They cheered for me. For me. In this moment I wasn’t the creature of darkness, I wasn’t a weapon used for battles. I wasn’t the desire of the Ljosalfar to use against elven and fae.
For now, I felt desired.
“There is one dance.”
More whoops and hollers followed, men with too much brän in their bellies cheered for me to show them. I spun around once, my skirt flaring.
“Show us, sweet.” The brute shouted again.
I forced a grin, shoving thoughts of battles, enemies, and old betrothals far from my thoughts.
Elven dances were graceful, not a match for the rapid tune of the drums and clasp, but I rose onto my toes, one hand clutching the skirt of my gown, all the same.
I dipped and spun, arms out like a partner led me across the table. Pain was there, dulled to be sure, but still a hot ache needling into my heart. To see Jonas with the woman took me like a strike to the chest. Ruthless and fierce, I could not breathe.
Feeling was the trouble.
At the end of battles, I thought he was a fiend. Then we spoke without bloodshed between us, without the dull fade of my affinity numbing my soul. He was . . . infuriatingly beautiful.
Our vows, gods, the kiss. It was like a fire erupted in my blood.
I spun around faster, head reeling, toes slipping.
The feast afterward, the way he’d peeled me away, demanded to know if I’d ever been harmed, even lost in his own cups. Truth be told, I wasn’t certain he even remembered.
Faster. Faster. The room tilted.
My chamber. To feel his hands against my body, his mouth against my flesh, was burned in my bones. Never had I desired another in such a way. To claim his weight over me, arms and legs tangled, was a craving I never anticipated.
Faster. Faster.
Arms caught me around the middle, drawing me to an abrupt halt, and tugged me off the table.
I blinked. Every wall was a maelstrom of haze and fog, but two vicious green eyes pinned me in place.
I snickered and arched into him. “Hello, Husband. I am becoming . . . becoming more alver . . . alverish.”
“Shame. I prefer you exactly as you are.” Jonas steadied me around the waist amidst protests and groans from my ale-riddled audience. “Time to come home.”
“No.” I weakly shoved against his shoulder. “I think I’ll stay.”
Across the tavern, Frigg devoured her thumbnail, standing between Sander, Von, and—gods—Dorsan.
“Skadi.” Jonas’s voice was against my ear. “We’re leaving.”
“She doesn’t want to leave, My Prince.” One of the brutes from the table rose.
Jonas sneered at the man. “Sit down, Balki.”
Balki was undeterred. In my haze, I did not understand how he managed it, but somehow he reeled around the prince and had me pressed against his chest.
“It’s not fair if the sweet doesn’t get what she wants. Said she wanted to spend a night with me. You find beds aplenty, Prince. I say let your new princess do the same.”
I didn’t want his bed. Gods, I did not want any bed but my own.
“From what we heard, even the elven folk tried to snatch her back.”
My throat tightened. I did not want this man touching me. He spoke so callously about the attack of the elven assassin, as though his attempts to take me back had not nearly slaughtered the royal house.
