The debris peels open, allowing Notus to stride forward through the funnel unharmed, though the wind snatches his headscarf and flings it elsewhere. For the briefest instant, his eyes meet mine. Here, now, I understand that I have glimpsed only the surface of this ageless god. Fool that I am, I had assumed to know his depths.
The terrifying blankness smoothing his expression is wholly new. It is a degree of rage I have yet to witness from the South Wind. Mortifyingly, I feel an unwelcome pulse of desire between my legs.
Prince Balior shouts as he’s yanked skyward, tossed clear across the oasis. He slams onto the opposite bank and is still.
Too still. The motionlessness of broken bones. A budding horror creeps through me.Get up.By the gods, if Notus has killed the prince—
Miraculously, he stirs. I should go to him. He is, after all, an honoredguest, my intended. But his earlier behavior has left a horrid taste in my mouth. It is not something I will soon forget.
And so I watch. Prince Balior stumbles upright, swaying. Blood trickles from his hairline. Then, carved silver blurs beneath wavering heat: Prince Balior has drawn his sword.
Notus tosses his hand. A gust of wind knocks the weapon aside. Prince Balior stumbles. Rage whets his features, curls his mouth.
“Will you hide behind your powers?” he spits, fury bleeding across his cheeks as he rounds the oasis toward his adversary. “Or will you fight me man to man?”
I glance between them, wondering if I should interfere or let them tear each other to pieces. I don’t want Prince Balior to come to harm. But Notus is not easy to read. Some part of me is compelled by what may come.
The South Wind levels his fathomless gaze. “I am no man,” he states coldly. “I am a god.”
Prince Balior throws the first punch.
The South Wind ducks. He hits the prince low in the abdomen, forcing him back. That only enrages Prince Balior further. Again, he jabs, teeth bared. Catching the prince’s wrist, Notus swings him in a circle, releasing him so he’s launched through the air.
He hits the ground. The South Wind strides toward him, expression thunderous, his eyes the black of eclipsed suns. The force of his tread cracks the stone underfoot.
Closer he nears. He is shorter than the prince, certainly, yet broader, studier, uncowed. Prince Balior lifts a hand to ward off whatever strike may befall him.
But Notus only grasps the front of the man’s robe and yanks him up, nose to nose. A small, twisted part of me revels in watching Notus having been brought to his lowest instincts. I do not consider him to be a predator, but in this moment, there is no doubt that Prince Balior is prey.
Unfortunately, I am too far away to eavesdrop. Whatever Notus says, it causes the prince’s face to go ashen. Notus shakes him, and the prince grits his teeth, then nods.
Dropping the prince onto the ground, he returns to my side, shoulders bunched, tension knotted beneath his skin. “Are you hurt?” he demands.
I stare at him, too stupefied to process his concern.
“Sarai.” The low growl brushes against me like a physical touch. He takes a step closer. “Are you hurt?”
I look to the prince, splayed out like a discarded rag across the cracked earth. “I’m fine.” I am most certainly not fine. “Though perhaps you should ask the man you flung across the desert whether he is fine.”
“I don’t care about the prince. I care aboutyou.”
To that, I have no words. None.
Actually, that’s not true. I have a handful, a select few. “You were out of line.” In the distance, Prince Balior struggles to his feet. He brushes the dust from his robes. All his limbs seem to be in working order. Ishouldfeel relieved. Yet I don’t.
“No,” he says, and his next step eliminates the remaining distance between us. Our bodies all but collide, my chest brushing his as I inhale, the hot, coiling air of the desert calling back the memories of a bygone time. If I were to lean forward a hair, my nose might graze his jaw.
“Let me be absolutely clear, Sarai.” He peers unblinkingly into my eyes, and I dare not look away for fear of missing the reshaping of his emotion into something new. “If I were not certain that killing the prince would mean all-out war against Ammara, I would have done so without question.”
His rage renders me breathless. “Oh.”
Notus frowns, and his gaze slips to my mouth, which parts of its own volition. “You cannot marry him,” he says.
I struggle to swallow. “Excuse me?”
“A man who does not respect your boundaries, who threatens your safety, whose impudence may bring misfortune onto Ammara?” He tugs free a strand of hair caught behind my ear. It is so natural a gesture I fail to recognize what he has done until he has already dropped his hand. “He’s not good for you, Sarai. I saw the fear plain on your face.Tell me, is that the sort of man you wish to bind your life to? What of your people? Your realm?”
My shield is forged from unbreakable iron. It cannot be broken, not even by the fear that he is right, the fear that I am wrong.
