“Well,” she said with a smirk she knew he would taste for what it was, “I suppose I wouldn’t have to run. If you’d gone to the ritual and left me behind, then I would have been free to come and go as I please.”
He rose then, as if stillness could no longer hold him, and when he looked down at her, his face was composed in that particular way he wore when a choice cost him something.
He stepped close enough that the fire highlighted his cheekbone. “You wouldn’t get far,” he said, quiet and sure. “Not from me.” His gaze held hers. “But if you’re truly a guest now, then you deserve a proper tour. And you will take it with me.”
She arched her brow. “Is that a royal decree, Commander?”
“If I let you wander alone, you’ll cause a riot. Or you’ll almost get yourself killed. Again. And I’ll have to step in. Again.”
“I’d say the risk is mutual. And you’re the one who took so long to decide if I was a prisoner or not.”
“Your incessant questions have me still on the fence,” he said as his mouth curved into that dangerous half-smile that seemed to know too much. “Though no prisoner has ever ended up in my bed.”
“Neither should guests who weren’t invited.”
“Then what are you?”
“A problem. Your favorite one, apparently.”
He let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, quiet and rough-edged. “Gods help me.”
She turned before her smile gave too much away. “Lead the way, host.”
Outside, the castle had begun to wake, floors whispering with servants’ steps and the far clang of practice steel, the corridors still cool with night and the torches along the inner walk just catching.
The day would come, whether either of them were ready, but for a length of time, in a room gone quiet, they let the morning wait, a new and unspoken agreement forming between them.
27
HISTORY THAT BURNED
The castle by day felt different than it had beneath night and chaos. Sunlight poured through the narrow arched windows and laid long bars across the stone floors, illuminating banners stitched with old magic so that their threads glittered.
As they walked, Jakobav pointed out training halls and war rooms, hidden stairwells and ancestral chambers steeped in history, the tour unfolding like a map of his life and of the kingdom that had made him.
One place remained conspicuously absent, and she felt the omission like a pebble in her shoe. He had not taken her to a throne room. In Orchid, the throne room stood at the center of daily life, a place where business was conducted and pleas were heard, and her childhood had been spent there far more often than she had liked. She would’ve preferred more time in the dense tropical forest south of the palace, but duty had kept her mostly inside under the weight of a hundred eyes.
Here, in a stronghold that seemed to contain everything else, perhaps they didn’t keep a throne at all.
Ella tried not to linger when they passed the courtyard where she’d first fought his soldiers, or the corridor where hisfingers had brushed her cheek and threatened to break her, only to find an unwelcome realization tugging at her subconscious. The castle wasn’t supposed to claim space inside her, yet the memories clung anyway, unsettling her softly. Traitorously.
“Is this where you drag all your prisoners?” she asked, light on the surface, trying to smooth the flutter in her chest.
He glanced at her with an almost smirk. “Only the pretty ones.”
“Oh good. I was worried I was special.”
“You are,” he said, without an attempt at denial. “Unfortunately.”
She pretended not to notice his shoulder brushing hers as he led her onward. A smile formed; she swallowed it down.
“Admit it. You like having me here.”
He did not answer at once. “You ruin my plans. Antagonize my people. And you ask far too many questions.”
“That’s not a no.”
His eyes cut to hers, dark and unamused. “It’s not a yes.”
