Page 12

Chapter 11

Aruan

W hen I enter the Great Hall at sunrise, Kian sits in a chair at our family table, staring dispassionately at the man who stands in front of him. The man shifts his weight while wringing a hat in his hands. The poor wretch’s shoulders sag in relief when Kian waves him away and motions for the next victim to take the man’s place at my brother’s feet.

A woman comes closer, pinching her eyes shut even before she reaches Kian. A guard takes her arm and positions her close to Kian’s chair. It’s only then that she peels her eyelids open to turn red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes on my brother. Her hair has come loose from its braid, the flaxen tresses sticking out like straw around her head.

The other people don’t look any better. The guests waiting their turn to be interrogated by Kian are slumped over the tables, some asleep on their arms and others conversing in tired, strained voices.

The only person in the palace who has gotten any sleep is Elsie, thanks to the sleeping potion Gaia gave her. I haven’t even taken the time to change. I’m still wearing the ceremonial pants and shirt of yesterday. Between interrogating the kitchen staff and guards, I frequently checked in on Elsie and my mother. The queen, who was tormented by painful cramps for the duration of the night, appears wilted and weak. Her usually glowing skin has turned gray and damp with perspiration. My father keeps watch at her side. Gaia escaped to her room. Knowing how much she loved that pet, I let her have some space.

Kian lifts his head when I approach. The echo of my heavy steps on the flagstone floor would’ve been enough warning of my presence, but the gentle, almost unnoticeable prodding of my mind tells me he was aware of me the minute I crossed the threshold.

I make sure my barriers are in place, effectively blocking him from gaining access to my thoughts.

He watches me quietly as I stop next to him, not a sliver of emotion playing in his silver irises that are so eerily pale they’re almost as translucent as water. They always adopt that shade when he taps into his power for an extended period of time.

“How much longer?” I ask.

The color of his eyes returns more or less to normal as he focuses on me. “Not much.”

The woman scrambles away the moment Kian releases the hold of his power over her. Having one’s mind read is nothing short of a harrowing experience, or so I’m told. Kian has a way of worming invisible tentacles into every cranny of his subject’s mind, hooking into a person’s deepest and darkest thoughts. The unlucky interrogees always walks away with the feeling that their soul has been flayed open for all their sins and weaknesses to pour out. They may not say it, but they think it. Kian may read their unspoken thoughts, but I hear the whispers the walls can’t contain.

I curl and flex my fingers at my sides. “Anything?”

Kian doesn’t show the slightest sign of tiredness, which demonstrates just how strong he is. It takes a powerful mind to be immersed in the most sinful desires of Alitkind without drowning in the ravenous envy and ugly deceit. On the contrary, the blackest corners of a psyche are Kian’s playground. I wonder if that’s why he displays emotions so sparingly. Maybe he’s seen too much of it, or what he’s seen has made him lose his appetite or aptitude for sentimentality.

“Nothing,” he says in an even voice that carries neither dejection nor hope.

Tarix enters from the kitchen with a goblet in his hand that he carries to Kian. “I thought you might be thirsty. I made you an infusion that will keep both your mind and body alert.”

When Kian doesn’t thank him or take the goblet, Tarix leaves it on the table and shuffles his feet.

The silence stretches.

Adopting a wounded expression, Tarix mumbles something about fetching food and hurries away.

“Why don’t you like him?” I ask, following Tarix’s rushed exit with my gaze.

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Kian says thoughtfully. “It’s that I can’t get an accurate read on him, and I don’t trust people I can’t read.”

My lips peel back into a humorless grin. “You can’t read me.”

“That’s different. You block me. Tarix is simply vague. It’s almost as if there’s nothing to read, as if his mind is empty.”

“Tarix isn’t an idiot. He’s adept at taking care of the queen’s affairs. His diplomatic skills are commendable.”

“Maybe I’m just weary,” Kian says, fixing a bland gaze on me. “It’s been a strange night.”

And a long one.

A stirring awakens in my chest, soft like a downy cloud at first, then sharp with panic.

