The balcony tilted, her view reduced to Jakobav’s back, the hard line of muscle beneath black leather. Heat radiated from him, every step jolting, her stomach flipping as much from the position as from the way he carried her—like she was his prize, his proof, his fury.
“Put me down,” she hissed, too low for anyone else to hear.
His grip only tightened around her thighs. “Not a chance.”
The court’s whispers chased them.
Warlord. Weapon. Beautiful. Dangerous.
And gods help her, part of her didn’t care. Suspended over his shoulder, Ella’s pulse hammered, torn between outrage and a wild, treacherous thrill.
As they passed the crowd, she caught her father’s gaze upside down and muttered through clenched teeth, “Don’t look at me.”
Eryndor did anyway, his expression unreadable, somewhere between fear and a terrible sort of pride. His voice reached her, low enough that only those nearest could hear.
“So much like your mother.”
Nira and Marisol stood beside him, smiling. Ella watched, mortified, as they exchanged a quick glance, both of them blushing and barely hiding their giggles as she was carried past.
Jakobav didn’t slow. He carried her through the doorway and into the castle as if nothing were amiss—as if he’d simply grown tired of the banquet and chosen to leave. Behind them, the Court of Rumors fell into a stunned silence.
Her return to Orchid wasn’t off to a great start. She felt less like a graceful queen-to-be and more like a sack of potatoes.
42
EDGE OF THE BREAK
He carried her through the castle as if she weighed nothing, his stride long and unbothered despite the spiraling hallways and high-arched corridors he’d never set foot in before.
“Put me down,” Ella hissed.
He didn’t.
She glared up at him even though he couldn’t see it.
“Jake, put me the fuck down.”
He stopped and set her on her feet, though he didn’t look remotely sorry about it. His hands lingered at her waist, as if letting go might undo everything he’d just fought for. Finally, he let go and took a single step back.
“You don’t even know where you’re going,” she said, brushing her hands over her dress.
Jakobav’s mouth twitched. “Fair point.”
“So maybe let the person who actually lived here lead.”
She took the front, and he fell into step behind her. They crossed two long galleries, past pillars and tall windows spilling moonlight across the floor, until she turned into a quiet wing lined with closed doors.
“Marisol said they kept my room exactly as it was. Only attendants entered to clean. No one else has stepped inside since I left.” Her fingers hovered near her skirts, restless. “In case I came home.” Her chest tightened, a small pang of guilt stirring before she shoved it down.
They stopped in front of a familiar door.
Ella swallowed hard.
The hall outside Ella’s chambers glowed golden, torchlight painting restless shadows across marble while the faint perfume of jungle flowers drifted through the open lattice at the end of the hall. The silence in the corridor hung thick, humming with the aftermath of the evening.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” His voice was rough, pitched low, the battlefield still clinging to it.
Ella’s lips curved. “With me, obviously.”
