“Fine.” Wrath steps closer. “Since you like nefarious dealings?—”
“I am not nefarious!” I lower my hands to my sides.
“You are undoubtedly a menace, Raelys.” Wrath’s keen gaze studies me.
“Well,you'rea scoundrel,” I remind him. “You keep speaking as if you have something to offer me.”
I try to throw him off. To make him question where I might be heading. No one will keep my freedom from me. Those kings who keep me as a pawn will learn I am the hand that topples them.
Wrath raises a curious brow at me. “Then what do you want?”
“Money.”
“Money?” he repeats in disbelief.
“Gold,” I clarify.
Wrath reaches forward, hooking a finger around the chain of my necklace. He yanks roughly on it. I stumble, my neck craning forward as the space evaporates between us. His scent fills my nose.Bergamot.It’s not at all the smell I’d imagined on him—light, aromatic, and a bit citrusy.
“And what would my pretty princess do with gold?” His deep voice rumbles against my skin like the purr of a cat. Wrath traces his thumb over the crest, not releasing the tension on the chain.
“Princess things,” I say sweetly, denying him any type of honest answer.
Wrath lets out a gruff laugh. “Do you even know what this crest means?”
“No.”
“Legend says that Krateus Izydor had wings,” he explains, releasing his hold on my necklace, letting it fall. “Many people saw him as a savior. Agod.”
I give him a mercurial look, tucking the necklace back into my dress. “Like a bird?”
He smirks. “Yes. Like a bird.”
“Sounds lame.” I shrug, leaning away from him.
“Tough crowd.”
“Tell me he could at least do something cool, like… rewrite time or something.” I ponder the thought of what a god is capable of. “Or shape the continent.”
“So destructive, Princess,” he says derisively.
“Why are you talking about a dead guy?” I place my hands on my hips.
“That dead guy is your lineage,” Wrath reminds me. “How about this—you try to open it for today. If you can’t, you can return to your peasant job.”
I seethe at his insult but try not to let it show. My job at the tavern is a peasant job, but he doesn’t know that. He has no right to act all high and mighty just because he’s the king. Those ‘peasants’ are his hardworking subjects, the ones keeping the kingdom alive.
“What do I get out of it?” I counter.
“I’ll let you read what’s on those pages,” he says. “Shelikely wrote entries about you. Don’t you want to read them? To hear her thoughts?”
“I wantmoney,” I insist. There is a plan I want to try that requires an investment larger than what I make at the tavern.
A tick forms in his jaw, his patience reaching its limits. Wrath’s hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a small pouch. He grabs my wrist, turning my palm open and plopping the pouch into my hand with an annoyed sigh. Coins clink together as I close my fingers around the leather, a sense of satisfaction filling me.
“Okay, I’ll help you.” I slide the pouch into my satchel and step over to the journal.
“Place your palm on the cover.” Wrath stands behind me. His palm moves to cover mine. I pull away, covering the back of my hand instinctively. I don’t want him to touch my scars, let alone see them.