Elsie is awake and unhappy.

I was on my way to prepare a tray with breakfast, but I turn on my heel and go back to my quarters.

The thuds of her fists on the sealed archway reach my ears from beyond the thick walls.

“Let me out!”

I let the entrance dissolve and step into the room, almost bumping into Elsie, who scoots a few steps back. I stop, not to avoid crashing into her but to trail my gaze over the tantalizing shape of her body that’s still clad in my jacket.

“I need to get out of here,” she says, trying to slip past me.

I cut her off with a sidestep. “It’s not safe.”

“You can’t lock me up in here like a prisoner,” she hisses. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The sensation of being trapped constricts my ribcage, and suffocation settles like a thick, wet blanket around me. The need to breathe is like claws scratching at my throat, but I’m lucid enough to realize the feeling isn’t my own. Whatever Elsie experiences mirrors inside me.

I grip her shoulders and give her a gentle shake. “You’re panicking, not suffocating. There’s nothing wrong with your airway. Breathe, Elsie.”

“I want—” She sucks in a breath. “I need to get out.”

“I’ll take you out,” I say against my better judgment, willing to promise anything to get rid of the pressure that squeezes like a band around my chest. “But you have to calm down first.”

That does the trick. She inhales deeply.

“That’s it,” I croon, rubbing her arms in a soothing caress.

“Really?” she asks, searching my face. “You won’t lock me up in here again?”

That’s not a promise I can keep, so I change the subject. “You can’t go out wearing nothing but my jacket. I had the trunk filled with clothes that’ll fit you. While you get ready, I’ll fetch breakfast. We can eat it outside.” I slide my palm up to the soft curve of her shoulder. “How does that sound?”

“What happened last night? Why did someone try to poison me?”

Fury rises inside me at the mere thought, shaking the window in its frame. I tamp down the rage with much effort. “I’ll find out who’s guilty.”

“That’s called deflection,” she says, narrowing her pretty eyes. “You’re not answering my question.”

I grit my teeth, not because I don’t want to tell her but because I shouldn’t dare it until I have a handle on my anger. The wall of the banquet hall is cracked in two because I couldn’t control my anger, and I’ve yet to fix it. I’ve lost control a lot since Elsie’s arrival, and it’s not helping the rumors.

“I see.” She bobs her head. “I’m clearly on a need-to-know basis. But if that poisoning stunt proves anything, it’s that I shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t mention the assassination attempt again,” I say in a measured tone. “Not now. Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.”

She glances at the rattling pink-stained panes in the window frame and quickly clamps her lips together.

My order is brusque. “Get dressed.”

The sight of her wearing my jacket stokes a possessive part of me, and that part wants to continue right where we left off last night.

“I need a bath.” Her cheeks flush. “And other bathroom ablutions.”

I let the wall obscuring the archway to the cleansing room dissolve, reminding myself to leave the entrance open in the future. I shouldn’t forget that Elsie is unfamiliar with the abilities and functions every Alit takes for granted. “You’ll find everything you need in there.” I motion at the ledge built into the wall. “I left a new comb and tooth-cleaning brush on the shelf.”

She gives the empty pool a speculative glance. “There are no faucets.”

“Faucets?”

“For water.”

Ah. Of course. Even a child knows how to run a bath. But this is another example of why it’s important to remain conscious of Elsie’s limitations.

It’s easy enough to open a small hole in the pool’s stone bottom. Water bubbles through the hole.

She stares at the pool that’s quickly filling up. “How does that work?”

I seal the hole when the pool is full. “The palace is fed by arteries of water that run beneath the surface. Thanks to the volcano that heats it, the water is warm.”

“Is that why it has healing powers—because the water absorbs minerals from the soil?”

If my explanation is curt, it’s because I’m suppressing a very enticing mental image of my naked mate in the water. “It has healing powers because we add special salts to the water.” I continue in a clipped tone, “Don’t linger too long. I’ll be back soon.”

Before it’s too late to salvage the little that remains of my willpower, I leave the rooms, seal the exit, and stomp down the hallway.

