The words leave my mouth lightly, but my chest tightens.
I’ve heard—and seen—so many versions of him. From the fae whispering in the kitchens. From the women who claim to have shared his bed.
Is the man standing before me the same one who played cards with Cassy? The ruthless king who would have killed his own guard for touching me? Or the man who risked his life to save mine?
I’m beginning to understand that he wears desire like armor, letting the world believe whatever it wants.
His jaw tightens as he strides toward me, reins in hand, closing the distance until his shadow falls over mine, eclipsing me.
“What have you heard, Fire?” he asks, his mouth curving into a dangerous, knowing grin.
My breath catches. The air feels suddenly thinner—charged.
“Many things,” I say carefully, refusing to look away.
His gaze darkens. “Well,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “most—if not all—probably are true.”
My pulse jumps.
“As I said,” he continues, a low growl threading beneath his words, “I’m a man of many talents. Centuries’ worth, in fact.” He pauses, then leans in. Heat radiates from him, a smirk curving his lips. “Things I’d very much enjoy teaching you, Fire.”
My pulse stutters.Not that line again,the scoundrel.
Something flashes through me. Not anger. Something worse… Awareness.
The image flashes unbidden: hours pressed against him in the saddle, his warmth at my back, nowhere to retreat. Nowhere to hide from how easily my body remembers him.
No.
I glare back. “Let me be very clear, Highness,” I say coolly. “I’d rather die than let you teach me anything ever again.”
The air between us crackles. His gaze sharpens, trying to intimidate me.
I don’t give him the chance. “In fact,” I add, already stepping away, “I think I’ll walk.”
I call softly to Brimstone and Ashwing and start down the trail.
“It’s half a day’s ride,” Keiren calls after me, exasperated.
“Then it’ll be good exercise,” I shoot back. Walking hurts less than letting myself want him.
“Your ankle is in no condition for that,” he retorts, but I ignore him.
The sharpclipof hooves follows in my wake, and before I know it, Keiren is in front of us, turning Aetherion to block the path. Brimstone rears slightly, bringing us to an abrupt halt.
“Move!” I demand.
Keiren mutters something under his breath in a language I don’t recognize, but the tone needs no translation. He’s livid.
“You’d really let them suffer longer,” he says, “just to spite me?”
The gravity of his presence presses in. I hate how it freezes me. Humbles me. More than anything, though, I hate that he’s right. Brimstone isn’t fit to carry me, and the longer I argue, the longer Ashwing and the foal suffer.
I stare down at the forest floor, fists clenched. “Fine.”
He dismounts and holds out a hand to help me up, but I ignore that, too. In one swift motion, I mount Aetherion myself, gripping the saddle to steady my bruised body.
“Well, let’s go,” I mutter, still avoiding his gaze. “We’re burning daylight. Your Highness,” I say, offering him a shallow bow from the saddle—more insult than respect—and flick my wrist. The infuriating man just stands there, smiling. I whip my head toward him, and he holds my gaze a beat too long, his expression unreadable.
