A groan escapes me. I know he was with Rosie last night. Her scent is all over him in such an intoxicating way. Now I’m imagining it. “What would our little Flower think if she came into the library at this very moment?”
A wild grin spreads over Farron’s full lips, and he pushes me onto the table with such a force it sends books scattering to the floor. The cool wood presses against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him as he leans over me, his weight pinning me in place. “She’d be dripping.”
As if I’m not aware. I have Farron to blame for a lot to do with Rosalina. After I first left her at Castletree, I swore I’d never see her again. But then, of course, Rosie had to witness not one buttwoof her mates fucking. Her arousal had been so strong. I’d tried to resist it, but the pull dragged me up to her. If Kel hadn’t shown up, I’m not sure there was much that would have stopped me from dropping to my knees and promising her everything just for a kiss.
“That she would.” I sigh.
Farron’s hair falls forward in loose waves, brushing against my skin as he hovers over me, his lips claiming mine once more.
“Farron—” I breathe out between kisses, my voice catching on his name. My hands find the fabric of his tunic, clutching it as though letting go might shatter whatever fragile, dangerous thing blooms between us.
“You’re beautiful, Cas. I’ve always thought it.”
“And you, Autumn Prince, were always so…” I hesitate,cuteon the tip of my tongue. But that doesn’t quite fit him anymore. “Enchanting.”
Farron lowers to me again, his hips pressing against mine. Fuck, he’s hard, and it’s making me…excited. Farron’s kisses trail from my mouth to my jaw, the rough stubble of his face scratching against my skin. He moves lower, his lips tracing a path down the curve of my neck.
“I want to mark you,” Farron says, voice lowering to an animalistic growl. “Do you think Kel would be jealous?”
My breath hitches.
“He doesn’t care about Rosie and me because we’re mates,” Farron continues. “Butyou…you he has no claim on. You he discarded.”
Discarded.Yes, that sums it up. Despite my taunting, the Winter Prince has barely spoken to me since I’ve arrived. “Kel just wishes I would leave.”
“Hmm.” Farron’s tongue flicks out before his lips press into the sensitive skin of my neck, sucking gently at first, then harder.
I can’t control the sound that escapes my throat—something between a gasp and a whimper—as the sensation floods through me, sharp and dizzying. My hands grip his shoulders, the faint scrape of his teeth sending sparks through my veins. I arch my hips, unable to help but grind against him.
“Fare,” I groan. “Fare, if you don’t stop, you’re going to find out Kel’s thoughts really quick.”
Farron pulls back. His amber eyes meet mine, gleaming with something primal and possessive. He smirks, his thumb brushing over the tender spot on my neck. “We’ll pause for now. I want to see you yearn for me for a while.”
Farron stands, straightening his vest, then strides from the library with the confidence of a god.
I fall back to the table, gasping. What in the seven realms did I create by taking our sweet Autumn princeling to the Below?
25
Ezryn
The expanse of ice stretches out before me, a spine made ofbones of frost and stone. Voidseal Bridge is truly a wonder, one situated so far at the edge of the world, very few get to gaze upon it. It’s for the best. I don’t think many could stand to look down. The Great Chasm yawns below, a gaping hole of darkness. It swallows even the brilliant white sheen of the snow on the banks above.
I walk on Rosalina’s left side, Caspian on her right, as we head to meet with Keldarion’s uncle, Irahn. We traveled all day yesterday, making camp overnight in a cluster of ice caves near the outskirts of the bridge. It’s a harrowing journey from Frostfang to Voidseal, but we came by sled. The reindeer are well-equipped for the plains of permafrost. Though Caspian could have transported us by briar, we thought that would raise too many questions. A better impression would be made by arriving on foot in the light of day.
Along the bridge, the brave men and women who have sworn their lives to the defense of the chasm busy themselves, restocking bins of arrows, lighting lamps, and maneuvering lifts that drop into the darkness. Irahn keeps a tight hold on thisplace; its strength is evident in every stone, every sharpened pike leaning against the wall. If we’re to launch an attack on the Below, there could be no better base.
That’s what the three of us are here to do: to consult with Irahn and begin preparations. Kel already sent a letter ahead, so he’s expecting us. Well, expecting Rosie and I at least. Caspian is bundled up with a hood so fluffed up with gray fur, only his purple eyes are visible. Caspian knows the Below better than anyone, but it’s safer if he remains anonymous. I doubt the brave men and women guarding the chasm would like to meet its maker.
A bitter wind blows, and I pull my own hood tighter around my face. I wear a thick wool scarf, a heavy coat, and boots that go over my knees, but this cold still sneaks in, settling in my bones. The chill bites sharper here than at Keep Wolfhelm. I can only imagine what it feels like out on the tundra where Kel is.
He’s traveling as far north as north goes. There, he’ll summon the Tundrafolk. They have little dealings with the politics of Frostfang, but they’re loyal and hardy fighters. Kel has asked Rosalina to join him after we’re done here, so Caspian and I will escort her to his camp, then briar back to Keep Wolfhelm. Hopefully by then, Dayton and Farron will be finished with their scouting of Mount Rhuvenmark and we can finalize our plan.
I hold my head high as I walk. It is a great honor that Kel has bestowed upon me, to confer with Irahn and set the plans in place. I will not fail the Sworn Protector of the Realms. Nor our mate.
Rosalina strides beside me, dressed in a long dark navy coat, the cuffs and hood covered in fur, dyed blue. Her cheeks are bright red from the cold, and the air clouds before her. But she keeps her back straight, eyes stern. There’s a new air of elegance about her, a regal determination that grows with each passing day. We pass a huge flag, waving in the wind atop a woodenpole. As Rosalina is silhouetted by the sapphire flag, the seven shooting star sigil of Winter embroidered in white, she looks nothing less than a queen.
Up ahead, the bridge house looms, a sturdy outpost of ice-laced iron and massive stone. A tall man dressed in a heavy cloak exits from it and descends the stairs to the bridge. With his hollowed cheeks, gray hair, and hunter’s eyes, it can only be Irahn. He must have been watching for any strange activity and spotted us.
