Oh, now it was his turn to be slighted.
He would have been truly offended, if her voice weren’t so godsdamned sweet. He’d imagined this moment, imagined seeing her for the first time, meeting her, learning what she sounded like and how she moved her lips, and...
She was nothing like the woman from his dreams.
She was harsher.
Stronger, despite her small size.
A true verbal opponent.
He raised a dark brow and put on his toughest armor. “A clever sentiment, albeit a false one.”
“It’s true, I can assure you,” she said.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Was that...anger,sparking to life in him?
A part of him loved it. It had been so long since he’d felt things. So, he leaned into her challenge, and answered, “Is that so?”
She nodded. “It’s called communication, Prince. I’m no soldier, but I’m well aware that this war would already be lost without the ability to communicate. You have the ravens to thank for that.” She lifted her chin. “Andtheir Minders.”
Stubborn creature. There was a beautiful challenge in her gaze.
He wanted to meet it.
He crossed his arms, ignoring how damned cold he was, how tired. He wouldn’t let his weakness show. “And quite the communicator, you are,” he said.
And then they just stared at each other.
Was he a stranger to her...or had she, too, been dreaming of him?
Impossible,said a voice in his mind, and it sounded like Magus.You’re the only Veilborne here, Little Prince.
Kinlear narrowed his gaze even more.
She washere,and she was lovely... every bit as much as she wasterrifying, for how fiercely she stared up at him. Small enough to fit on a raphon with him, of course, for that part of his dreams had been true. He could tell already, from how she’d spoken to him – a prince that could hang her, for all she knew— she was so damned bold.
Braver than most men he knew.
But there was also aragethat wasn’t there in his dreams.
He could see it boiling behind her eyes, like she’d been challenged all her life. Like she’d been seen only for the enormous shadow wolf scars on her face, the very same wayhewas seen for his illness. For his cane and his vial and his second born stigma.
Weak,his mind whispered.You’re so incredibly weak.
She glared up at him as if shewantedhim to look at the marks on her face, as if she expected him to be shocked by them.
But he knew those scars.
He saw them every night in his dreams.
Helovedthem, as much as he loved the promise of a future with her.
And what they would become, together.
Her scars were as familiar to him as her touch, as her warmth in his arms...and so as he stood there across from her, feeling for all the world, like the gods had granted him a gift...he never once broke her gaze.
It was an effort to pull himself away.