The cooks and bakers gape when I walk into the kitchen where breakfast is being prepared. Last night, we fed small chunks of all the reserves in the pantry to the flock of spiked lizards that roam the palace, and none of them dropped dead. To be on the safe side, I had fresh produce brought from the village this morning and locked it in a cooling room that only I can open.

Under the astonished stares of the kitchen staff, I make quick work of preparing a basket.

Elsie is pacing in front of the window when I return. She’s wearing one of the dresses I left for her. The fabric is the color of dusk and ashes, which brings out the sunset glow of her hair and the vibrant blue-green of her eyes. She’s paired it with simple satin slippers that peek out from under the long skirt. The bodice hangs loose on her slender frame, the back unlaced.

Of course.

Women require maids to help them string and tie the laces.

Elsie spins around when the archway closes behind me.

I leave the basket on the dresser and advance slowly. “Turn around.”

“I…” She remains glued to the spot. “Why?”

I can’t help but notice her small curves under the fabric. The memory of her shape, from when I held her between my palms in the hallway last night, rushes back to me, and for a moment, it drowns out all other thoughts. The aphrodisiac has long since worked itself out of my system, but desire pulses back to life in my body, hardening me painfully.

My voice is gruff. “Turn around if you want me to fasten that dress.”

I could do it without touching her, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She steps closer and turns around, offering me the milky expanse of her naked back. The urge to touch her there—and in other places—is unbearable, almost uncontrollable. It’s only with many cycles of practiced willpower that I grip the laces and pull the edges of the dress together, lingering longer than necessary when my knuckles accidentally brush over her skin.

The goosebumps that run down her arms gladden me.

She’s not unaffected. My touch arouses her. I can smell it. I can hear it in the quickening of her heartbeat and see it in the soft fluttering of the vein that throbs in the side of her neck.

She pulls away and twirls around to stare at me with a confused expression. She’s wondering about this effect I have on her. She’s asking herself why her body comes alive beneath my palms. But she’s also denying it, fighting hard to ignore the truth.

“I haven’t finished,” I say, letting my gaze play over her lovely features.

She swallows audibly as she moves her hands behind her back and says, “I can manage the rest,” while deftly tying the laces.

I wait patiently, allowing her to finish.

When she drops her arms at her sides, I grab the basket on my way to the door.

“Come, Elsie.”

I don’t wait to see if she follows. If I linger another moment, I’m going to trap her beneath my weight, spread her legs, and spill my seed inside her in the very bed where she’ll conceive my children.

The thought is so tempting that I walk faster lest I act on the alluring idea.

Elsie falls into step beside me, running to keep up. “Where are you taking me?”

I slow my stride, mindful of her shorter legs. “To one of my favorite places.”

We pass through the Great Hall and, when I’ve parted the waterfall, onto the bridge. I take the stairs leading to the hill, holding her elbow in a firm grip to make sure she doesn’t slip.

When we reach the bottom, she turns to take in the palace, and her jaw drops. I understand her amazement. The sight can be overwhelming. The palace is built into a cone-shaped mountain that stands alone, the cliff walls reaching into the sky. Open archways and paned windows with balconies run down the sides, creating an illusion of gaping mouths and blinking eyes. We’ve turned the existing caverns into rooms and, with time, added new ones by dissolving the rock.

At the top, the rockface is green with luscious ferns and moss. Water that pushes up from an underground tunnel running through the center of the mountain erupts from the top and rushes in a powerful waterfall over the side and in front of the Great Hall.

“That’s pretty impressive.” She points at the windows. “Are those all the bedrooms?”

“Mostly. Some of the rooms are the royals’ quarters. Others serve as meeting rooms. The banquet hall and the kitchen, as well as the staff rooms, are at the back.”

Taking her hand, I lead her down the hill on the other side of the sea toward the lake. Her palm is warm and small in mine. The touch is a practicality, ensuring she doesn’t trip or fall, but the contact warms my chest in a way I’ve never felt. It’s like a soothing balm on a cut.

