“Really, changeling.” Rogan’s sultry amusement sliced through my babble. “If you want to use it, I’m finished.”
He stood without warning. Foamy water surged and sloshed around him, rushing down from the ends of his hair and sluicing along the hard contours of his torso. I looked away a moment too late—heat slapped my cheeks as I aimed my eyes toward the ceiling. Rogan’s rough chuckle deepened my flush. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for a towel and wrap it low around his hips. Only then did I exhale, trying to cool the heat skeining through my veins.
But my relief was short-lived. He made no effort to dress further before coming toward me, his steps purposeful on the flagstones. He stopped at arm’s length, far enough for propriety but close enough for me to count the beads of moisture studding his chest. Smell the sharp, spicy scent of his soap—vetiver and anise. Feel the damp heat rising off him like steam.
“Well?” he prompted.
My head was empty. “Wellwhat?”
“What did you find, changeling?” He smiled slow. “Unless you really did come to share my bath.”
I shoved the notebook at him. He perused it for a brief moment, then carelessly set it down. He stepped closer, lifting a hand toward my face. I must have flinched—he stilled, then slowly resumed the motion, dragging his thumb roughly along my cheekbone. He lifted the finger, inspecting the smear of gray dust he’d lifted from my face.
“You really are impressively filthy.” He was close enough now for me to count the flecks of green in his eyes, to number the copper freckles dusting his nose, to name the desire softening his mouth. His face canted an inch to the side, and his eyes dropped to my lips.
“What are you doing?” I stepped back. He moved with me, closing the remaining distance between us. My back struck the closed door; I fumbled for the doorknob, but the metal slipped beneath my sweat-and-grime-streaked palms. “This isn’t funny.”
“Not funny at all.” He touched my face again, sliding his thumb from my cheek down over my bottom lip. My chest hitched, sending my breath gusting over his knuckles. His other hand rose to cup the back of my neck, tilting my face up to his. Slowly—slowly enough I could have stopped him—he bent down and captured my mouth with his, sliding his tongue over the lip he’d just touched. I tasted his soap first. Then I tastedhim. His warmth, his want, his willingness.
He pulled me against him. My hands came up instinctively, resting on his smooth, hard chest. A world of memories unfurled at his touch. Everything he and I had ever shared—every moment, every word, every desire. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. He pulled me even closer.
Pinned between our bodies, my thistle bracelet bit into the soft, tender skin of my wrist. The prick of pain was enough to clear my head.
I broke off the kiss, tearing my mouth from his and shoving him bodily away. He staggered back, nearly stumbling on the wet floor. He lifted lust-dark eyes churning with confusion and asked, “Whynot, changeling?”
I almost laughed. How many times had I asked myself that same question? Why couldn’t he and I—princeling and changeling—be together? The answers were as endless as the questions. They tore through me now—hoping, hating, loving, longing. But there was only one I was willing to voice here tonight. The only one that wouldn’t hurt me as much as it might hurt him.
“Because she is mysister.” The words scorched my throat. “And you are promised to her.”
Rogan didn’t say anything, but a muscle jumped high in his cheek. He shook his head, then finally—finally—got dressed, hiding his heavy arms and chiseled chest behind a loose tunic. He pulled on a pair of breeches beneath the towel. And then he was in front of me again.
“How can she mean so much to you?” His eyes were hard. “You do not know her.”
“I do know her, Rogan. I have known her all my life—she has always been everything I am not and can never be.” I lifted my chin, conjuring her up like a luminous ghost between us. “And now that I have truly met her, she is as lovely and bright as I knew she would be. She is everything a princess ought to be. She is everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m well aware of what I should want.” The hand he dragged through his damp hair tousled his curls. “But I don’t want her, Fia. I want you.”
“No.” It wasn’t a reply, but a rejection. My heart throbbed wild and weak with his words—I want you. They were far too little and far too late. And yet they grew inside me, eager as cramped saplings reaching ragged branches for a distant sun. “You are promised to her.”
It was easier to say that than to show him the festered wounds he’d made, the badly patched heart he’d broken. It was easier than entertaining an impossibility I’d given up on over four years ago.
“I have made no promises.” His voice came out ragged. “Not yet.”
Cathair’s voice slithered through the cracks of my resolve.He will never choose you—you will never be more than an afterthought to him.
“I will be no man’s mistress,” I spat. “I will be no one’s whore.”
“That is an ugly word.” Hurt and fury tightened his voice. “You will always be more to me than that. My best and only friend. My first love. The girl I want to tell about my good days, the girl I want to tell about the bad. The person who knows me better than I know myself. What you are to me cannot be named.”
“Then why—” The steel of his stirrup was still cold beneath my white knuckles.I am a prince… and you are no one.“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want this.”
My fingers finally found purchase on the doorknob.
“What about what I want, Fia?” His voice hitched with longing.
“Whatyouwant?” I nailed certainty to my obdurate, damagedheart. “I stopped caring about what you want a long time ago, princeling.”
I opened the door and made my escape. Rogan did not follow.
