Page 15

“She won’t be surrendering to anyone, Lieutenant,” Caspian murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a low register that turned the smoky air thick and heavy. “She’ll be too busy surviving my training.”

I held his stare, my heart hammering against my ribs, the tension simmering between us until the very wood of the booth felt unstable. Mal didn’t blink beside me; his hazel eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet calculation passing over his features as he met the Captain’s glare.

SIX

The smoky air of the Stonewright’s Arms left a bitter coating of honey and ash on the back of my throat. As the rest of the table dissolved into a loud debate over border logistics and drunken guard humor, the proximity of the two males sitting beside and opposite me turned into a heavy, physical pressure.

Mal shifted on the bench beside me. The movement was fluid, the dark fabric of his tunic brushing against my arm with a quiet, deliberate heat. His hazel eyes, caught in the amber firelight, anchored on my face.

“The lower tiers are dark tonight, Princess,” Mal murmured, his low voice dropping cleanly beneath the tavern’s roar. “The sea fog is rolling in through the iron gates. Let me walk you back to your chambers.”

“The High Captain handles the security of the Drakhar line,” Caspian said, his voice a low, rough growl that made the ale goblets on the wood rattle. “Take your hand out of her space and step back. Now.”

Security of the Drakhar line. Right.

I stared at the rigid line of Caspian’s shoulders, the excuse so paper-thin it practically dissolved under the tavern lights. He could wrap it in military jurisdiction and royal protocol all he wanted, but the white-knuckled grip crushing Mal’s wrist had nothing to do with crown security. That was pure, unfiltered territorial possession, dressed up in a uniform and wearing a captain’s badge.

It infuriated me. It electrified me. And it terrified me just how easily he drew lines around my space without ever asking permission.

A heavy silence stretched between them. Mal didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He simply tilted his head, a slow, calculating curl of his mouth mocking the Captain’s authority without a single word spoken.

I studied the rigid line of Caspian’s jaw and the possessive, overbearing certainty of his stance. He seemed to think he could throw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain in the afternoon and dictate where I walked by nightfall.

I stood up, sliding out of the booth and deliberately stepping into Mal’s space, my back completely turned to Caspian.

“I think a second lieutenant can manage a straight walk down a well-guarded corridor, High Captain,” I said smoothly, my voice carrying a sharp, defensive bite. “Lead the way, Mal.”

Stop me, a reckless voice whispered in the back of my mind. Show me that possession is more than just duty.

I caught the microscopic shift in Caspian’s expression—a sudden, hot flash of pure fury that broke through his icy exterior before his mask locked back into place. His jaw tightened so hard I heard the faint click of his teeth.

I didn’t wait for him to pull rank. I turned my back on his glare and followed Mal out into the fog.

I so badly wanted him to stop me.

But he didn’t. I guess it was just duty.

The lower corridors of the citadel were completely swallowed by the night mist, white clouds creeping through the iron-grated windows like long fingers. The air tasted of salt and cold slate, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the tavern.

Mal walked half a step ahead of me, his long strides controlled and silent. He didn’t press for conversation, allowing the quiet weight of the mountain to settle between us. It was a comfortable silence that felt strangely dangerous. He didn’t treat me like a fragile royal ornament, nor did he seem to look down on my half-human blood. He just watched, his hazel eyes tracking the way my right hand remained fixed near the hilt of my training blade.

“You’re still overthinking it,” Mal said softly, breaking the quiet as we reached the upper residential tier.

“I’m maintaining awareness,” I retorted, keeping my tone sharp.

And considering the coup and the upcoming trials, I could count on one hand the people I actually trusted—and Mal Varyn certainly wasn’t one of them. Hell, Caspian was Aerynn’s best friend, and I didn’t even know if I trusted him yet either.

“You’re waiting for the floor to drop,” he corrected, stopping outside the heavy oak doors of my private quarters. He turned to face me, his features half-hidden by the grey shadows of the hallway. “You don’t trust lightly, Tauriel. I don’t blame you.”

My stomach dropped slightly. He used my full name with a quiet familiarity that had a way of cutting through my defenses. Before I could formulate a sarcastic response, my eyes landed on the threshold of my door.

The heavy iron lock was fractured. The oak frame was splintered, a jagged line of raw, pale wood showing through the dark stain. The door sat slightly, terribly ajar.

Move.

My blade cleared the sheath with a sharp metallic hiss. Don’t panic.

I threw my weight against the wood, kicking the door wide as I swept my steel through the entry frame.