Little by little, I relax until the brutal emotions that tore through me mere moments ago are safely tucked away. I point out the shrubs and flowers as we go, telling her their names. It’s enjoyable. Peaceful.

The realization startles me. From the day my awareness of her stopped beating in my chest, from the dreadful day I believed she was dead, I’d never been at peace.

“Wow,” she says when the flat surface of the lake comes into view. “This is so pretty.”

Red, yellow, and purple cone ears grow in clusters between the succulent grass, each sticky petal curled like a tongue ready to catch any insects flying by. It does make a striking picture with the blue backdrop of the water. The air is clean here, free from the smell of cooking fires and grilling meat. Instead, it’s warm and humid, perfumed with the salty scent of the grass and the sweet odor of the carnivorous flowers. For once, the whispers are quiet, and the only sound is the soft crackling of the grass as the fat blades reach for the sun.

Giggling, Elsie prods one of the succulents with the tip of her shoe. She utters a delighted laugh when the blade curls around her slipper before unfurling into the air again.

“Can I touch it?” she asks.

“The grass is safe.”

She lets go of my hand to run her fingers through the blades. They twist around her fingertips, and sensing that it’s not their usual food, they return to their erect state.

She laughs. “That tickles.”

I take the blanket from the basket and spread it out near the shore. When I’ve set out our breakfast, I ask, “Are you hungry?”

She pads over and plops down next to me, sitting with her legs crossed. “Aruan, we have to talk.”

Yes, but… “Food first.”

She huffs.

I halve a small thoska cake and heap a generous helping of hardboiled, minced yehuyk on top. Lifting it to her mouth, I say, “Open.”

She takes the savory cake from my hand. “You don’t have to feed me.”

I can’t help the teasing smile that stretches my lips. “What if I like to?”

That earns me another huff. She shoves the entire cake into her mouth and chews enthusiastically.

“Oh, wow,” she says around the food. “This is delicious.”

The warm sensation in my chest increases, knowing I’ve pleased her with a treat I prepared for her. “It’s baked with flour we grind from the bark of thoska trees, which is very nutritious. If the bark is steeped in water, the infusion can be used for digestive problems.”

“What’s the topping?” she asks, licking her fingers clean. “That was so yummy and creamy.”

My gaze homes in on her action, my body tightening in response. “Snake eggs.”

Her eyes grow round. She spits on the ground and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ew. Seriously? That’s gross.”

“It’s a delicacy and a rare one at that.”

Shooting me a cutting look, she says, “You could’ve warned me.”

“Here.” I pour a little juice from the flask into a bowl and hand it to her. “Drink this.”

She takes a big swallow and asks belatedly, “That wasn’t anything gross like frog pee, was it?”

“Frog? I don’t know that animal.”

“It’s a cold-blooded, slimy amphibian—” At my frown, she adds, “Sort of like a reptile that leaps and croaks.”

I chuckle. “It’s just a sweet wine made of fruit and herbs.”

“What about you?” She leaves the bowl on the blanket. “Aren’t you eating?”

I’ll eat when I’ve taken care of her needs. “Would you like to try some scrivka ? It’s a porridge made with seven grains and eaten cold with honey.” I take the dish out and, after removing the cloth that covers it, place it in front of her with a spoon. “This has to be cooked overnight. Otherwise, the grains are indigestible.”

She dips the spoon in the porridge, takes a tentative lick, and then finishes everything in a few big bites. When I offer her a second helping, she tells me she’s had enough.

I’m preparing the sweet part of the meal, which are cubed pieces of fruit fried in fat and caramelized with honey, when she gets to her feet and kicks off her shoes.

“Elsie.”

I drop the sticky jimkia and reach for her ankle, but she jumps out of my reach.

“I want to feel the grass under my bare feet,” she calls with a mischievous grin over her shoulder as she runs to the edge of the lake.

Dragons! This woman will be the end of me.

“Elsie, no!”

My warning is not yet cold when her scream pierces the air.

