“Don’t shut down on me. Ask me why I needed to be apart from you.” Harkin was so close, we shared breath.
“Why?” My voice was hardly a whisper.
“I needed time away because the last time we spoke, you told me you were to be crowned Queen of Acsilla. I needed to leave before I did something selfish like ask you not to accept the role. It would not be fair of me to ask, knowing you will make an excellent queen.” We were both breathing heavily now, hurt and anger and wanting palpable between us.
I did not understand what he meant, and he knew, without me saying a word.
“As queen, you will make decisions for your people first and always. You will answer to them and to the council, and both will expect you to wed a proper match one day.” Harkin’s eyes were frantic, willing me to understand. “Ayla was betrothed to Lady Emilia Terrance. I am sure the match would stand, or they would find you someone else—if you preferred—but it will be someone of noble blood or a foreign emissary, someone with a stellar reputation. They will never allow you to choose someone like me. That is why I had to leave, because I will take too much. I will be too selfish if I stay with you.” Tears fell down his cheeks as he wrenched himself away. “We should go back before it gets too cold.”
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but my mind whirred as I contemplated his words, so I only followed silently.
Harkin had left so that he would not ask me to choose him over my title, but hewantedme to choose him. He wanted to be selfish with me, to haveme.
I didn't know what to do when we needed each other, but the kingdom needed me too. I knew he was right about my future marriage prospects; the council knew of Harkin and his reputation. He would not help their kingdom gain alliances or wealth or power. The council would not approve of a relationship between us, but what did that matter when my heart knew his?
Chapter forty-nine
Seren
The woods were gilded in moonlight, growing silver as night swept in and erased the golden light of day. Leaves fluttered, catching the moon on their waxy faces. Night blooming jasmine stretched their petals, reaching for the glittering stars above.
I kept my gaze locked on the beautiful scenery around me and firmly off of Harkin. My mind spun with the words he had confessed, and how I might convince him—and myself—that we could find a way to make this work.
My boots trudged lines through the earth, trailing a pace behind Harkin. I expected him to lead me into the house, but he took me, instead, into the barn. I followed him up a staircase to the loft above.
The space was furnished and decorated—lived in. A large bed was centered in the room. Harkin saw me gaze upon it. “You’ll take the bed, of course. I can sleep on the floor.”
I frowned. “I won't let you sleep on the floor in your own home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,youaren’t sleeping on the floor,” Harkin scoffed.
“Then I suppose we’re both sleeping in the bed.” I began unlacing my boots, tossing them into the corner.
“Ren,” Harkin groaned, shaking his head. “This is a bad idea.”
I discarded my cloak, moving to slip free of my tunic as I sat on the edge of the bed. I still hadn’t figured out how to make this work, but I knew I was willing to fight for what I wanted. I was willing to fight forhim, even if that meant playing dirty.
Harkin watched with rapt attention, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he imagined them upon my hips, my bare arms, the curve of my waist. He cursed as my tunic fell away, exposing smooth skin.
Moonlight poured upon the lines of my muscles and doused my hair in molten silver. My chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. I pulled my legs free of my trousers—painfully slowly—and let them fall to the floor.
Harkin turned away, one hand pressed to his chest. The fingers of his other hand moved to smooth his brow, massaging hard against his temple. He backed up a few steps, trying to put space between us. He turned back, and his eyes were blazing.
I settled among the blankets, stretching my limbs languorously. The thin wash of my chemise brushed against the tops of my exposed thighs. I drew the quilt up slowly, relaxing into pillows that smelled like him.
My eyes were heavy-lidded as I watched him watch me. His boots fell away, his tunic and his trousers close behind.
The bed dipped as his weight settled beside me.
Butterflies tore through my stomach, as agonizing as they were sweet. Our bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee, snug in the too small bed.
Harkin drew away, but I stopped him with the soft brush of my hand against his bare forearm. He stilled, but his breathing gave himaway. It was too steady, too deep—timed out to a false pattern of calm.
“Goodnight, Ren,” Harkin whispered, though his eyes remained wide. He watched the stars through the skylight above.
I ran my fingers along the soft skin of his wrist, trailed them along his veins and the lines of his calloused palm. I traced the shape of each of his fingers then dropped to the rippled expanse of his stomach beneath. I dragged them lower, and he exhaled sharply. His head snapped to the side.
Our noses brushed, mouths parting.
