“The Whispering Willow…” I sigh, awaiting his scrutiny.
“An interesting choice of employment.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“On average, how many fights do you see a night?” Wrath asks curiously.
“I only pay attention when t-they t-take their tunics off,” I admit boldly, the alcohol giving me unfiltered assurance.
He raises a brow. “Hiding that salacious side, are we, Princess?"
I erupt in a fit of giggles. “W-wouldn’tyoulike to know?”
“Just be careful on the eastern side of town,” he warns.
“Why?” My lips quirk up. “Are y-youworriedabout me?”
Wrath ignores my question. I notice he’s trailing a step behind me, prepared to catch me if I trip over my own two feet again. My steps slow, and I turn to face him, stopping my advancement.
“Why are you following me?” I ask.
“I’m making sure you get to your room after you nearly toppled me in the hall,” he replies plainly, standing before me.
“The King of Khalessor taking time out of his busy night for me?” I say playfully as I turn and continue walking. “You must not bethatimportant, then.”
“Well, I am a scoundrel.” Wrath follows me.
“You accept your fate.” I feel a sense of triumph in getting him to admit it.
“Oh,Princess,” he purrs. “I think it’s you who needs to accept your fate.”
“What fate?” I sass him.
“That you enjoy it here.”
It may be the copious amounts of wine, but at thismoment, he’s right—I am thoroughly enjoying my time in the North. I would never give Wrath the satisfaction of knowing that, though. Our banter is like a duel, each line a scheme for the other’s surrender.
My smile widens. “Then you’ve fallen for my plan.”
“Your plan to fool me into thinking you enjoy it here in the North?” Wrath muses. “And then what?”
“It’s no fun if I tell you—” I stumble while walking down a small step, my arms shooting out to stop my fall as I anticipate hitting the ground.
Arms wrap around me, stopping me mid-air as Wrath bends down and picks me up. “Come on, Princess. Let's get you to bed.”
“Careful, too many altruistic deeds… and people might think you’re not soooo…wrathful,” I mumble, my body liquid in his grasp.
“Noted.”
My eyelids feel heavy, the world spinning slightly as I drift away in the safety of his hold. I reach up, smoothing a hand down his coat to steady myself. My mark excitedly flares from his touch—the traitor. In my drunken state, I inhale deeply, taking in his delicious scent.
Something crunches against my left hand, and I notice a piece of parchment sticking from his coat pocket. If I distract him, I can take it. There may be something to learn, an important letter to intercept. I must get it from him without him noticing, but how?
Wrath impressively holds me with one arm as he twists the knob, opening the door to my room and walking inside. As he bends down to set me on the bed, I reach up and press my fingers on the very place that would cost someone a hand if they touched—his scar. I gently brush down the length of it, moving closer while my left hand lowers to his pocket.
“Raelys,” Wrath warns, his voice a low growl. His body goes rigid as he restrains himself from moving. I trail lower, past his jaw and onto his neck. His breath catches in his throat from my caress.
“Yes?” I whisper, tilting my chin up slowly, inching closer to kiss him.
