‘I have always seen you,’ he whispers. ‘From that first night in the temple, I have always seen you.’ His breath ghosts over my lips. ‘Rose …’
This time, when he kisses me, it isn’t desperate or wild, but careful. Almost reverent. Full of emotion that I don’t dare name. Not yet.
I kiss him back just as softly, one hand fisting in his tunic as the need to pull him closer to me takes control.
‘I’m the mistletoe,’ he whispers softly. ‘I’m the one who can’t grow alone. I need you more than you’ll ever need me.’
Behind us, Fen shifts – not withdrawing or intruding, simply giving us space – and his approval hums faintly through the bond between us, deep and steady.
My body is still losing itself in Kyor’s taste when he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine again.
‘After all this,’ he says quietly, ‘after we’re safe, I want to talk. About everything we can lay on the table. No more walls between us.’
A smile tugs at my lips, small but real. ‘Good. Because while I’m pretty fucking good at climbing, I’d really rather you just let me in.’
Chapter 52
The morning starts well. Elska caught some sort of creature Kyor refuses to name but which tastes good enough.
Ruben’s fire powers falter after lighting the morning fire, so I give him an extra-large power jolt, and then he goes around giving everyone their morning hugs.
Kyor clears his throat. ‘I’ll take one.’
Ruben blinks. ‘One what?’
‘Don’t make me say it.’
‘What?’ Ruben repeats, appearing baffled.
Kyor huffs. ‘A hug. Give me a Godsdamn hug.’
Ruben doesn’t mock Kyor, doesn’t tease him. He just walks up to him and enfolds the Prince of Morathka in his arms.
‘Is this warm enough?’ Ruben asks softly.
Kyor nods tightly. ‘It’s nice.’
He stays in Ruben’s arms, and Ruben carefully lays his hand over Kyor’s injured shoulder, easing the stiffness there.
‘Thank you,’ the prince says as he draws away, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kyor looks around and freezes as he sees all eyes are on him. ‘What are you all staring at?’
Benny smiles beatifically. ‘Progress.’
‘Pack up,’ Kyor grunts. ‘It’s time to move out.’
We do as he requests, and before long we’re on the road. We skirt further west to find a path that Kyor promises will take us north, and the further we travel, the more the land changes.
The forest thins and then disappears. The wild open, dotted only with a sparse tree or two, feels raw and vulnerable after so much time under the dense canopy, the air sharper as the undergrowth grows sparse.
Even the birds are quieter here. Watching. Waiting.
The tension in Kyor’s face tells us all that we’re deep into disputed territory. This is exactly why he wanted us to ride east, but we chose west, and so here we are – filled with tension and an unceasing itch between my shoulder blades.
I’m being watched. I’m sure of it.
We ride on, and the feeling worsens. I feel Fen’s hackles rise.We are not alone, Little Raven.
