Shadows clung to his body, prowling for prey while behind me, another guard approached then gasped. He didn’t last long.
It was a silent death. As silent as Ronan closing the distance.
My pulse didn’t stagger, only changed rhythm. “Sorry. Wrong girl.” I nodded vaguely over my shoulder. “She must have been at the next sacrifice over. Happens all the time. Easy mistake.”
One final stride and he was before me.
Close enough that I had to tilt my chin just to meet his gaze, to see the gold flecks lining the jade of his eyes, trying to shatter through the brilliance. They stripped me bare as I held my breath.
I knew the rumors, even believed most of them. But nothing prepared me for this. Forhim.
His head tilted, studying me like a predator deciding where to bite first. “It wasn’t a question.”
Every syllable came out smoothly, his voice dragging slowly across my skin. There was restraint in it, something caged. And I felt it down to my core.
“Well, if we’re going by nicknames…” I steadied my tone. He had many names. Some bred from awe, others from terror. But I knew which one would mock more than praise. “What’s the famed Harrowed Prince doing on Luamis soil? I’d have thought the sun might scorch those delicate scales.”
My eyes betrayed me when he smirked, roaming his entirety, catching the ink first, curling around his throat, spilling down his neck. Swirls and sigils disappearing beneath his tunic.
My cheeks failed me too, heat blooming hot and uninvited at the thought of what was hidden beneath it.
Thick brows lifted, one slashed by a scar that cut it nearly in half. Another, almost twin to it, nicked his upper lip. As if blades couldn’t resist tracing him. As if destruction wanted to mark him for its own.
“You know—” It was a smoky exhale, braced by the flex of his hand on his knee as he lowered himself to meet my face. “I’ve never quite preferred that nickname.”
I bit my bottom lip before I could stop myself.
His nostrils flared, his hand lifting, reckless fingers tugging at the leather on my shoulder.
My blade was faster, pressing to his throat before he could bare another inch of me, the steel kissing the vein that pulsed there.
A trace of amusement pulled at his mouth when my voice dropped to a whisper that hissed like the darkness hidden in me—
“Do not touch me.”
The blade sank deeper.
The knuckles grazing my collarbone dropped, but didn’t move to retreat, only leaned closer as he said, “Prince sounds so…” The breath that ghosted my ear was a molten whisper, sending tremors racing down my spine. “…fragile.”
Warmth drifted off him in waves, wild heat tasting of cinnamon and fire, comfort and chaos colliding.
When he finally drew back, I could see where my blade had nicked his throat, coaxing a bead of blood that lingered like a promise before it dissolved.
I brushed my tongue along my lip, considering.
The first thing he did was smile. Just enough to be insulting.
“Careful.” His focus moved to the blade for a split second. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m restraining myself.” I aimed the point back toward his pulse. “There’s a difference.”
His eyes, too bright for him, tracked the line of my arm, my wrist, the steadiness of my grip. Genuine amusement sparked there.
That annoyed me more than fear would have.
He took a step back. I followed. Another step, as if this were a dance and he’d decided the tempo.
Then the smoke moved, slipping quietly, curling from his shoulders, brushing my cheek as he shifted. It caught one of my loose curls and tucked it back from my face.
