. His lips caressed hers gently. With each touch, a slow burning flame grew in her veins. She leaned in, needing to feel more.
She had avoided letting herself think of what it would be like to touch him again like this. She thought it would never happen—couldnever happen again. A small part of her had consoled herself with the thought that she’d exaggerated the chemistry of their first kiss, that perhaps it was the impossibility of it all that had made her want him in the first place.
Now she could confidently say it wasn’t.
His hand spread flat against her back, holding her against him, while the other rose to tangle in her hair. She let her fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt. The kiss deepened, softness melting into passion, and she needed to be closer.
The sound of footsteps broke them apart. Clía jumped back, startled, both of them glancing around to see who had entered.
Niamh stood in the doorway, hair tied back and sword at her hip. On her face was a look Clía had never seen before—an uncomfortable surprise.
“Sorry for interrupting,” she said briskly, continuing on her way to the living quarters, leaving Clía alone with Ronan once more.
He was watching her, chest rising and falling rapidly. Waiting to see what she would do.
She yearned to close the distance between them. Lose herself in his embrace, let her fingers coil in his hair, and feel their lips meet once more. Domhnall was finally out of the picture. Shecould give in and let herself have this moment. This is what she had been waiting for, wasn’t it? In those quiet moments when her heart ached for more?
Except her people still needed the favor of the Draoi. Her reasons for coming to Caisleán hadn’t changed, even if her original goal was impossible. She wouldn’t break her own heart by beginning anything with Ronan while she knew she might have to abandon him for a more advantageous marriage.
Her kingdom must come first.
Here, in this ancient castle that held the stories of hundreds of warriors, she’d found her place. She was finally focusing on the right goal. And if she had to sacrifice the first thing she had ever truly wanted for herself for the sake of her people? It wasn’t a choice.
Those facts were reason enough to stay away, but she couldn’t deny there was also a small part of her that was terrified. She had been desperate for the approval and admiration of others—her parents, the court, Domhnall. She constantly changed herself to fit their whims, wearing a mask to be what they wanted. But Ronan actuallyknewher. He always seemed to see through her facade and never wanted her to be anyone but herself. Even if there could be a future for them—if she let herself grow even closer to him and he changed his mind, it would hurt that much more. He wouldn’t be rejecting some false role she’d played; he would be rejectingher.
“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered into the distance between her and Ronan before turning away, careful not to look back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ronan stood alone in the library, the ghost of Clía’s kiss still on his lips.
With Domhnall’s engagement official, somehow hope had begun to creep in. Hope that fractured at the sight of her walking out the door.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she secretly did love Domhnall and was hiding the hurt over his betrothal. Maybe she was still set on winning him back. But holding her—it was the most right he had ever felt.
He needed to think, to set his mind straight. Ronan wasn’t naive to romance—there had been an occasional person before Clía. A man he trained with for a time, a visiting lísoir he spent a few weeks getting to know—but any past dalliances were fleeting and rare. He never found himself thinking twice about them once it was over. He certainly never found himself longing for someone he had no claim to.
Ronan cared for her—he wouldn’t deny it anymore. However, he didn’t have to act on it. The reasons keeping them apart far outnumbered any reasons to pull her close.
She was the princess of Álainndore, and he was a Scáilcan guard. He could offer nothing to her, or her kingdom, not whenshe so desperately needed a favorable alliance. That kiss—it would have to be the last.
It was less than he wanted.
It was more than he should have.
