The floor creaked behind me, and I spun, already raising the dagger I had drawn. Harkin was awake, his expression a mix of tiredness and annoyance. He was unarmed, but I was not foolish enough to think him defenseless.
“It did not have to come to this,” Harkin sighed.
His calm disappointment only proved fuel to the fire of my anger. Raising my dagger, I rushed him. Harkin sidestepped, and my blade sliced through air. He grabbed my arm—his fire warmed hands blazing against my bare skin—and tucked it tightly against his side. He pulled my body to him, locking me in place with a hand at the back of my neck.
Harkin forced my eyes to meet his. “Stop this. You are acting like a child.”
I thrashed against his grip to no avail. “Get your hands off me!”
“What must I do to convince you that I am on your side? What do you need? What do you want?” Desperation filled his voice, and I sensed that he was trying to shove it down.
“Why do you insist upon this when I have made it clear it is not what I want?” I cried, voice hoarse with repressed emotion. “Why does the Prince of Acsilla give a fuck about where I am and what I do with my life? You act as if I understand what is going on here when I do not.”
“You do not want to understand.” Harkin’s face turned from me as if he could not bear to look me in the eyes for a moment longer. “I have already explained the prince’s motivations.”
“Right, of course, your prince is such a kind and generous royal who has dedicated his life to helping poor, lost Rázuri girls build a better life. Is that what I am to understand?” I laughed, loud and disbelieving. It was a joke, and we both knew it.
Regret passed over Harkin’s face. His grip on my body loosened, just the slightest amount.
An angry huff of breath escaped me. “I thought not. I do not believe a word from your poisonous mouth. You are fucking intolerable, and I willneverhelp you.”
I wrenched from his grasp, taking advantage of his lax hold. My dagger licked out once more, poised just over his heart. The tip tore through the fabric of his tunic before it simply stopped, frozen midair as he had done on the training grounds.
An armor of impenetrable air surrounded his body, protecting him from my fatal cut.
Harkin tore the dagger from my hand, my fingers twisting painfully. He tossed it to the floor, and made quick work of disarming me. The rest of my daggers and my sword were relieved from my possession, tossed haphazardly in a pile before the fireplace.
“If you choose to act like a denied child, then I will treat you like one. You no longer have the privilege of being armed in my presence.Should you have a change of heart and agree to train your mágik with me, as planned, you may earn back your weapons one at a time. Just like you earned that Ordelésan armor. The choice is yours.” His voice was toneless, his face blank.
“I have already made my choice,” I snarled, but the red had cooled from my mind.
“So be it.”
I was struck once more with the oddity of the man before me. I had met him first as a sarcastic and witty opponent, I had ridden through the woods with a kind companion, and now he stood before me as a cold and empty presence.
It was impossible to pin down who the true Harkin was, and it unnerved me more than I cared to admit.
His mágik released me, and he strode back to the settee without a second glance.
Chaptereighteen
Harkin
Seren Corso was a storm cloud of a woman. Her disparate eyes were a brewing tempest, cold and sharp. Unpredictable. She could be so powerful—dangerous even—if she would only let herself wield her mágik at its full potential. Annoyance rose in me at her lack of effort.
Her lightning eyes were quiet now, almost bored. A single droplet of water danced along her fingertip and licked at her palm.
I ran an impatient hand through my hair, turning so she would not see the flash of anger that coursed through me. Days had passed since we arrived at the cottage, yet Seren still could not manage more than a palm full of water. More likely, she only refused to summon her mágik.
It heated my blood to know that she was capable of so much, yet tried so little. It felt as if she failed on purpose, and I could not help but wonder if this was one long game of hers. To provoke me. To crack my facade. To make me hate her as much as she claimed to hate me.
I was fighting the urge with all my might, but she didn’t make it easy. I was angry with myself, too, for making a mess of things. Never before had I come across a person so difficult to get through to.
My masks hadalwayslaced with ease. I was an expert at crafting the guise my marks wanted to see. Manipulation came easy to me, and lies were quickly poised on the tip of my tongue, but I could not figure out who she wanted me to be.
I had half a mind to hate her for that alone. It certainly hadn’t leant itself to us working together. We were endlessly at odds.
Seren earned back the first of her weapons for her participation, the smallest dagger in her repertoire. She had promptly lost it again in her second failed attempt to end my life as I slept. She reacquired the small knife another time—and she had managed to keep the blade to herself—but she hadn’t earned any others as her progress continued to stall. That had not stopped her from attempting to flee from me half a dozen times.
