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He tensed behind her, drawing a sharp, impassioned breath. ‘You can be angry all you want,’ he told her. ‘But don’t deny this.’

His hand trailed up her middle and he rested his palm against her own racing heart. The warmth of him was utterly feverish, intoxicating.

‘Don’t you dare deny this,’ he said in her ear.

Thea’s entire body went taut beneath his touch, at the vibration of his voice against her skin. Were his hand to shift slightly, he’d find her nipples hard beneath her layers. Were it to drift south, he’d find arousal slick between her legs.

It’s a physical reaction to him, that’s all, she told herself, fidgeting in the saddle, trying not to generate any friction that might —

But with the smallest movement, she rubbed against him, and there was no denying the rock-hard length that pressed against her backside.

Hawthorne hissed. ‘You keep doing that, Princess, and I won’t be held accountable for what happens next.’

‘Stop playing these games,’ she told him quietly.

‘You think this is a game to me?’ He yanked her back against him, so she could feel every inch of his cock, even with the layers between them. ‘I haven’t stopped burning for you,’ he growled. ‘And I never will.’

Thea’s breath caught as something dormant within flickered to life.

Hawthorne’s hand trailed up her chest, past her throat, until he gripped her chin and turned her head to the side, so his gaze met hers.

He looked at her as though she were the one thing he’d been starved of his whole life. ‘You’re still in love with me, Thea.’ His voice was like warm honey sliding down her skin, his touch like a brand.

But for all she felt, for all that warred within, Thea couldn’t fathom what he’d done, and what he was now asking her to accept. So she dug deep for that anger she’d clung to for the last twelve months, for her sense of duty and for the vows she’d made to the guild.

‘No, Hawthorne,’ she told him coldly. ‘I’m not. I hate you. And when I give you over to the rulers of the midrealms, you’ll know just how much.’

She shoved his hand away, and returned her focus to the road ahead, to see the floating domes of Aveum on the snow-capped horizon.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WILDER

As they rode towards the capital, Wilder couldn’t blame Thea. It had taken him years to accept what he now knew about the shadow-touched folk, years to pull the pieces into place about what had been transpiring in the midrealms for all this time. But what he could not accept was that Thea didn’t believehim. He had thought they were stronger than that, that she understood what he felt for her, that it was more powerful than any darkness descending upon them.

But he also knew the power of the guild, the sense of duty that came with being anointed a Guardian of the midrealms, let alone one who wished to undertake the Great Rite. And that was all she had ever wanted, until him.

He’d broken her trust and then underestimated how hard it would be to forge it anew. He could sense her resolve wavering, could practically hear the questions on the tip of her tongue, and although he wanted to keep talking, keep explaining, he knew that time had passed. Thea needed to see it for herself.

As they rocked in the saddle together, drawing closer and closer to the city, her voice echoed in his mind.

I hate you.

Her words had said one thing, but her body had said another.

His Thea was somewhere in there. There was hope yet.

It wasn’t long before they were passing through the outer villages of Vios. They always reminded him of his hometown, Kilgrave, with buildings made of stone and timber, their roofs heavy with snow. The streets were narrow and winding, not quite built to accommodate a royal carriage and a Thezmarrian escort, but the company made do. The deeper into the capital they got, the more shops and stalls spilt out into the streets, selling all manner of goods, from warm fur hats and gloves to steaming cups of spiced wine.

The aroma of meat roasting on spits wafted through the crisp air, and the sound of laughter and music drifted from the taverns that lined the side alleys. There was a sense of celebration so poignant it was hard to reconcile that only a few hours ago, the road they were on had been doused in shadow and violence. It was surreal.

In front of him, Thea took it all in, her attention lingering on a quartet of performers juggling flaming torches on the street corner. Though Wilder couldn’t see her face, he recognised the tension in her shoulders. She knew it wasn’t right to be walking amid such festivities when the midrealms were on the brink of destruction. All the same, she urged Biscuit forward through the crowds. Who was this woman? Where was the Thea who questioned everything? The young shieldbearer and then Guardian who had challenged him at every turn? Where was she?

As though sensing the source of his anguish, Thea shifted slightly in the saddle, her focus trained all too hard on the heart of the city ahead.

Vios was nestled in a valley on the banks of a glacier-fed river, overlooking the frozen lake. The palace was traditional only in name, consisting of three floating domes that hovered above the ground, bathed in a wintry, ethereal glow. It was Wilder’s favourite of the three remaining kingdoms of the midrealms, and as such, he’d spent a lot of time here, particularly in his younger days, always captivated by the magic of the domes. The first was adorned with intricate crystals of ice, housing Aveum’s library and renowned university. The second, resplendent in swirling mist, housed the royal family, along with the throne and ballrooms. Wilder had never entered the third, but it was known as the arts centre of the kingdom, housing a famous opera theatre in which the Aveum orchestra often performed. Wilder wondered if it would still be standing at the end of all this.

Before he knew it, their company had reached the official gates to the inner city, halting as a unit of mounted guards approached, dressed in Harenth’s colours, not Aveum’s.