Page 160

But I could walk away. Iwouldwalk away—because there was nothing else I could safely do. Not for myself, not for my kingdom. And ultimately, not for Arran. He deserved a queen who would be his equal, not a danger at his back.

Arran shifted slightly, and I couldn’t help the cry of displeasure from my lips. I wanted to stay in the moment, forever. His fingers skimmed over my arm, and I half expected him to slide them down into my pussy, to coax another climax from me.

But instead, he slid something onto my finger.

My eyes popped open, down to where his hand now hovered just over mine.

A band of braided silver circled my fourth finger. I’d seen the ring before—he wore it on his pinky, on formal occasions. The Offering, the feast tonight. But now, it lay on mine.

I knew I ought to give it back. Just like I knew that Arran would keep Annwyn safe, even when I was gone.

I had no right to wear it, knowing I would be gone so soon.

But I couldn’t take it off. Couldn’t stop looking at it. Couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward and kissing him. Kissing him until our bodies began to awaken once more, the need for each other persistent, steady, a promise of a future that would never come.

It was damn selfish, but I kept that ring on my finger, the metal still warmed by his skin. As he kissed me, I prayed.

I prayed to the Ancestors that Arran would understand.

All of it was for Annwyn. For him. For the future.

Even if I could not be a part of it.

72

ARRAN

The screams began just after midnight.

I thought it was a dream. A nightmare conjured from one of the all too real battlefields I’d fought on over the last three hundred years. But when my eyes sprung open, I was not on a bedroll in the dirt. A soft, warm body was curled at my side, leg draped over my hip, hair scattered across my chest.

The screams were not echoes in my memory.

Veyka knew it too, rolling away from me and coming to stand on the other side of the bed, daggers already in hand.

“What is it?” she asked the darkness.

The hearth had gone down to embers, no more than a tiny, flickering flame.

Veyka’s eyes went to the small, waning flame as well, some kind of realization playing across her face. “They let the fire go out,” she said softly, momentarily transfixed.

Another scream rent the air, this time from outside, beyond the balcony. Her eyes snapped back to mine. I was already pulling on my trousers. Her gown was in shreds on the floor from earlier in the night. I tossed her my shirt.

She buckled her scabbards over it, already halfway to the door, swinging on the harness that held her curved blades across her back. My axe was ready; my sword as well.

We paused inside the doors, exchanging a singular look.

“Don’t bother telling me to stay,” she growled, tossing her loose hair over her shoulder and out of the way.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. I let myself take one last look at her. She had not a shred of magic to defend herself with. But she had her blades, and she’d proven more than once that she knew what to do with them. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

She flashed that wicked grin I loved so much. “Likewise.”

Then she kicked open the door.

73

VEYKA