Now, I’m fighting not only my need to get through to him, but also the heat building in my core, the memory of sultry songs so consuming that I could lose my mind to them.
Stellen’s focus glides to my lips and his head tilts. Just a little. His listening gesture.
But he gives a firm shake of his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because teaching you involves using my Voice and I can’t do that. Not outside the Alak-Teah. You know this.”
I give a quick nod. “I understand your position and respect it. Your people fear your Voice and their fear will only make me more of a target if I’m seen singing to this armor.”
He leans back as if that were the end of it, but my grip remains tight.
“Simply wearing this dress in Frost puts me in danger.”
Oh, so different to the Iron Kingdom, where this garment was a symbol of power and strength.
“When I thought I couldn’t control the threads, that was a risk I was forced to accept,” I continue. “But if you’re right, and I can command them, that changes everything.”
His lips press together, forming the same stern line they displayed when he pressed himself against the wall.
Maybe he’s regretting insisting I could change the shape of this gorgeous dress. Maybe he wishes he could swallow his own words and retreat into silence again.
I won’t let him.
“This armor has protected me, helped me, and kept me safe. But now its existence is a danger to me. If I have to spend every waking moment trying to conceal it from view…” I shake my head. “Impossible. At some point, I’ll do something that triggers it and that could be far more dangerous than not wearing it.” I take a deep, quick breath. “I need it off.”
The hard press of his mouth eases.
Slowly, he lifts my hand to his cheek, feathering the pulse at the base of my wrist with his lips. “Have you thought this through, Thyra?”
I breathe through the tingling sensations he’s evoking. “You’re evading.”
“Maybe.” The corners of his mouth lift. “Or maybe I’m trying to warn you.”
I scoff. “You give me a new warning with every other breath you take.”
So many warnings, but I haven’t dismissed any of them. He only speaks when it’s important.
His lips grow hungrier as they travel to the cuff of my sleeve. “Are you sure you want to grant me the power to undress you?”
Warmth rushes to my cheeks, but before I can respond, he continues. “Because if you give me permission to change your armor’s shape…and assuming the threads honor your wish to give me that power…that’s exactly what you’d be doing.”
With his free hand, he reaches toward my neck, but this time, his fingertips brush the silver strands extending into my hair, a touch I can’t feel.
He may not be using his Voice right now, but by the Goddess, his quiet exhalation fills my head with need.
I’m drowning in the seductive push and pull of his presence.
He told me that every sound I make matters.
Well, every sound he makes matters too.
I take a breath, fight the rush of heat between my legs, force myself to focus past the shivery pleasure of his lips as theyreturn to my wrist, the swirl of his thumb across my palm, the darkness of his eyes…
“This armor is a weapon,” I say. “Learning how to control it is as important to me as learning how to fight. If I want to stay alive, then I need to do both. And, yes, if that means being vulnerable with you, then?—”
“No.” His rebuke is so sudden, so severe, it nearly knocks me backward. “Never be vulnerable.”
