Blood pooled in her centre and her breaths came quicker. He stared at her like there was no one else around, and if he moved, he would tear every last bit of clothing off her and devour her.
They were stuck in this moment, neither willing or even able to break free of their magic’s hold.
Someone coughed, rupturing the spell. Solveig tore her gaze away from the prince but could still feel his eyes on her back as she turned to Conalle. His face was smug.
“Sorry for the interruption. If we had let that little display go on, the forest would’ve combusted.” He chuckled at his joke and Solveig rolled her eyes.
“Nice of you to show up, Tordottir,” Maddock jeered. “I quite missed your theatrics while you were tucked in a nice deep cave. You know, my brother—”
The prince cut him off. “Enough. We’re wasting time. Arlanson, what’s the plan?”
“GeneralArlanson, if you will, Your Highness,” Latham said through gritted teeth.
“I won’t,” the prince said simply. Solveig didn’t even try to hide her smile, and fuelled with the lingering feelings of intensity, a kernel of appreciation towards the prince began to grow.
Latham’s face flushed bright red. “I will have the respect owed to me, Prince Westley.”
“You have it.” The prince turned his back and rode over to settle beside Solveig. Njord bumped Helle with his nose in a friendly gesture that surprisingly Helle accepted.
“Our horses like each other better than we do,” Solveig said under her breath so no one but the prince could hear.
“I really doubt that,” he whispered back, his voice thick and husky.
She would not make the mistake of meeting his gaze again. Conalle may have been joking, the forest wouldn’t actually catch fire, but she would be in danger of combusting if they shared another moment like that. She couldn’t afford to get lost in her feelings towards the prince, no matter how complicated they were becoming.
It would be easier to hate him.
Soldiers gathered around Latham and Maddock, waiting for instruction. The pair laid out their ill-conceived plan and Solveig tried to pay attention. It was difficult when the prince was seated so close to her, his heat coming off him in waves. She took note of every small movement he made.
It didn’t help that Conalle and Noren appeared to be in a competition of who could make the snidest comments about Latham, and seeing the prince try to hold in his laughter was its own form of torture.
When he was distracted, she took a long look at him.
He was also in his full battle armour, like the warrior prince he was, his thick armour tight against his body. It didn’t appear as soft as hers, but it was hard and fierce. No one would underestimate him in battle—he was the living embodiment of fear and death.
His shoulder-length hair was pulled into a knot at the back of his head, showing a small glimpse of the tattoos not covered by his leathers. Black ink moved with the thick muscles on his neck, and she had the urge to run her tongue along each cord. An urge she quickly flattened with no intention of ever indulging.
Like he could sense the direction of her thoughts, the prince whipped his head towards her, trying to catch her gaze, but she was quicker. She doubted she’d fooled him, though.
“Like what you see, General?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said. He started at her blunt reply. “I like an enemy who wears so much armour to overcompensate forotherareas they lack impressiveness.”
A smile curled his lips.
“I think we both know my armour is nothing compared to thoseotherareas, General.”
“And how would we both know that? I think you’ve been mistaking me for your dreams,” she teased.
His smile was wicked, eyes gleaming. “You don’t dream about killing me anymore. Admit it.”
“No,Prince, that is not what I dream about.”
His smile disappeared at the hardness in her eyes.
“That’s not what I . . .”
“I know. Just drop it.” Her heart raced, but she kept her hands steady, gripping the reins, staring ahead at Latham and Maddock.
