I struggled against my attacker, but he didn’t budge, his arms locking me against the wall. A glowering face appeared in my vision, and the scent of salt and something darker surrounded me. Pale green eyes practically glowed in the dim lighting, but any beauty was overshadowed by the anger raging in them.
The male barked something at me in Rivellan, pushing me harder against the stone.
“Stop!” I cried out. “You’re hurting me.”
His hands held firm as he snarled something that sounded like a question.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying!” I shot back, pissed that this asshole thought it was okay to push me around. I thought people in this castle were supposed to kiss my ass or something, but this guy clearly didn’t get the memo. He wasn’t dressed like a servant, but he also wasn't dressed like the courtiers. He wore tight black leather breeches and a long sleeve purple tunic. It was the first time I saw someone who wasn’t displaying their tattoos obviously.
He shoved me once more, then dropped his hands, taking a step back but maintaining the scowl on his face. Now that I wasn’t being manhandled, I could actually make out his features. He appeared slightly older than me, maybe late twenties, and his face was all hard lines and dark edges. High, sharp cheekbones, strong chin and a slightly crooked nose that had likely been broken and not set correctly—an oddity in this world of perfect beings. The only soft thing about him was his wavy, espresso colored hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, the length kissing the back of his shoulder blades. He looked like an angel of death, beautiful and terrifying all at once.
His eyes were still fixed on mine, anger blazing in them, and his hands clenched at his sides like he was forcing restraint upon himself. I had no idea what I had done to enrage him so thoroughly and that only fueled my own anger more.
I closed the gap between us and shoved him backward. He obviously wasn’t expecting a return assault because he actually stumbled, shock flashing across his face.
At least a head taller than me, his body was all tight, lean muscle. It occurred to me in a brief moment of clarity that Irarely had to look up at a guy. At five-foot-ten, I usually met them eye to eye, and if I was wearing my chunky boots it was basically a guarantee. This guy, though, had to be at least six-foot-four. Taller even than Dey.
His anger rekindled, and he was back in my face yelling at me in Rivellan.
“What is your problem, asshole?” I shot back, a darkness inside me rising to meet his wrath head on. It was hard to intimidate someone you had to look up at, but I was doing my damned best. I would not roll over for this jerk.
He glared at me, our bodies so close I could feel the pressure of his chest on mine as I breathed in and out. The confrontation lasted longer than it should have, but we were both trapped inside our own fury.
Finally I took a small step back, needing a break from the heat coming off his body and the swirl of his intoxicating scent surrounding me. It was such a familiar smell, but I couldn't place it.
The side of his mouth curled into a smirk. Clearly he thought he won our standoff.
“Don’t you know who I am?” I demanded. I felt a little dirty saying those words, but for the first time since I was brought here, I actually wanted to claim my title. If only to force him to his knees. “Princepa,” I hissed, recalling the one Rivellan word I knew.
I expected his eyes to grow wide. I expected him to drop to his knees and begin groveling. I expected he might even shed a tear as he begged my forgiveness.
What I did not expect was the loud bark of laughter that echoed through the hall as he invaded my space once more, shaking his head. No begging, no groveling, not even a head tilt in deference. Instead, he spoke softly in Rivellan, paused, thenleaned in close to my ear and growled, “Fea Remia.” Those two gravelly words punctuated the silence and settled into my brain.
He stalked off down the hall, leaving me with my chest heaving, pulse racing, and fire coursing through my veins.
I took in a deep breath, trying to calm myself and caught a hint of that lingering scent of his. It hit me then, what it reminded me of, and I remained in the hallway until it dissipated, wishing I could bottle it.
He smelled like the ocean during a thunderstorm.
Chapter fourteen
A loud knock on the door pulled me from sleep the next morning. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head, hoping whoever it was would go away. I’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, my brain unable to power down after everything I’d experienced.
The knocking continued, and I sat up so I could shout at whoever it was to fuck off. Before the words came out, the door swung open and the blonde sisters entered.
I buried my head under my pillow again. “Hey guys, can I get a few more hours of sleep?” I knew they couldn’t understand me even if my voice wasn’t half muffled, but I was hoping my tone would convey my desires.
It didn’t.
They went bustling about the room, opening curtains, turning the shower on, and stoking the fire in the hearth.
I groaned louder. What was the point in being a princess if I didn’t even have the power to decide when I woke up?
One of the sisters pulled the blankets off me and I surrendered. They clearly had marching orders to get my ass up, so I slid off the bed and dragged myself into the bathroom.
After luxuriating in another perfectly hot shower, I wrapped the huge, fluffy towel around me and went in search of the new clothing that was dropped off last night.
The towel almost slipped from my grip when I stepped back into the room and saw Dey lounging on my bed, casually leaning back against the headboard as if he belonged there.
