There’s a plaque below the tapestry with an inscription in Old Vatran she can’t fully translate, not with how scratched and worn it is. The date she can read, though: EC 12. EC—the Era of the Covenant. Stars, it’s not just old, it’s ancient. This tapestry was made only twelve years after the very battle it portrays. It must be priceless.
She looks back at Nyx, trying to see something of herself in him other than the navy hair they share, when she spots it. Faint on his forehead, but it’s there. A mate mark. The witch king had a mate? But that’s not in any of the scriptures, either; nothing about a mate, only that he had a wife, Queen Kira. She can’t see what the mark is, she’s too far away. She eyes the cordon surrounding the tapestry and is about to step over it when she hears movement behind her. She draws a potion from her belt, unstoppering it as she spins toward the noise, then stalls with her arm above her head.
He leans against the bookshelves, arms crossed and black hair tousled, as if he just got home from a dragon ride—the fact that he’s in his gray leather jacket and pants suggests he has. Stormy eyes are fixed on her, and her face heats under his scrutinizing stare.
Prince Zryan is the last person on this continent she wanted to bump into tonight, especially in a place where she’s most definitely not supposed to be. His gaze flits between her face and the vial, evidently wondering what she’s going to do. She’s wondering the same thing. Does she need to use it? Is he going to kill her? His relaxed body language suggests he’s not about to slit her throat, but then, he is a Teleporter and it wouldn’t be much of an effort for him to just flash next to her and stab her.
She waits, arm suspended in the air as if her puppet master forgot they were partway through a show.
Finally, he breaks the crushing silence. “This explains what’s wrong with the guard.”
Panic flares in her. “Is he okay?”
Zryan cocks his head. “He’s fine, just a little… confused.” The relief is short-lived; she’s still in deep shit. “What are you doing here, Princess?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, willfully misunderstanding him. “What about you, Prince?”
He raises a brow. “No. I couldn’t sleep, either. How long do you think you can keep your arm up like that? My shoulder’s aching just watching you.”
“As long as I need to. Which will probably be as long as you’re still here.”
“I see. Would it help at all if I told you I’m not going to kill you?”
“Not really, as I trust you about as far as I could throw your dragon. You said you wanted to mount my head in the dining hall earlier.”
“True, though you should take it as a compliment. Most of the heads I collect, I impale on spikes and leave to rot on the ramparts.” She scoffs, though she’s not wholly sure whether he’s joking. His lips quirk, and he shakes his head just once. “A lot has changed in the past few hours. For one, we no longer have to duel each other—the Covenant has confirmed that—and two, you’re no longer going to die by my hand. If you’d chosen your timing better, we could have added ‘not having to dance’ to that list and prevented everyone witnessing me trying to lead a woman with as much rhythm as a sea slug.”
Asea slug? “Charming. Your manners are about on par with one.”She ignores his other comments; she doesn’t want him to know she was in the dark about Skylar. About any of it. She studies him, wondering how he’s feeling about all this, about this new heir. No, not just heir. His newsister. Goddess, she’s not the only one who’s had a big night.
She lowers the vial slowly and dares to look away, back at the tapestry. He’s quiet for a few moments and she peers over her shoulder; he’s still propped against the shelves, still watching her. But his brow has softened and he’s not making a move for his weapon.
“Why not kill me?” she asks. “If you did it now, no one would even know it was you. You’d save your… heir. You’d keep the Heart.”
“Fortunately for you, that’s not how I operate.”
She turns away from him again, eyes on Nyx. “Really? The rest of your family does.”
A beat passes. “Would you like me to kill you? Is this why you’re pushing it?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, but I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to your family and near-death experiences.”
“Well I’m not in the mood for murdering witches tonight, so consider this a reprieve in your bad luck.”
A creak sounds as he pushes off the bookshelves and walks toward her. She spins to meet him, vial raised again, and he tuts. Actually tuts at her. Indignation bursts through her, and she’s tempted to chuck it at him just for that.
“What’s in that bottle you’re decidedly not throwing at me?” He stands next to her, so close now she can smell him. It’s like ocean winds, and she has to stop herself from breathing him in because he smells so good.Enemy, she reminds herself. He is the enemy. Even if he’s not planning to kill her here now, he still wants her dead. His family still plans to go to war with hers.
“The only way you’re finding out is if I use it on you, and, trust me, you really don’t want that,” she replies.
“Fascinating.” His eyes track down to the Brewer’s Belt. “What skill you lack on the dance floor you evidently make up for with your mastery of potions.”
“Keep talking like that and you’ll find out just how much of a master I am.”
His jaw tightens, eyes flitting briefly to her mouth, before he looks away.
“So, you discovered the tapestry,” he says, changing the subject. “There are few things my mother loves more than this.”
Astrid follows his gaze. “What about you? Does she love you more than this tapestry?”
