I eye him, half wondering if I ought to reclaim my hand. “And would you compete with less vim were I less pretty?”
He pulls a face. “I doubt it. I am by nature a competitive idiot. In truth, you could be repulsive, and I would still feel the absolute hellfire need to decimate the other champions.”
“Like you decimated them last night?” I ask dryly.
At that, he lets go of my hand and scoots a little away from me on the bench, rubbing the back of his neck. “I confess, last night was not my proudest moment. I would like to say I demonstrated great cunning and quick thinking, but when those awful bat beasties burst into the room, it was nothing but a mad rush for survival. I happened to be standing nearest the dais, happened to spot the sword. That’s all.”
“Maybe.” I smooth my skirts, turning my gaze back to the sparkling lilies once more. “King Alderin declared you winner of the trial nonetheless.”
Elis stretches out his legs, leaning his elbows on the back of the bench. “And I am grateful for the king’s favor, make no mistake.” He looks at me then, one curl of brown hair falling across his brow. “But not as grateful as I would be for the favor of our illustrious princess.” He slips one hand out then, touching the end of the rose-hued scarf I hold. “What do you say? Am I making myself pleasing?”
I turn to answer pertly, only to feel another one of those strange, tingling pricks in my brain. It’s sharp enough to make me catch my breath, and I look back across the garden, searching for I know not what. There’s nothing to see besides the guards standing at a distance.
“I would be honored, Roselle,” Elis persists, leaning in closer once more until his breath tickles the hairs of my neck, “to be given the opportunity to wear your colors into the next trial.”
I twist the scarf around my burnt hand, squeezing it tight. “And do you think you’ve earned the right, Lord Elis?”
He chuckles warmly. “I rather think I haven’t. But I’d be more than willing to try. Tell me, is there anything else I might do to please you?”
I grimace. That awful prickling sensation will not relent. I’m not imagining it…I’m sure I’m not. Valtar is here, somewhere. Lurking about like a gods-blighted phantom. And what does he think he’s doing, spying on my time with Elis? We may have formed a tenuous alliance, even acknowledged the beginnings of friendship, but that doesn’t give him the right to be…to be…I don’t even know what this is!Possessiveis the only word that springs to mind.
Jaw rolling, I turn on the bench, facing Lord Elis directly. “What if you were to kiss me?”
Elis’s eyes brighten. “Is that what the princess requires?”
“Undecided.” I tip my head to one side. “We won’t know until you try, will we?”
That darling, devilish smile breaks across his face. Immediately, Elis slips a hand to my cheek, drawing me toward him. I inhale the warm sweetness of his breath, then his lips slot over mine, firm and experienced, but not insistent. There’s a slight question to his touch, as though he’s testing the waters, allowing me to decide how to continue.
I grab the front of his tunic and pull him to me fiercely. He responds at once, deepening the kiss. His hand slips from my cheek to my hair, and the other wraps around my waist, drawing me across the bench into him. His lips move against mine, and the tip of his tongue plays against my teeth. I do not open to give him entrance, but neither do I pull back at once. A little gasp of air, and I kiss him again, just as hard, just as forcefully.
But I cannot help the sinking realization yawning in myheart. This meeting of lips on lips is all perfectly pleasant, but…it doesn’t feel like…fire.
I break away suddenly, planting my hand flat on his chest and pushing firmly. Elis breathes a little hard, blinking with surprise, his complexion flushed. For a moment, he stares at me. Then he smiles again, though it’s a little lopsided, not quite as sure of itself as it was a moment before. “Well, Princess!” he manages at last, giving his head a quick shake. “What do you say? Have I earned your favor?”
His fingers once more reach for the scarf. Was that his only goal all this while? To secure the token and the opportunity to flaunt his success over the other champions? If so, I cannot blame him. After all, my own motives for kissing him weren’t exactly pure. Part of me is tempted to ask him to kiss me again, just to see what might happen.
Instead, I draw myself together, assuming the ladylike posture Philippa has been working so hard to ingrain in me. “Indeed, Lord Elis,” I say very sweetly, and hold up the scarf, taking care that it’s in full view of any watching eyes, “you have performed admirably. Kindly accept this gift of my esteem.”
Elis takes the scarf eagerly and raises it to his nose, breathing deep. It doesn’t smell like anything save the perfume Philippa spritzed on it in advance; the gesture is sensual, nonetheless. “I will wear this with pride at tomorrow’s trial,” he says, and tucks the scarf away into the front of his tunic. Then he turns to me, his expression a little harder than before, his eyes keen. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Whether or not you’ll go through with marrying whoever wins the championship.”
“Oh.” I look down at my clasped hands. “King Alderin has declared it to be so.”
“You do have a choice though,” Elis says, a trace of uncertainty in his tone.
“Do I?”
“Of course.” He shrugs and leans back against the bench, resting his elbows in the same idle pose as before. “Let’s say Prince Taigan wins—you could always burn this whole place to the ground!”
I can’t resist laughing. “Something tells me,” I say, tossing curls over my shoulder, “that would require quite a lot more fire than I’ll ever manage to summon.”
“Perhaps,” Elis acknowledges. Then he reaches out and takes my hand again. Just for a moment, just a slight squeeze of my fingers. But it’s enough to wipe the smile from my face as I meet his gaze. “Never forget, Princess Roselle, the hope of all Belanor rests on you. I pray, when need arises, you will find fire aplenty.”
23
