She looks down, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Actually, it’s the opposite. I’m…gods, well, I’mhopeful. That’s a strange feeling, of late.” Her gaze shifts downward. “A dangerous one.”
She gives a self-conscious laugh.
Gods, when she looks at me with those round, soulful eyes, I feel like I could die right here in her arms. Of all the things I love about her, this is the truest. Her complexity. How she can be my hopeful little violet at the same time as a blistering force of nature who sends gods to their knees.
I interlace my fingers with hers, silently drawing her closer. It’s times like these I wish we were still just two nobodies in a clearing in the woods, a campfire between us, nothing to answer to except our own dreams.
“I’m nervous, Basten,” she confesses. I wrap an arm around her back, fighting the urge to hold her so tight no one can ever pry us apart. She continues, “I’ve bet everything on this gamble. That I can keep my father and the other fae in check. That we can maintain harmony with humans in this Return. Am I a fool?”
I place a kiss on the crown of her head, wishing I could show her that hope is never foolish, never when it’s hers. “You’re fae. You care. You prove it’s possible every damn day.”
She lets out a held breath, but her fingers pluck anxiously at the satin ribbon around her waist.
I take her hands, stilling her nervous fidgeting, and guide her eyes to meet mine.
“You and me, Sabine. We’ll face the whole damn world and make them bow, men and gods alike.”
Something jolts me out of slumber.
I’m tangled up with Sabine in silk sheets, sprawled in the enormous royal bed, wishing I had Captain Tatarin’s godkiss to stop time and stay like this forever. Sabine’s soft breasts form tempting hills beneath the sheet. Her hair streaked across her pillow. Her legs intertwined with mine.
DA-DUUMM!
A trumpet blares again from the city gates, and this time, I can’t pretend I didn’t hear it.
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face, rubbing away the last of my dreams, and then sit up. I pause, turning to gaze at Sabine.
She’s sound asleep—the trumpet was a mile away, too far for her ears to catch. Her lips are parted, full. Her face wrinkled from the pillow.
She suddenly rakes in an ear-splitting snore.
A smile cracks my face.
Gods, I love this woman.
But as I get dressed, my good humor sinks into something harder. That trumpet means that Vale’s cavalcade must have been spotted on the road into Old Coros.
The fae are coming.Gods help me—am I ready?
I wait as long as I dare before waking Sabine with a gentle kiss on those perfect, pouty lips of hers. She jolts mid-snore, blinking awake in adorable confusion.
“B—Basten?” She heaves a few breaths, looking around the bedroom, then sinks back to the pillow. “Gods, I was dreaming of the Games. I was back in The Night Hunt, only this time, all nine gods had bows, not just Artain.”
I sink onto the mattress beside her and nuzzle my lips over her temple. “I’d bury them all under rock. All nine.”
Her moan tilts toward pleasure as she leans up to meet my lips. Then, she blinks up at me with a frown.
Her voice flattens. “My father’s here, isn’t he?”
“The trumpets sounded,” I admit.
She sighs, rubbing her face, then swings her legs out of bed and begins to dress for the day. “You have your speech?”
I nod.
She shucks off her loose chemise, giving me a glorious, greedily long look at her naked body, while she deliberates in front of her wardrobe.
