Unlike Valtara, the entrances and exits of Zeneith are hardly regulated. Human workers flood in and out of the gates. Shifters from the small mountainous towns come to trade and shop, to visit the healers or banks. Even other Rogues like Wolves, Trolls, and Elves lumber through. Guards loiter but rarely stop anyone for identification. The Hale King is lax but feared. Where Aerin’s father keeps an iron grip, King Vitus Hale is more reclusive. Today, that works to Aerin’s benefit.
The walls still act as barriers, the magical protection pulling at her skin as she walks through the gates. Once they are down the road and surrounded by tall dark forest, they veer off the main thoroughfare. Instead, taking a small path with a sign that indicates the way towards the Hannan Mountains, towards Iron Spine. Aerin lets their disguises fall.
The trail is narrow, only wide enough for two normal sized bodies. With Malice’s broad shoulders, and even broader wings, there is no walking next to him. The ground is rocky, weaving through the towering trees. It smells like pine and rain. It’s impossible to see the sky from their position, but small spots of sunlight bleed through the trees illuminating the forest floor in some places and casting others into shadow.
“Will we go all the way there?” Aerin questions. Malice has been sparse on details. He glances at her, his blue eyes unreadable.
“No,” he answers, continuing to march on. Aerin follows, using her magic to thicken their coats. He glances a look at her again, “You don’t need to waste your magic on me, Princess.”
“Don’t be stubborn, it’s cold out here.” Aerin internally curses her Southern blood as the wind bites at her skin. She thickens the lining of her gloves and boots as well.
“I have a Dragon living inside of me,” Malice reminds her.
“Yes, I am aware,” Aerin says, waving him off as he tries to guide her over a downed tree laying across the trail.
“So, I do not feel the cold,” he elaborates, tying half his hair back in a bun, uncovering his pointed ears.
“Oh,” Aerin remarks, remembering the times clothes had literally melted from his body.
“Malice?” Aerin asks tentatively. The Dragon-Fae looks over his shoulder. For once, he is leading instead of following her. Aerin doesn’t wait for his likely impatient response, examining his face. He looks cut from a book of lore, brutal and handsome at the same time. Massive, formidable, feared, and yet… last night he looked at her with reverence in his eyes.
“Did you mean what you said yesterday?”
“You’ll have to be more specific; I said many things yesterday.” He casts his gaze forward again.
"It was a long day,” Aerin agrees. This weekend is going to wear down Aerin’s bones. Age her fifty years.
“I’m afraid today will prove just as long, Princess. We should be focusing on what you are going to say to this Alpha,” he says grumpily, holding out a hand to help Aerin down a few large steps. She takes it despite not needing to. He releases her when she gets to the bottom.
“The part about it not being the blood-bond. The part about wanting me since we met,” Aerin elaborates. “Now seems as good a time as any to discuss your feelings,” she teases.
“You need to focus,” he argues.
“Malice,” Aerin says, exasperated. She stops walking, and hearing her tone, Malice halts, turning to face her.
“I didn’t think it was right of me, to have those feelings for you, at that time. I wasn’t even sure I liked you. In fact, I didn’t like you, and I was certain it was just your…” He gestures up and down her body with an annoyed look on his face. “There are rumors about the Tolvares, even here.”
Aerin swallows down the conflicting feelings she has about her family’s legacy. “And now?” she prompts.
“I thought last night made it pretty clear.” He avoids eye contact with her.
Irritation swirls inside of Aerin. She stomps ahead, taking the lead. Malice lets her walk in silence for a while, the only sounds the birds, trees rustling, and boots trekking rhythmically over hard dirt.
Finally, minutes later, he grabs her wrist.
“Enough!” he growls, spinning her to face him. “What about last night was upsetting to you? I thought I gave you exactly what you wanted!”
His annoyance is matched with Aerin’s own; she rips her wrist from his hand.
“No, you didn’t. And you know that, Malice.”
“What more could you possibly want?” he snarls, loud enough that birds take off from the trees.
Aerin’s frustration melts into sadness, into an ache where the blood-bond lies, into this thing she wants so badly that every day without it wears against her.
Her voice wavers in a way she hates when she says, “You hardly even touched me.”
Malice stills at her admission.