Her pain is so acute it’s like a blade peeling off my skin. I sprint after her and, in a few long strides, reach her where she’s hopping on one leg.

My tone is calm, collected, but the hurt etched on her features unleashes a torrent of rage like a volcano spewing fire inside me. “Where does it hurt?” I take her arm to help her keep her balance.

“My foot.” She sucks air through her teeth. “Damn, that fucking burns.”

“Show me,” I say through thin lips.

She bends her knee and lifts her foot with the sole facing up, revealing an angry red, swollen heel. “Something in the grass must’ve stung me.”

Our forests are full of venomous plants and creatures. I should’ve warned her, but how was I supposed to know Elsie liked digging her toes into lumps of clayish mud and slippery grass?

With my heart thumping in my chest, I search the succulents with a practiced eye. A horned ground crawler creeps out from under a blade, edging toward her like a parasite that has smelled blood.

My fury is so great I’m incapable of thinking rationally. One moment, the bloodsucking little leech is worming its way through the mud, and the next, it explodes in a spray of grayish white glob before dissolving into a sizzling mess of dirty-white mush and black paste.

Elsie jumps back, pulling free from my hold so violently she lands on her ass in a tuft of spongy grass.

I waste no time in scooping her up into my arms and carrying her back to the blanket.

Once I’ve laid her down, I take her foot into my hand. “We’d better put a poultice on your heel to pull out the sting.”

Looking around, I find a few succulents within reach and break the fat blades in half. Then I cup the narrow bridge of Elsie’s foot in my palm and rub copious amounts of the sap from the blades over the inflamed skin. It’s an old remedy our cook taught me after I got stung by insects as a child.

Within seconds, the swelling goes down.

“How does it feel now, my sweet?”

“Unbelievable.” She gapes at me. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Don’t ever take off your shoes outside again. Some larvae that live in the soil are venomous.”

“You melted that caterpillar just like those lizards.” She pulls her foot from my hand, leaning on her elbows while watching me with an unsettled expression. “How does your power work? How can you dissolve something by simply looking at it? Do you have laser eyes or something?”

Caterpillar, laser … I don’t know her terminology, but I’m no longer in the mood for a language lesson.

I keep my tone bland, not wanting to frighten her more. “I broke the bonds holding its living particles together.”

“You… broke the bonds?” She swallows, staring at me. “Like, between its cells?”

I think I know what she means. “Between asha , the little self-sufficient units that make up all living beings, and then between the particles that make up asha, the ones that make up everything.”

“The molecules?” she whispers, looking awed. “You can break bonds between molecules?”

“If ‘molecules’ are what all matter, animate or inanimate, is made of, then yes.”

She sucks in a breath. “Is that how you dissolve stone to create the entrance to your quarters? By breaking the bonds between stone particles?”

“Yes.”

“And then you remake the bonds?”

“Exactly.”

It’s so strange that I have to explain to her something every Alit toddler knows.

She swallows again. “And you do it all with your mind.”

“How else?”

She lets out an incredulous laugh. “Um… with heat, radiation, electrical energy, mechanical forces, chemical reactions? Utilizing actual laws of physics?” At my blank stare, she says, “Never mind. So how do the others’ powers work? Like Vitai’s? How did he heal me?”

“It’s the same principle,” I say. “We all manipulate matter to some extent. He’s good at recreating the bonds within and between asha .”

“Whereas you’re good at dissolving them,” she says, and the way she’s looking at me—the way everyone has looked at me all my life—leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I can actually heal a bit too, though I’m nowhere near as good as Vitai, which is why I prefer to rely on potions and such. Not that it would matter to her. My own mate is afraid of me. Of my power. Like they all are.

And she doesn’t even know the extent of it.

Instead of sounding soothing as I intend, my declaration comes out angry. “I’d never harm you, Elsie.”

“Only other living beings?”

“It harmed you,” I bite out.

“It was just a sting. I’ll admit that stung a hell of a lot more than a wasp, but it wasn’t necessary to melt the worm into a puddle. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine for stepping on it.”

