Page 48

DISTRACTION

T hey met in the library some time later, properly dried, pressed, and starched. Mal had arrived before her, and he was crouched next to the far wall, brush in hand. She drew to a halt. What was he doing? Filling in one of the cracks, she realised with a jolt.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He replaced his brush, shaking his head. “Figuring out how to fool that hunter spell is more important. This bothered me too much to leave it, but the rest will have to wait.”

Coming to his feet revealed his neckcloth as one of his more elaborate styles, and he wore more than his usual number of rings. Protective armour? Nerves? Vanity?

Not that I have any high ground . She’d lingered over her choice of dress before selecting one that wasn’t strictly suited for practical work but did make her bosom appear larger.

She regretted nothing, seeing Mal’s slight double-take, the way his eyes slid down and then back up to her face.

“Where shall we start?” she asked, when he appeared to have momentarily lost the ability to speak.

He gave himself a small shake and waved at the polished wooden table, where a steaming teapot had been set out next to a stack of books.

“Right. Yes. Your idea about tricking the spell was a good one—I pulled out a first cut of anything to do with illusions and insignia. I know there are more, though.”

“And this is why you need to properly catalogue your library,” she said, not for the first time.

“I’ll schedule that in after dealing with the impending collapse of my house and invasion of my enemies. Tea?”

“Please.” She settled carefully opposite, aware of the distance between them. The stacked books contained titles such as Holistic Insignia: An Integrated Approach and A Practical Guide to Illusion .

“What is the hunting spell hunting for exactly?” she asked. “As in, what would make it bring news of you back? You said that without your true name, tracking spells don’t work—so does it know what you look like? Could we just let it in and hide you in a cupboard until it passes?”

His mouth curved. “I’m sure Apfela would love that. But no. Not unless the cupboard itself was warded to avoid detection—and then that would show up as a blank spot in need of further investigation.”

“What if we dye your hair blue? Would it still recognise you on sight?”

He stared at her and then began to laugh. “Do you know, I actually don’t know? Oh, I would love for it to be that simple. But I worry it might still recognise my insignia. My magic.”

“I thought that you didn’t have your old magic anymore? How would the prince recognise it?”

Mal shifted uneasily. “My insignia is missing its keystone, but the minor notes remain. Different enough to fool a casual observer, but too suspicious to someone familiar enough with the original. He would come to investigate it.”

And Avern was certainly familiar enough with the original. What made you fall in love with him? she wanted to ask Mal, but it felt far too dangerous a question to ask. Instead, she gestured at the book about illusions. “Are you thinking that we could disguise your insignia?”

Mal’s fingers moved restlessly, his rings glittering in the lamplight.

“Disguising insignia is difficult work that requires a lot of power, but it still seems like a promising option. I’m searching for a way that doesn’t require as much power—almost definitely a ritual—since that’s what we lack most.”

Gisele took the nearest book and retreated to her end of the table. The rain still fell thickly. It would wash away the blood in the orchard, she hoped.

She had difficulty falling into her usual research mode, too aware of Mal’s proximity. She caught his gaze, flushed, and looked away. It wasn’t even the bond, which they’d both shielded as tightly as they could. It was just… knowing that there was a possibility there.

Naming a thing makes it stronger , Gisele thought wryly. Appropriate, under the circumstances.

Stop acting like a silly schoolgirl with a crush , she told herself off. Remember the impending doom .

It was late by the time she found something promising.

She’d begun wandering the shelves, unable to concentrate while sitting so close to him, and found herself amidst his many, many books on magical metallurgy, including the newest additions he’d ordered on rare usages.

That was exactly what they needed—a masking spell that used the one greater power Mal did have.

She paused, tracing a spine idly as she tried to remember anything potentially useful from her reading. Pattern-matching, maybe?

It took a few tries and referring to the notes she’d made on gold magic as part of her theoretical studies, but eventually she found what she’d been looking for.

“Mal!” she called excitedly. “Gold-based illusions!”

He came to stand next to her shoulder as she read out the ritual. They didn’t touch, but every inch of her skin on that side of her body suddenly developed additional nerve endings.

