He holds his hands up, letting out a sigh that releases from his shoulders. “You’re not the only one with a vendetta. Trust that I don’t intend on running my kingdom the way it was ruled before. But as your desire is to go to Nevaeh, I can’t say anymore. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” I take him in. Not the curled horns that part through his hair, the hunched feathered wings with a bony claw at their arches. Not even the changing eyes that mark him as somethingother. Just what I’ve seen of him, what I know, even what he’s told me. I haven’t shared the revelations about the Selection or Curse with anyone. It felt like betraying the twisted truce we’ve established.
He holds out half his sandwich, the oddest olive branch I’ve been offered. But I take it. I eat a bite, savoring the rich flavors.
“As far as I can throw you.”
“I can work with that.” Draven, spread out so casually dominating in that chair, looks me over, his gaze lingering on my training gear, and I know what he’ll say before he speaks. “But you can’t go in this. What kind of host would I be if I shipped you off to the seraphs wearing that.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling but a little part of me sparks with interest. It’s been a long time since anyone cared about me, even if his reasons are selfish.
“Wouldn’t want to make you look bad.” Snark slides into my tone like a knife into a sheath.
“Impossible. I could go with literal garbage, and they’d still give it compliments.” He grins smugly and I blow out my lips, stunned by his arrogance.
“Do your worst then.” I give a mocking smile to battle his haughty one.
“And have you call me a prick? Again? No, love, I think I’d rather see what you choose.” He gestures toward my room, walking ahead of me, hands in his pockets. Why does him calling melovefeel like a finger traced along my jaw? I grip the necklace at my throat, toying the pendant along the cord. He leans against the doorframe, waiting for me to catch up.
“You’re actually letting me choose?”
“With me, you always get to choose.”
I nearly argue him on that before remembering I was the only Selected he did not choose. I lift my chin as I bypass him, but when I enter, I don’t see anything laid out, nothing changed from the ordinary. I turn back to him. “Well?”
“I figured I’d make you something myself.” His eyes shift from indigo to smoldering violet, daring me to play.
His clothes are always beautiful. Even when he wears the same uniform as the rest of us, his outfit still stands apart, accented with extra gold or silver that shines as if made with the real thing, framing his collar and lapels. I wasn’t expecting this, but I’m not sure exactly what I was anticipating. Something bought … I suppose.
I demand, “Are you just going to stand there?”
He laughs, rocking on his feet. “Is that supposed to be an invitation?”
I want to snap, but I just give my best sarcastic curtsy. “Do you need one? What are you, some kind of vampyr?” I laugh but he doesn’t, and it suddenly hits me that those beasts of nightmares may actually exist on this side of the Wall. I swallow, hand scratching my neck.
“Don’t insult me, Rune. I’m far prettier than most of their kind.”
“I’ll reserve my judgment.” I make sure my mental shields are as strong as steel as he pushes off the doorframe, an indignant grin on those full lips, eyes bright with challenge. I think to myself, in my little mental fortress, that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone asprettyas him.
His gaze caresses me, as if he wants to tear down those shields to know exactly what I’m thinking, and from the tense lines of his shoulders, fists in his pockets, I think it’s taking his full restraint. Finally, he releases an ungraceful snort and moves toward me, taking in the room nearly identical to his own, though I haven’t adorned it with anything. Not much point in knickknacks and baubles when I’m supposed to be leaving tonight.
He lingers beside a freestanding mirror, its arch decorated with swirled golden accents and hand-painted filigree. I join him, and he eyes me head to toe, drawing on the World, and through it the Hierophant, a memory projecting in front of us, everything filtered with a golden sheen.
Before me, three styles of dresses appear, displayed on mannequins, pulled from Draven’s memory. Ball gowns of black lace, crimson silk, and some gold ethereal shining material too lavish to name. I cannot imagine any of them belonging to me—not just because of their sheer worth and beauty, but also their impracticality. They’re itchy and restrictive with giant bell-shaped skirts. My Wraith training won’t allow me to enjoy them without wondering whether I could even fight in one. As I stare indecisively, a woman appears in the memory, and the way she devours Draven with her eyes starts an ugly coil slithering through my gut.
“Your Majesty, all these styles are fashionable, but this one is cutting-edge if you’d be interested—”
“Not that one,” Draven’s deep voice replies, and suddenly the imagery reverses, the woman and her hungry gaze steppingback out of frame, but I get a glimpse of the dress. A dangerously low-cut gown that’s far out of my comfort zone. But it’s nonrestrictive … and … maybe just for one night, I should let myself be draped in something beautifully feminine.
“Why not that one?” I ask Draven over my shoulder. His eyes lock on to mine, the pupils spreading like the dawning of night.
He runs a strong hand through his hair, chewing his lip before his voice rumbles out like thunder wrapped in midnight. “If you were to wear that one … I wouldn’t be able to think straight for the evening.”
I read him over: his lips parted, his position behind me drawing closer, nose near enough to be breathing in my scent, his hand flexing at his side, knuckles turning white. He may not like me … but he wants me. There’s a power in that, but it’s quickly seceded as my gaze is drawn to the lines of his neck as he swallows, the arc of those perfect cheekbones. Whatever this blossoming attraction, it’s one we’re both feeding. Well, shit. The memory attendant reappears as she holds it against herself, meant to entice him, and a devilish urge seizes me.
“Then I want that one,” I tell him. What am I doing? I’m meant to be a shadow and here I am embracing his spotlight. The space grows hotter than the volcano-warped air outside, sucking the breath out of the room. “Don’t want you scheming too much.”
He bites his bottom lip, eyes shifting firmly into violet.
