Of course he didn’t.
His hair, usually a fall of soft brown waves around his temples and neck, had been bound back tonight, drawn tight at the nape of his neck. The severe style revealed the full cut of his jaw, leaving nothing softened, nothing hidden. He looked down at her, one brow raised, and that smug little curve touched his lips.
“I was wondering when you’d start sneaking around.”
“If I were trying to hide, you wouldn’t have found me,” she said coolly.
“Mm.” His eyes swept over her, assessing.
Without warning, he reached out, and his finger barely grazed her cheek as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
The touch lingered just enough to feel possessive, as though he had a right to move her how he pleased.
Ella’s chin lifted, her voice steady despite the jolt it sent through her. “Careful. If I return the favor and stroke your face, I don’t promise to be gentle.”
Jakobav stilled.
A note of surprise broke through his mask, gone as quickly as it came. His eyes flickered, dark amusement glinting there,but before he could respond?—
“What did Bryn mean?” she asked, cutting him off. She needed to take control now. Drag the truth from him before he could twist it. “About my power. About it being different.”
He tilted his head, that same assessing look narrowing.
“I think you misheard.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then you misunderstood.”
“Unlikely.” Ella’s voice now had a razor-sharp edge.
Her pulse quickened, patience thinning.
Jakobav leaned just close enough that his breath touched her cheek. “If you’re hunting answers,” he said, “be very careful you don’t stumble into questions you’re not ready to ask.”
She glared. “That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he said, smiling darkly. “It’s a warning.”
Her magic stirred in her chest, angry and insistent. She crossed her arms. “You’re hiding something.”
“Of course I am.”
He said it like it was obvious. Like hiding was survival.
“You think this is a game?”
“No, Princess.” His voice dropped. “I think this is war. And you don’t even know who’s holding the sword yet.”
His eyes tracked the way the word struck her, a slow, knowing curve pulling at his mouth.
The word split her in two.
Princess.
It hit her like a forbidden sorceress chained to a spire, torch flame pressed to her skin, searing through every layer she’d tried to hide. Her pulse crashed, wild and uneven, and her vision tunneled, the walls narrowing to trap her.
He couldn’t know. He couldn’t.
