I won’t worry about them right now. I’m focused on the man who separates from the rest of the knights. Kai casts them a disdainful glare and receives an array of dirty looks in return. The animosity between him and his men is palpable.
“Get these weak and useless animals into the stables,” he snarls.
The horses are anything but weak. Their flanks are heaving and flecked with foam, their nostrils blown wide. I know very little about horses, but even I can tell they have been ridden hard for a long time.
I lean over the wall. A light breeze teases strands of my hair free from the braid and ruffles my skirt. Kai lifts his gaze to the walkway and scans the women gathered there with an expression of distaste.
When his attention snags on me, I hold his eye and wait. My pulse ticks faster, then skips a beat at the flicker of interest that passes over his face.
Suddenly, he jerks his head and presses one hand to his eye. I fold my arms on the warm stone, watching in bewilderment. Is he in pain?
When he raises his head again, he sneers at me before turning away. I frown. Something is wrong. He wouldn’t let me look at his eye that day. Didn’t want to talk about it when he came to visit me. That silver speck must be what’s causing my childhood friend’s unhappiness.
He seems so isolated. Proud and arrogant, yes. But the way he looked pained for that brief moment tells me that it’s nothimbeing cruel. It’s that thing in his eye. An ice knife, perhaps? But that doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t bloodied that terrible day. Judging from the damage they did to me, and to several members of the royal family, The Snow Queen’s ice knives can only injure you physically, not compel you to behave against your true nature.
I am not the same girl I was before the attack, but I am still myself. I wallowed in my grief and shame for too long, but I am resolved not to do that anymore. I am going to help Kai, and in doing so, I’ll save myself and my grandmother, too.
I race down the steps in my haste to catch up with him. “Kai.”
He halts. A nervous flutter in my stomach sets in. Have his shoulders become broader or is it my imagination? He seems taller. Stronger. Harder.
I can’t say I altogether object to the physical changes in him. That fluttery feeling I used to get whenever he was near is back, a hundred times stronger. He turns to me, stone-faced. No trace of warmth. He may be cold but he is more handsome than ever.
“I am glad you returned home safely from your travels.” I doubt anyone else will make the same claim.
I stand no chance of thawing his heart by showing him the same stiff frigidity he’s displaying to me. I have taken great care to make myself look as close to the old version of me as possible. There was nothing to be done for the white streak in my hair, and anyway, I don’t want to pretend that nothing has happened. I therefore asked Nana to help me braid it in a way that displays the streak prominently.
Kai’s gaze catches on it. “You look different, Gwen.”
“Today is my eighteenth birthday.” I ignore his comment about my hair, trying to figure out how to engage him in further conversation.
“I remember.” Again, that flicker of something like his old self before his features twist into disdain. I try not to quail when he steps closer, his stride menacing, his helmet clasped beneath his arm the way it was the day of his Ascension ceremony. Then, abruptly, he steps closer and demands, “What is this shit all over your face?”
I have no response for a long, tense minute. “Makeup.”
He takes out a soiled, damp rag, grabs me roughly by the neck, and wipes it all over my face. I sputter in protest, trying to escape, but his hand is clamped on my nape and I can’t get away.
“Stop, Kai,” I plead.
“Don’t let me catch you wearing that shit again. It’s nothing but a lie. Is that what you want to be? A liar?”
He leans in. Against my will, and certainly against my better judgment, my body responds to his, softening fractionally. A cruel smile stretches his lips.
“You want to be my wicked little liar?”
“N-no.” But he’s right. I am lying. I do want to be wicked with him. Tension coils around us. I relax fractionally into his touch.
“Tease.” His lips hover inches from mine. The silver speck in his eye glints brightly. It has turned the iris around it almostcompletely gray, a cold counterpoint to the blue one. “I suppose you want a kiss for your birthday.”
Yes.Not from this man, necessarily, but from my old friend? I would take that kiss and return it a thousand times.
My thoughts must be written on my face, for he closes the distance abruptly, crashing his mouth down on mine. This isn’t how I thought my first kiss would happen, but I don’t resist. I can’t. His grip upon my neck tightens, punishing.
A sound squeaks out of me and he ruthlessly presses the advantage, his tongue pushing past my teeth.
I can’t think under the assault of his mouth on mine. I tamp down the impulse to resist. I can reach him. This is an opportunity to try.
I twine my arms around his neck and open for him. Tentatively, I move my tongue over his. A groan rumbles low in his throat. I like that sound. I dare to push my fingers into the hair at the base of his skull, and am rewarded with another low growl.
