When he finally climbs off me, I take a full, deep breath of cold air. He helps me sit, hands jarringly gentle, and I twist out of his grasp as soon as I’m upright.
Zevayr unsheathes a dagger from his belt, the sharp blade glinting in the waning light like a warning. Tides, I didn’t convince him.
He’s going to kill me.
I try to scoot away, but he grabs my arms with a grunt. The blade is cold, but it glides smoothly between my wrists as he slices through the rope. A soft gasp slips out as blood rushes through my pinched skin, sensation flowing back in a painful rush. My wrists are raw and chafed and bloody—admittedly because I struggled so much, not because he tied them too tightly.
My fingers fly to my neck, and relief swells within me when the sharp tip of the teardrop pendant presses into my skin. I flex my hand, and the large betrothal ring scrapes against my fingers. I didn’t lose that either, though its presence brings me no comfort.
Zevayr’s eyes are rooted to the reddened skin of my wrists. He parts his lips, but then his mouth snaps shut. Instead, he rises and offers a hand. I ignore it and stand on unsteady legs.
“We need to decide what to do next,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t tied me up and forcibly pinned me to the ground mere minutes ago.
My answer is a glare. He opens his mouth—
A loud crack echoes in the silent forest behind him, sharp and sudden. He pivots on his heel, sword already halfway unsheathed, knees bent.
A minute passes, then another.
When nothing happens, he sheathes his sword and turns around.
Just in time for my hand to connect soundly with his cheek.
His head swings sideways, and a resounding, satisfying, crack resonates through the frigid air. My palm stings, but the shock in his eyes sends a warm rush of gratification through me.
I jab a finger into his chest.
“You willnottouch meagain,” I hiss.
For a moment, he’s frozen, wide gray eyes scanning my face, flickering with a searing emotion I can’t name. His gaze drops to the finger pressed against his chest. His eyes darken.
He dips his chin in the barest of nods and takes a half step back.
“After you,” he rumbles, gesturing to the snowcapped trees behind him.
“Where?”
“To investigate that sound.”
Chapter Seven
Thesoftcrunchofsnow beneath boots is the only sound disturbing the silence of the forest. Arms folded tightly against the cold, I glance back again at the brooding stormcloud walking behind me.
“Are you normally this chivalrous?” I bite out through chattering teeth, stepping over a fallen branch. My soaked clothing clings to my body in an icy skintight layer. “Making me walk in front.”
“I won’t let the rebels hurt you.”
“It’s notthemI’m worried about. I don’t likeyoubehind me.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then—“I don’t need the element of surprise to overpower you. It would make no difference if I walked ahead.”
Arrogant ass.
I walk faster. Not that it matters. His long strides eat up my own.
“Wait,” he says. When I turn, he’s examining a small tree.
Or rather, what’s left of it.