“It hurt you,” I say a tad louder, a tad more angrily, because it’s my duty to protect her.

A wry laugh tumbles from her mouth. “That was nothing compared to what I’m used to. Believe me, I’ve been through much worse. You just destroyed a poor, innocent worm for the misfortune of having crossed my path.”

My mind is hooked on the first part, on her declaration of having been in pain before, “much worse” pain.

“Worse such as?” I ask with deceptive indifference.

Maybe if I pretend not to care, she won’t be scared to tell me, and then I can hunt down the people who hurt her and give them a slow, torturous death.

“It’s…” She frowns. “It was nothing.”

My senses go on high alert. She’s hiding something from me, something serious. I feel it. I know it.

“Tell me,” I coax in an amiable tone, suppressing the violence that churns in my stomach before she catches a hint of my vicious intentions in my voice.

A speculative look comes over her features. “If I tell you, will you tell me why someone tried to kill me last night?”

I was going to tell her anyway—after I fed her—because it’s vital that she understands the dangers of our life. However, it’s not beneath me to let her think otherwise if it serves my purpose.

“Deal.” Let her think she’s won this round. “But you’d better tell me everything.”

Her laugh is uncomfortable. “ Everything may take a while.”

My gut tightens with a nasty foreboding. “I’ve got time.”

“Let’s just say there’s no life-threatening condition I haven’t had. I was dying from the day I was born.”

The words hammer in my skull.

Life-threatening.

Dying.

I clench my teeth to suppress the rage that rolls through me like a freak wave on a full moon tide. “What did you say?”

She shrugs, making light of it. “Autoimmune diseases, cancer, you name it.” She bites her lip before continuing. “In fact, I should be dying as we speak. Only, I feel great.”

Dying.

That word again. I don’t know what “autoimmune diseases” or “cancer” are, but the context is clear enough.

My reply is harsh. “You’re not dying.”

I’d feel it. I would know, as I knew when she was plucked away from me. Yet all I feel is vitality and a zest for life. A bit of a temper and a lot of impatience. But not death. Not that.

Nevertheless, the notion alone makes blackness drift into my vision. “Start at the beginning.”

She shrugs again. “What’s the point?”

I get the feeling she doesn’t like to talk about it, but I need to know. “We have a deal, or have you forgotten?”

She relents with a sigh, telling me about her childhood and adolescent years that were spent either in hospitals or in convalescence. I can sense she’s glossing over the worst of it, and as she speaks, I feel the horror of the diseases that sucked her life essence dry. I taste the acrid flavor of the certain death that lurked in the shadows, biding its time.

My rage is so great at the injustice of it all, at what would’ve happened to Elsie had the Phaelix not decided in their idiotic stupidity to kidnap her, that the big old conifer at the edge of the water ignites with a stroke of lightning before bursting into flames.

Elsie jumps to her feet, favoring her uninjured leg. Her shocked gaze is trained on the sparks shooting into the sky with sharp whistles as the gum inside the trunk explodes.

I only manage to get control of myself again after the tree has been crisped to a stark black silhouette that smolders against the cloudless blue of the sky.

The stink of smoke, charred resin, and wood turned to coal taints the air, burning my nostrils and lungs.

“What the hell just happened?” she stutters.

“Lightning,” I mumble, which isn’t a lie.

I can bring down a lightning bolt from the sky by merely focusing my attention there. Like fabricating water from the air, it’s a simple trick.

“You did that,” she says accusingly.

I don’t confirm the obvious. I’m contemplating a more important matter. What do I do with the information she’s shared? I need to talk to Vitai. He may have an idea of what could’ve happened to her to make her so sickly when she arrived on Earth. And then I’ll confront my mother.

Carefully pushing down the turbulent feelings boiling inside me, I point at the spot in front of me on the blanket. “Sit down.”

Elsie obeys with a wary look on her face. “You’re angry.”

I try to soften my tone. “Not at you.” Motioning at her injured foot, I say, “Let me see that again.”

