Breathe.
I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped. I feel his chest rise and fall against mine. Over, and over, and over again.
When I finally force myself to do the same—my own chest matching the rise and fall of his—I no longer feel the raging heat that was begging to be set free, and my mind lingers back to that word again.
Trust.
Trusthim.
Trust his promises. But how?
“Then, tell me something real,” I whisper. “If you want me to trust you, then tell me why you were outside Village 28 the night we met.” I’ve asked him this before.
But he lied.
He lied then, and who’s to say he isn’t lying now?
“I…I didn’t realize…” His voice fades. “I didn’t realize the poverty the people of Velegoria faced. I didn’t know how bad it was in the villages.”
My brain can barely process what he’s saying.
“What do you mean, you didn’t know?” How is that even possible? He is theprince.This ishiskingdom, or at least, it will be.
“I knew things were hard. I knew food was being rationed. But when I formed my bond with Ajja, I started seeing the world through his eyes. And I…did not like what I saw.” He shivers, and I wonder what exactly Ajja had told him. “I wanted to see it for myself. So with Ajja as my guide, I set out to explore the kingdom. We’d been traveling for three days when we came across you.”
“So now that you know, what do you plan to do about it?” If anything at all because what can be done? Our planet is dying. Fresh water grows scarcer by the day. Food has never been so hard to grow.
“I don’t know yet.”
He’s quiet. And so am I. So quiet that I notice I no longer hear the guards’ footsteps.
We’re alone again.
His shadows recede, fading away, and for the first time in minutes, I can see his face. So very close to mine, and he’s looking right at me, straightintome. But then, he removes his hand from my neck and steps away.
“We should get you back to your room.” He turns on his heel, heading toward the door we’d come through.
I follow after him, my heart racing, unsure if it’s from the fear, the rain, or just…him.
Chapter 15
Serafina
He doesn’t speak, so of course, I don’t, either. Not until we’re back in my room.
“Do you mind?” he asks, nodding toward the dresser. We’re both drenched, water pooling beneath our feet, every inch of us claimed by the storm.
“They’re your clothes.” I shrug, stepping into the bathroom to grab a towel. My fingers tighten around the soft fabric as I try to wring out my hair.
When I return, he’s pulling his shirt over his head. The fabric clings for a moment before giving way, and thenit’s on the floor.
If I thought my heart was racing before, it’s nothing compared to now. The sight of him—bare, and raw, and unguarded—it’s a jolt to my system. A spark of something starting in my core and radiating through every part of me.
My grip loosens on the towel.
His toned skin gleams under the low light, every ridge of his defined abs cutting shadows I can’t seem to look away from. My gaze dips lower, trailing the dark line of hair leading down, down—stop.
Heat floods my cheeks as I wrench my eyes upward, focusing on the black lines of his tattoo. A tattoo that’s far larger than I originally thought. Barbed thorns cover his torso, stretching over his pecs, his ribs, his sides. Sharp edges etched into his skin as if meant to ward off anyone who dares come too close. It winds onto his back, and my eyes find the mirror in the corner of the room, the mirror that gives me a full view of how he looks from behind.
