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There was a pause, a bout of silence that seemed to fill the room as he assessed the truth in her words. ‘Does that scare you?’ Rymedur watched the perfectly shaped curve of her brow as she raised it in question. ‘Do I?’

It was like second nature when Rymedur’s fingers finally gently smoothed those loose curls, and the tip of his finger grazed the point of her elven ear. Rymedur watched in rapt fascination at the way her eyes shuttered like butterfly wings. Her breath hitched, pushing her chest further into his. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected. When he had come into this room, his intentions had been clear, but now they’d muddled. He did not know whether to listen to his head or his heart, because for once, they were no longer in sync.

He knew only one thing: Areanel had turned his world upside down with just a few truths.

This felt right. True. As it was supposed to be.

He wanted to ease her pain in any way he could, which was why he told her, without thought, ‘Your father is the monster.’ A clear statement. A fact. ‘Not you.’ A hopeful and determined answer. He barely knew her, yet he believed with his whole heart that she was not the monster others made her out to be.

But Areanel clearly did not see herself that way. ‘I have done monstrous things, Rymedur.’ Her tone was sure, like she was trying to convince him, but she was better off forcing the horse to drink than making him see her as everyone else did.

When she had confessed her truth, Rymedur had looked into her eyes, and he had seen. Truly seen her for who she was, not the mask she wore. ‘Which you have done only ever in his name.’

He understood why she pushed him away. She did not want him to love her. She was afraid, but why? What had happened for her to forsake love or being loved?

Areanel persisted, ‘I have killed, and I will continue to kill.’ She tried to shake out of his grip, but Rymedur held fast, forcing her to face him and the future he presented—one of love.

He was afraid that if he let her go now, she would close off this vulnerable part of herself and remain numb behind the mask she wore. They both understood that this marriage would be difficult, that it would take time—but, damn him, he knew it would work because he knew himself. Falling in love with her would be easy.

‘So have I, love. And if you are to continue killing, then I will be there to remove the bloodstains.’

Rymedur heard the quiver in her voice as she said, ‘I have scars.’

He smiled; repeated, ‘As have I.’

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he gently took her hand in his, bringing it to the scar that marred his skin. He slowly guided her fingers along the jagged edges that slashed his eye, and her touch was soft and gentle, like she was afraid to really feel. Still, his emerald gaze never left hers.

‘I was lucky my mother is an extraordinary healer.’ He leaned in closer, taking up the space. ‘Or you would be marrying a one-eyed man.’ He let go of her hand, but her touch did not disappear as he had thought it would. Softly, she grazed those tender fingertips against his scar, retracing the jagged outline from the top of his brow, slashing in a vertical line. Blazing heat followed, a trail of fire to just below his crow’s feet.

After a quiet moment, her hand fell away. Rymedur could see the way her thoughts warred with one another. He was sure she could read him just as well. When her hand dropped to his chest, Rymedur was certain she was going to push him away again, but what she did instead surprised him. Resting her small hand above his heart, she splayed her fingers into his chest like she was trying to feel the rhythm of the organ’s beat.

Did she feel the way his heart hammered when she touched him? Was hers doing the same?

‘I am a murderer. I am bloodthirsty,’ she listed, hand still pressed into his chest. He could have sworn he felt his shadows draw closer, slithering against his skin to reach her. ‘I am vicious, cruel—hideously scarred and everything that is evil in this world. Do you still wish to learn to love me?’

Cobalt snapped to his green gaze. Searching. Probing. Tilting his perfectly coiffed head, Rymedur huffed a laugh and said, ‘Quite the little demon, aren’t you?’

Pink rushed to the tips of her pointed ears. She liked it when he called her little demon.

He’d never admit to her that he’d added the sultry tone and allowed the nickname to roll off his tongue like a sinful promise.

Rymedur dropped the cavalier attitude. This was not the time to joke around. He needed her to know that if they were going to go forward with this, he was all in. ‘You may want to push me away, love.’ Stepping impossibly close, he placed his hand over hers. ‘And you may be cruel.’

Her enchanting eyes narrowed an inch, and her hand began to slowly slip away. Tightening his grip, Rymedur did not let her retreat. ‘You may be cold and vicious.’ With every word, he clutched her.

One arm moved to curl around her waist. The other let go of her hand and came up to rest at the nape of her neck. ‘Merciless,’ he continued. ‘Ruthless. Violent, even.’ He chuckled, rolling the word violent as though he was tasting the burn it left on his tongue. Savouring it. ‘You can push and challenge me all you want, love. But I will tell you something you will learn to love about me.’ His lips brushed against hers. Testing. Tasting. ‘I love a challenge, and I thrive off of violence, little demon.’

His eyes gleamed, glittering with the promise of a life he would give her—such a life was nothing to be afraid of. He vowed that once she was his, he would love her; he would stand and fight by her side, come what may.

They would learn to love one another. It could take months—years, even. But Rymedur knew he would. Something had changed in him since he’d entered her room, and he could already feel himself falling. He just hoped he wouldn’t get hurt and, like with everything else in his life, dive into it headfirst.

His mother had always called him reckless, and he wondered if this was what she meant by him being his own worst nightmare—because Rymedur was falling for the person who was supposed to be his enemy.

‘There is something I need your help with.’ Areanel drew away from him, and he felt suddenly colder without her in his arms. Rymedur knew he had already begun his descent.

Tucking his hands into his pockets so that he wasn’t tempted to reach for her again, Rymedur nodded. ‘With what, exactly?’

‘A way to get what we both want—freedom.’ The word piqued his interest, and Rymedur found himself leaning in her direction. ‘Well, not entirely. But with this new position, we will have a little more freedom. We will be able to take vengeance, however small, on those who wished to hurt us. Consider it a wedding gift.’