She leans back on her arms and offers her foot reluctantly.

“How does it feel now?” I ask.

“Still fine.”

“Good.” I set her foot down gently, avoiding her eyes while I slip on her shoes. I’m too afraid that if I look into those blue-green pools and see her suffering reflected there, I’ll lose it again. “We’d better go back so Vitai can have a look at it.”

After getting to my feet, I offer her a hand to help her up. “Can you put weight on your foot?”

She takes a hesitant step. “Yes.”

I test her balance before letting her go. If I’m quiet while I pack up the remains of our breakfast, it’s because I’m already compiling a mental list of questions to confront my mother with, and with each one I add, my fury grows.

“Aruan,” Elsie says, tugging on my sleeve. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

Once more, her concern warms and calms me. “It can wait. I ate small meals throughout the night.”

Her eyebrows snap together. “You didn’t sleep at all?”

Needing the reassurance of her touch, I take her hand again. “We were interrogating the guests. It took time.”

She glances sideways at me. “You owe me an answer.” Using my own words against me, she says, “We had a deal, remember?”

I lead her down the slope toward the palace. My plan was to show her the majestic cliffs and the vast crops bordering the village so she’d be reassured of the abundant nature and wealth of her new home. A part of me was hoping she’d be keener to stay if she fell in love with the beauty of Zerra and got to know the richness of our resources and history. But that’s an excursion best saved for another day.

A small group of people appear at the bottom of the path that runs from the village. The women are holding children by the hand, and the men are carrying bundles of firewood.

Next to me, Elsie perks up. I sense her curiosity more than see it because she’s careful to school her features. I know what’s going through my mate’s head. What she sees is an opportunity to escape, to ask someone to help her get away.

She’ll be disappointed. No one is stupid enough to risk my wrath. She’ll learn soon enough that there’s no escaping her fate. Or her mate.

The people fall quiet when they spot us. Their fear is palpable, but it’s too late to turn back without being disrespectful or rude. Instead, they fix big, frightened eyes on Elsie and continue with obvious hesitancy toward us.

At the acceptable distance, they bow their heads and mumble, “Praise to the prince, peace to the future queen,” and then, walking a wide circle around us, they scramble away.

Elsie twists her neck to stare after them. “Those people…”

“They’re from the nearby village.”

“Those people,” she says again.

“What about them?”

“They looked… scared of me.”

There’s no point in hiding or sweetening the truth. She’s going to find out at some point, and it’s better that she hears it from me. “They’re terrified of you.”

She stops and tugs on my hand to hold me back. “Why? Why is everyone frightened of me? Is that why someone tried to kill me?”

I clench my fingers around the handle of the basket. “They’re scared because of a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?” she asks, shading her face with her free hand to meet my gaze.

“There’s a prophecy in the scrolls that predicts a powerful prince, the most powerful Zerra has seen, will bring enormous wealth and prosperity to the people of his kingdom. During his reign, the kingdom will know peace and abundance. But there’s always a price that comes with great power. According to the scrolls, the prince’s unequalled power will also be his downfall… and the downfall of the entire world. For he’ll be cursed with a loss of control around his mate, so much so that one day, his inability to control his power will bring on the destruction of the whole of Zerra.”

She blinks. “That prince is… you.”

My smile is wry. “That’s what people think.”

“And they think I’m the mate who’s going to trigger your loss of control that will destroy your world,” she says in a voice that’s thin with shock.

“Correct again.”

“What are these so-called scrolls?” She pulls her hand from mine. “Who wrote them? Where do they come from?”

“If you’d like, one day, I’ll take you to visit the sacred site, and you can view them for yourself.”

“Do you…?” Her chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “Do you believe the scrolls?”

If my reply is severe, it’s because of the threat the prophecy poses to the woman fate gave to me. “No.”

I don’t need to know Elsie very well to understand how her mind works. I know exactly what she’s thinking as she stares at me with ashen cheeks. She’s thinking about the incidents that have occurred every time her life has been threatened—the shaking of the floors and the cracking of the wall. She’s thinking about the Phaelix and the bloodsucking leech I melted to liquid. She’s thinking about the tree that’s still smoking on the horizon.

