Octavian took my hand. I’d forgotten he was there for a moment, but his touch snapped me back to the present—and reminded me of the fact that we were both completely bare beneath these suds.
But he was looking down at my wrist, twisting it this way and that so that the milky surface of the pearls caught the light.
“Safarian pearls,” he rumbled. “Where did you get these?”
I’d forgotten he hadn’t seen them yet. “Laitha. She bound my wrists with them. I don’t think she meant them as a gift, though.”
He looked up, and this time there were shadows in the pools of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For Laitha. She never should have had the chance to lay a hand on you.”
“She didn’t hurt me,” I assured him.
“But she could have. Easily.” His fingers tightened on mine. “If she knew what you were to us—”
“She doesn’t. She knows that we know each other, nothing more.” Assuming she hadn’t made too many assumptions about why the three of them had come to rescue me. Or—oh god—assuming she hadn’t seen Radven and me together through that zhesper’s eyes when it had flown into our room at the inn. So I quickly said, again, “She didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t even be in this position,” he said. “You’re only in danger because of us. Because you helped us.” The feeling in his eyes nearly undid me. “If I’d known you’d be dragged through the portal after us—”
“I wasn’t dragged through. I jumped.”
He stiffened. “What? Why?”
“Because it was that or be sliced to death by Tendrils. They didn’t disappear after the three of you went through. And I didn’t feel like dying yet.” I smiled, making a joke of it, but he didn’t seem to find it amusing.
“I should have realized,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would be safe just because we were gone.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Ishouldhave. I should have considered every possibility for danger.” His other hand came up, cupping the side of my face. “Mistakes like that cost lives, Marigold. We were lucky this time, but next time…” A muscle twitched on the side of his jaw.
“As far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to beat yourself up over,” I told him. “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. I don’t want to think about whatcouldorshouldhave happened. We’re here now, and we’re both safe. Doesn’t that count for something?”
He looked like he wanted to argue. I could see the war waging behind his eyes, the shame that, during that moment when he’d leaped through the bridge I’d created, he’d put himself before me. For a man who’d apparently spent most of his life protecting and fighting on behalf of others, that knowledge had to be torture.
I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t know what to say. I just stared back at him, my lips open with those unspoken words sticking to my tongue. And then I reached up, letting my fingers rest softly on his skin over his heart. As if my touch could convey what words could not.
I felt the shift between us immediately. Even though we were already touching—my other hand in his, and his fingers against my cheek—I’d crossed some invisible line, taken this exchange from personal tointimatein the space of a breath. The air around us was suddenly hot and thick.
“Marigold.” There was a ragged, breathless edge to his voice that stole my breath away. And when I tore my eyes away from his chest and shifted them up to his face, I found him staring down at me with a dark, wild, delirious heat.
It was in those deep blue depths that I saw his control give way, a split second before he yanked me right against him. And I didn’t even have the chance to gasp before his mouth crashed down on mine.
32
A Matter of Honor
Heatbloomedthroughmybody.
For a moment, nothing else existed but his lips, which pressed against mine with a hunger and an urgency that threatened to unravel me.
And then, just as suddenly as his mouth had collided with mine, it was gone again.
Octavian pulled back mere inches, looking down into me. His azure eyes were bottomless, like dark, twin pools swirling with wild secrets.
