That had to lend himsomemeasure of credibility, didn’t it? A little bit of trust?
A creeping sense of unease skittered up his spine. Easing his hold on her wrists, Taevas scrutinized her face for any hint of recognition, any sign at all that sheknewhim.
His fingers trembled. “Tell me you know my name. Tell me you know me.”
Alashiya’s heavy brows lowered. Confusion flashed in her eyes, so big and sad in her perfect face. “I… How would I know that? You couldn’t tell me.”
That familiar empty sensation carved a deep space within his chest. It was a cavern made by a terrible movement of feeling — first of disbelief, then of horror, and finally a monstrous sort of impotent outrage.
Was I wrong? Is she not my artisan?
No, that couldn’t be right. He’d seen his robe. He recognized her work. If nothing else, he’d know her by scent in any place, time, or setting. This washer.His artisan. His treasure. His mysteriousmetsalill.
So how could she notknowhim?
“You know me.” A sharp edge made its way into his voice. Itwas a command. An order from her Isand, from the man who’d yearned for just a glimpse of her for so very long. “You must. Look closely, my Shiya. Look at my face. Touch me, even. Youknowme.”
She let out a startled breath when he dragged one of her hands to his cheek. Her palm was cool against his flushed skin, and her fingers shook when he guided them over the curve of his jaw and the heavy line of his brow.
A hoarse whisper escaped him. A plea. “Recognize me.”
Some of the fear bled away from her gaze. It was replaced by confusion and no small amount of concern.
He imagined he must have seemed out of his mind to her. Taevas had begun losing his grip on his sanity the day he opened that first package and now… now he knelt in the dirt, begging a frightened woman to say his name.
How far the mighty Isand has fallen.
Alashiya didn’t take her hand away from his cheek when Taevas released her wrist. She held it there, just barely touching. In a gentler voice than he probably deserved, she asked, “Have we met before?”
“No,” he choked out.
“Then how would I know you?”
A lifetime in the public eye flashed through his mind. Hundreds of interviews. Countless press releases, photoshoots, and headlines.
He’d been the leader of a fierce, wealthy territory for well over a hundred years. Nearly his entire life was documented in pictures and video, thrown out into the ether to build his reputation — all in the name of making the ’Riik stronger, safer. His presence on a street drew crowds no matter what territory he was in, and his choices changed the fates of millions every day.
Despite all of that, he saw no recognition in her eyes. He was as much a stranger to her as she’d been to him.
He hunched his shoulders. “Taevas,” he whispered. “My name is Taevas Aždaja.”
The words drifted in the air between them, normally so heavy but in that moment as light as one of the fireflies that danced around their heads. They didn’t seem to land anywhere in her memory. She absorbed them quietly, with neither gasp nor reflexive, nervous smile. To her, it was a name like any other.
Alashiya’s fingertips skimmed his cheek as she slowly lowered her hand. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Appearing to come to some tentative decision, she asked, “You’re not going to hurt me, are you, Taevas?”
“Never.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Taevas was a lot of things. He was arrogant, wry, and domineering. There were plenty of character flaws one could criticize. But never, not once in his long life, had someone accused him of going back on his word.
“My name is Taevas Aždaja,” he rumbled, eyes locked with hers. “I am the Isand of the Draakonriik, Lord of the Dragon Clans, and head of Clan Aždaja. My word is law,minu metsalill,and I say you’re safe from all things.”
Alashiya blinked. Her expression was nonplussed. “I don’t think anyone can make a promise like that.”
He let out a breath. “My Shiya, I am not just anyone.”
Chapter Fourteen