Not liking the direction her thoughts are taking, I make my voice hard. “There’s no evidence to suggest the prophecy will come true and no facts to prove the predictions are accurate.”

She backs up a step, moving away from me. The act tells me what she doesn’t say in words—that she doesn’t want to be near me.

My anger rises anew, mixing with uncontrollable possessiveness.

I need her near me.

By dragon, I’ll hunt her if I have to.

In a blink, I eliminate the distance she put between us and wrap a proprietorial hand around her nape, dragging her to me as I drop the basket. Her lips part as our bodies collide, and I grow hard at the ambrosia-like softness of her small, pointy breasts flattened against my torso.

Unable to stop myself, I claim her lips in a fierce kiss, stealing inside her mouth with my tongue.

The depth of her mouth is like honey, the taste of her driving me wild. She resists even as her pulse speeds up to echo with hammering heartbeats against my ribs, the blood gushing through her veins sounding loud in my ears.

My own blood pounds in my temples as I mold her lips into submission until they grow soft under the pressure of my kiss, and she allows me to shape them with mine as I please. A part of me knows that we’re out in the open, but I can’t find it in me to give a dragon. I should’ve kissed her on the blanket under the veil of leaves that forms a curtain around the trees. I could’ve taken her there, could’ve driven my bursting hard cock into the soft, wet heat of her delicate pussy, and she would’ve welcomed me. Even now, despite her initial resistance, her arms come around my neck, holding on as I plunder her mouth with abandon. The mating call will override her thoughts until she’s capable of thinking only with her body. The bonding will be completed, and it will be too late to do anything about it. She may resent me once it’s over, but no matter.

I’ll make her submit to me now and win her heart later.

We have time.

With that goal in mind, I give in to the urges driving me, letting them dictate my actions, which are to bunch her skirt in a fist and dip my hand beneath the fabric to brush my fingertips up the inside of her leg. The skin of her thigh is like the silky threads of the rarest spun textile. The heat between her legs is an unbearable torment to my senses.

Having left the trunk in my room empty of undergarments, I find her bare by conscious design. Yet nothing will ever prepare me for the way she feels when I touch the most secret, most intimate part of her body. Nor can I get used to the burning need that fires through my veins at the simple sweep of my knuckles over the petal-like folds hidden beneath soft coppery curls.

Her gasp slips into our kiss, encouraging me to take my exploration deeper. I curl a finger and part her gently, only to find her soaking wet for me. I nearly combust when I bridge her narrow opening and sink the tip of my finger into her tightness.

Dragons .

A drop of sweat rolls down my temple, the effort of holding back taking its toll.

So tight. Almost too tight.

Warning bells go off in my mind. Elsie is small, especially for an Alit. I have to take care not to hurt her.

I part her a bit more, push a little deeper, and by dragon, my self-control almost snaps.

“Aruan,” Elsie exclaims with a breathless gasp, tearing her mouth from mine.

I seal my lips over hers again, swallowing her sounds for fear she may utter them in protest as I tease her with shallow pumps.

Her breathing turns more labored. She’s going to make me lose my head.

I’m about to sink my finger knuckle-deep inside her when the air starts to ripple with subtle waves.

For the everlasting dragons .

A growl tears from my chest. I loathe to stop what I’ve started. However, I don’t have a choice but to pull my hand from its warm, seductive nest and set her lips free as a portal opens in front of us.

Elsie clings to my shoulders, her gaze dazed and her eyes hazy. I barely have time to offer her an apologetic smile for leaving her hanging so cruelly when Gaia steps through the portal.

The look of terror on my sister’s face washes away the intoxicating heat coursing through me in an instant. Alarm takes its place.

Wrapping my hand around Elsie’s firmly, I pull her under the safety of my arm. “What’s the matter, Gaia?”

“Come quickly!” My sister grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the open portal. “The palace is under attack.”