Page 16
He catches it one-handed and shakes the fabric again as if hunting for contraband while I shiver in my thin linen camisole and undergarment. Both are finely made because I’m technically a princess, even if I’m a mostly useless one.
In the firelight, the linen becomes translucent, hiding nothing as the heat warms me. Even though my important bits are covered, I might as well be naked.
When I glimpse down, I can see the outline of my breasts through the camisole, the dark circles of my nipples, and the curve of my waist and hips. I’m on full display for him.
Intense, muscle-weakening shame floods me like a sudden fever as he finally moves.
Toward me.
His eyes rove over my body as he circles me.
While I don’t pivot to track him, I flinch at every twig snap and leaf rustle. Since I desperately want to avoid reading my humiliation in his expression, I scrunch my eyes closed.
Interested, disinterested, leering, or disgusted…I don’t want to know. Even unbound, I’d feel completely helpless against this man. Out here in the woods, where I thought I’d have the upper hand, he’s proven he can do anything he wishes and no one would be able to stop him.
My thighs tremble, and my nipples harden beneath my shift.
It’s the night air. Nothing to do with this stranger. Nothing to do with the way my body hums from his proximity or the heat he radiates, which leaves me feeling as if I’m directly in front of the flames.
“You have no weapons.” His breath stirs my hair, startling me. “What kind of thief doesn’t carry a blade?”
The kind that isn’t a thief.
I keep silent. My jaw clamps until my teeth ache, but I’ve learned over the years that defending myself is the fastest way to punishment.
A finger touches my lower back, lifting the hem of my camisole to uncover the lower lines of my Warden tattoo.
I fail to mask my flinch as awareness races up my spine, and I suck in an especially sharp breath.
I earned the incomplete tattoo through training and hardship, including things I barely survived.
“What does this mean?” His nail trails over my flesh in a subtle threat. I bite my cheek against the instinct to lean in and provoke him into scratching me harder.
Shock holds my tongue. He doesn’t recognize the marking of the magical order? Since despite my age, I’m only a trainee, my tattoo is admittedly small, but the base should be enough for him to detect the mark of the Wardens.
His hand flattens against my lower back, spanning the whole of the design and more.
I quiver, full-body tremors I can’t control or hide. Self-loathing bubbles up over my weakness and fear, mixing with the sensations trembling between my legs and lower belly that I refuse to name.
“It’s something.” His thumb strokes along my spine. Up. Down. Each slow, deliberate pass shoots fresh sparks through my nervous system. “Magic of some kind. I can feel it, but it’s weak.”
My eyes squeeze shut, tears threatening to spill. This is humiliating. Deeply, profoundly humiliating. Worse than being stripped. Worse than being on display, essentially naked, while he examines me like livestock at market. He kept his eyes calm until he was close. Now, even though he’s only touching my back, his fingers drive me insane.
He catalogues all my faults, the evidence of my failures in the modest markings. I’m in my twenties yet still haven’t learned or improved enough to earn the healer lines.
Anyone who knows what it means can tell I’ve only received the barest of credentials. Not a line more.
The man leans closer, his chest almost skimming my spine. Sandwiched between him and the fire, I’m plenty warm, yet my shivers only compound.
“What’s your magic, little thief? Not fire, of course. Water?” He circles around to face me, never losing contact, his hand sliding from my back to my hip. “Earth, like me? That would be inconvenient.”
Earth magic. He has earth magic. That explains the confidence, the way he freed himself from the hidden bog, and the shattered statue that distracted the guards, an act he could have performed at any point. That means the kiss was unnecessary because he already knew it wouldn’t save us from curfew. So, what? He kissed me to embarrass me or as a power flex or…
My mind rejects the notion that he did so simply because he wanted to.
His magic gives me nothing because earth magic is common among farmers, laborers, and some fighters. “I don’t have—”
His hand on my hip jerks, pulling me backward. Suddenly, I’m against him, my back to his chest, his arm snaking across my waist to hold me in place. His strong, steady heart beats against my spine.
