Page 25

Aemyra’s stomach was painfully hollow by the time Alfred had finished his sanctimonious speech. So focused on reaching for her magic, Aemyra hadn’t noticed Fiorean leading her into the private royal gardens. The scent of comfrey, rose, and wild garlic clashed in the most wondrous of ways.

“Do you really know the cure for my nephews?” Fiorean asked, crossing his arms stiffly.

Realizing he was serious, Aemyra hitched her skirts and squatted in the dirt. Despite her own agenda, she scanned the leaves for something she could use to save Edwyn and Alastair.

A shadow passed over her and she squinted into the sky, seeing the outline of Kolreath soaring high above.

“If I could examine the boys, I might gain a better idea of how to treat them,” she said, tingling fingers skimming mint leaves without igniting them.

Just a little longer…

“Out of the question.” Fiorean sniffed.

Temper breaking, Aemyra rose to her feet. “If you want me to keep playing into this little marriage charade, then you will let me help your nephews.” Her eyes snagged on the dagger at his belt and her lips curved. “Begin atoning for your transgressions now and perhaps Hela will take pity on you when I send you to the Otherworld.”

“I could make your imprisonment a lot more difficult,” he replied, hands clasped maddeningly calmly behind his back.

“Try it, Fiorean. Find out how far you can really push me before I snap.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t try last night, actually. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

Aemyra crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I had been expecting you to try and seduce me, or get me drunk, and then try to kill me.” Fiorean gazed down at her almost thoughtfully. “It’s what I would have done.”

Aemyra felt her chest contract as her magic flourished within her. She had to keep him talking.

Staring at the scarred side of his face pointedly, she asked, “How did you get them?”

Fiorean stiffened and rose to his full height.

“Is your ego so fragile that you can’t get over your pretty face being ruined?”

Fiorean’s eyebrow peaked. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“I think you’re compensating for how your scars ruin it by commissioning dysfunctional swords and inspiring fear with your dragon,” Aemyra said, stepping toward him. “So insecure you won’t let anyone see the monster that lurks beneath your skin. Tell me, did my family put up a fight before you burned them? Did you enjoy chasing after a terrified little boy because it made you feel powerful?”

Fury ignited in Fiorean’s eyes, and Aemyra took a chance.

Pulling out the two long hairpins that Maggie had thoughtlessly used to secure Aemyra’s thick curls, she aimed for his eyes.

The sharp pins almost made contact before Fiorean’s hands shot out and wrapped tightly around her wrists. He dug his thumbs into the groove of her joints, causing her left hand to spasm and she dropped the pin. But her right hand held fast as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

“I promised not to touch you last night. Kindly do your husband the same courtesy,” Fiorean spat, his nostrils flaring.

He shoved her away with such force that she almost stumbled into the pansies.

“Oh, the next time I touch you, it won’t be with my hands,” Aemyra promised, straightening her skirts and trying desperately to connect to her magic.

Fiorean looked almost thrilled by her response.

“And where would you get your hands on a weapon? Why aren’t you bothering to pretend?”

“You’re too clever to fall for my feminine charms,” Aemyra said, walking over to where he stood, pocketing the second hairpin before he could take it from her.

Fiorean crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “Do you possess any?”

Her chest spasmed and she swore that she felt an ember return to her.

“Plenty,” she replied, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes. “But pretending not to hate you would have gotten me nowhere. Better to give you the honest truth and wait for you to let your guard down all on your own.”

Fiorean’s lip curled.

“Careful. I could have you thrown in a cell for that.”

Aemyra risked another step closer, her heart pounding against the surging power in her blood.

“But you won’t. You care far too much about what people think of you, how they view you. It’s why you made me change my dress. It’s why you spared me last night. Because even though I despise you with every bone in my body, you need the world to believe that I don’t. You need leverage.”

Aemyra was so close to him that their chests were practically touching. Fiorean’s eyes dipped to her lips, looking like he was fighting dropping his gaze farther.

“I told you I can be charming,” she simpered.

Fiorean sneered. “I think I preferred you with a little more fire.”

