A wave of desire rushed through him. He grabbed the corners of her jaw with both hands, leaning in until their lips were a breath away.
“You’ll be mine, Saraj?”
“If you’ll be mine.”
She tasted like everything he knew she would—the raspberries, the woodsmoke from the fires, the hiss of snowfall. His hands pet down her body beneath the blanket until he found her hot center, and after a little more shifting, they were moaning together like the other couples throughout the shadowy perimeter of the great hall.
Trei meant what he had said: He fully believed she would be the kind of queen the Baersladen needed. Saraj was strong but not domineering, kind but decisive. He didn’t know if Saraj would ever be his queen, but he felt certain that now that their souls were intertwined, she would be the only woman to ever be his heart’s true love.
Chapter8
Valenden
“My fortune?” Valenden raised an eyebrow at the pretty bartender.
While there were hexmarks for fortunetelling, they were among the most advanced of all spells and notoriously tricky. His aunt, Mage Marna—the Baersladen’s most skilled mage—had only once successfully predicted the future. Years ago, she had warned her brother, King Aleth, of a coming drought. The kingdom had time to make preparations, yet when the drought hit, Mage Marna began to shrivel and dry out. The spell had doubled back on her, creating a shortage in her own body despite how much water she’d imbibed. She’d very nearly died, and she’d been left prematurely gray-haired.
“Not hex magic,” Winter clarified, popping the mead bottle’s cork. “This is a skill my mother taught me when I was a girl.”
“Ah, so it’s only superstition.” Valenden reclined back, smirking. “Play your games, then.”
Winter leveled him a stern look but didn’t say anything. Instead, she hunted up a tankard and poured a draught of mead into it.
“Drink this.”
He accepted it gladly. “Ah, now, this is my kind of superstition.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you never serious, prince? Drink it. In one swallow, no more.”
He tipped the tankard back, downed the liquid in one go, and then passed it back to her. Winter dragged a lantern closer and spent some minutes examining the dregs in the bottom of his glass.
Valenden adjusted his position, trying to peer into the tankard over her shoulder. Sediment from the alcohol glazed the tankard’s bottom in a haphazard pattern that looked a little like stars in a night sky. How many mugs had he drained to the sediment, never imagining the dregs might be worth studying?
But ultimately, wet sediment didn’t hold his interest long, and he peered sidelong instead at the girl reading it. Why hadn’t he noticed Winter more for all the many nights he’d spent in The Whale? He’d been so consumed with flirtatious wenches who’d willingly perch in his lap and let him slide his hand up their skirts. And gods knew there was no shortage of girls like that, so his mind had never wandered to other types of women.
The salt-of-the-earth kind of woman.
The surprise-fortune-telling kind of woman.
The gorgeous-in-lantern-light kind with hair pulled back like a soldier’s…
When Winter glanced up and caught Valenden staring, he quickly cleared his throat. “I’ll take the rest of that bottle since it’s already been opened.”
She rolled her eyes again as she passed him the mead. “I would have thought you’d had your fill after blacking out and being assaulted.”
“There are some lessons I can learn: sword fighting, dancing. Abstinence, not so much.” He tipped back the bottle.
She continued to squint deep into his tankard as she moved it back and forth in a circle.
“Well, what does that blob at the bottom tell you?” he asked, trying to mask his curiosity with playfulness.
“The location of the dregs doesn’t matter,” Winter muttered, deep into her examination. “It’s a common misconception. Only the shapes do. I’m looking for shapes that mirror hexmarks. If a hexmark shape appears here for a spell you already possess, it will be a particular strength in your future. If the shape mimics a hexmark youdon’tpossess, it shall be a weakness for you going forward. A warning, perhaps.”
Valenden turned quiet. Winter’s detailed explanation of the process implied this was true magic her family believed in, not the game he was pretending it to be.
At his silence, Winter looked up questioningly. “You’ve gone pale. Don’t you want to know your future?”
“I’m not entirely certain I do.”