A wild grin spread across her face. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Without waiting to hear his reply, she threw every scrap of flame that had returned to her at him.

The prince reeled backward, and she wasted no time in sprinting for the gate. Her velvet slippers sliding on the grass, she picked up her skirts to avoid falling over as Fiorean’s roars of anger met her ears.

But her fire had returned. If he pursued her, he would not live long enough to regret it.

Terrea, I’m here. Come to me.

Aemyra felt for the flickering Bond in her chest as she ran between the manicured rosebushes. The kitchens weren’t far from the gardens; she could incapacitate Fiorean and escape through the servants’ entrance.

The sound of Fiorean’s boots striking the ground grew louder in her ears, and she dared to throw a fireball behind her.

It went wide, a rosebush igniting as Fiorean ducked around it.

“You will not escape this city on foot, Princess,” Fiorean shouted after her. “There are guards at every gate and temple. We will find you.”

Aemyra stopped running. Facing Fiorean as he skidded to a stop, she smiled at him.

“I don’t plan on escaping on foot,” she said savagely.

Summoning a great blaze, she coated herself in flame that originated not only from her core, but from that of her dragon. She threw them toward Fiorean, and the prince barely managed to shield himself, the blast knocking him into the burning bush.

That one effort drained what little energy Aemyra possessed after a day without food or water. She drew her flames back to her palms as Fiorean blinked through the smoke. Every bush around them burned; as he got to his feet the expensive fabric of his tunic ripped on the thorns.

“You’re Bonded,” Fiorean said. “To wha—”

Aemyra smiled. “Now you will all burn.”

Keeping one flame-wrapped hand out in front of her lest Fiorean get any ideas, she hoisted the skirts of her dress up with her other hand and made to back away slowly.

But, reveling in the sensation of her magic, Aemyra had forgotten the first rule her father had ever taught her.

Watch your back.

She heard the clink of armor just in time and thrust her hand out toward the advancing Sir Nairn. His silver gauntlets shone in the light of her fire, and she desired nothing more than to see his blond hair go up in smoke.

Repelling her magic as well as it had her touch, the Savior’s pendant around his neck flashed silver, deflecting her magic from his body entirely.

Aemyra’s mouth dropped open as she watched her flame simply disappear.

Sir Nairn looked down at the iron pendant smugly. “The Savior protects us from the evils of magic. I was rescued as a child from the ruins of the home where my parents perished. The priest who saved me gave me this pendant so I would never feel the burning of Dùileach fire again.”

Hatred flared in the captain’s eyes and Aemyra felt the sting of injustice in his words.

“You cannot discriminate against every Dùileach because of one experience,” she said, harnessing a flame in her palm. “Magical fires spread out of control just as easily as natural ones.”

“Oh, it was no accident,” Sir Nairn replied, venom lacing every word as he upended a black velvet pouch full of powder that went up her nose.

But it wasn’t Aemyra who protested this time.

“You fool,” Fiorean growled. “Did you not think to warn me first?”

Aemyra made to summon a desperate tongue of fire, but she felt the magic slip through her grasp.

“No.”

Sir Nairn smiled smugly, tucking the pouch into his belt. “Forgive me, my prince. But I was under strict instructions from Athair Alfred to incapacitate the princess by any means necessary.”

“You answer to my brother, not the Athair,” Fiorean said through gritted teeth, uncomfortable with his magic muted.

The captain straightened. “The king has granted Athair Alfred autonomy over these decisions. He may act as he sees fit where traitors are concerned.”

Before Aemyra could smack the smug smile from Sir Nairn’s face, Fiorean fisted a hand in her hair and wrenched her head back. He thrust his other hand into her dress pocket and flung the long hair pin across the scorched grass.

“So. You cost me my own magic with your failed escape and revealed that you have Bonded. Smart plan, Princess.”

His nose was almost brushing the skin of her cheek as his hand tugged at her hair.

“I am not Bonded, Evander claimed Kolreath,” she said desperately.

Fiorean was panting hard as she struggled against him.

“You possessed a deep well of power even un-Bonded, but only one fire beathach amplifies magic like this.” His emerald eyes flashed. “You found an egg.”