“That does sound promising,” he agreed, cautious but hopeful. He was standing close enough that his breath warmed the skin on the back of her neck. “If I wasn’t still flamed out. But tomorrow… I might have regained enough magic to try it.”

“Time for bed, then.” She shut the book and turned, realising only then what she’d said.

The word ‘bed’ reverberated between them.

A herbal recipe rose suddenly in her mind, one she hadn’t used in more than ten years’ now but still knew by heart: Agnodice’s Preventative Mixture (to be taken within a day of intercourse) . She blushed.

He was watching her in a way that could only be described as hungry . A thrill went through her as he ever-so-carefully took the book from her hands and set it aside, his fingertips brushing hers.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asked.

Her heart thundered in her ears. He was so beautiful, and she could feel the strong current of his desire. She wanted to give herself up to it, and yet, she was afraid.

Afraid of what? She looked into his eyes, as familiar as her own.

Afraid of losing myself . Afraid that I want to. Afraid of what it might mean if I do. And quietest and coldest of all: afraid that I want him for more than just bed sport.

“What happened to ‘it might make the bond worse’?” she asked.

His gaze held steady as a flame. “You pointed out that we were already stuck together. And it occurred to me, what if it doesn’t make it worse; what if it makes it better ?”

Gisele took a step back, not quite up against the bookshelf. “You’re proposing this as an experiment?” She passionately hated that idea and couldn’t admit to herself why.

He gave a low laugh. “No. I’m proposing it because I desperately want it, and I’m offering reasons that I hope might convince you. If you feel the same…physical pull.”

Only physical . It felt like a life raft in the storm of her too-complicated emotions. This was only physical, and why shouldn’t she get to enjoy that? And yet, some part of her hesitated.

“Convince me,” she said archly because it seemed a lot less pathetic than what she truly meant, which was: make me feel less afraid.

He canted his head, as if he’d heard the underlying request anyway.

She flushed, but before she could withdraw in awkwardness, he had brought her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, the gesture a strange mix of old-fashioned and intimate. Her pulse fluttered at the press of his mouth.

“Very well,” he said, his gaze heavy on hers.

“Let me worship you,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her knuckles like a cat.

“Let me put my mouth to every inch of your skin.” He still hadn’t released her hand, his fingers tracing delicate patterns.

He nibbled at her palm. “Let me roll our scents together until I cannot distinguish yours from mine.”

She swallowed. “That certainly sounds convincing, but you know what they say about words.” Her voice came out breathy. She wasn’t sure where she was getting this boldness from, but it felt necessary, a kind of test.

He drew her closer, with excruciating anticipation, as if expecting her to shy away at any second. She offered no resistance but no encouragement either. His breath curled against her lips. “What do they say?” he asked.

“‘Words are only so much wind’.” She looked at him through her lashes.

“I,” he said with slow deliberation, “cannot lie.”

The kiss was as soft as thistledown. There was a maddening sweetness to it that she couldn’t help chasing, made worse by the fact that he didn’t progress the kiss at all, just kept on with that same lightness, delicate as spun sugar. She made an impatient sound and squirmed closer.

He pulled back, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Convinced already?”

“If you don’t kiss me properly, I will be rapidly un -convinced.”

He grinned, and she pulled his head down.

The kiss this time was pure brandy, each sip potent enough to make her dizzy. Folding his body around hers, he brought them closer together, as if he would merge them into one.

She lost track of time and space. The icy core of her fears grew distant, not gone but muted by layer upon layer of fire. Hot metal and vanilla flooded her senses. His hands were on her face, caressing the shell of her ear. His lips were at her throat, brushing over her pulse.

She sagged back against the bookshelf for support as he trailed the fingers of one hand down, over her collarbones, skimming the tops of her breasts.

His touch, feather-light and reverent, danced the laced edge of her low-cut bodice.

She gasped as his fingers worked their way beneath the outer layer of fabric and circled, finding one nipple through the soft cup of her undergarment.

A sharp jolt of pleasure shivered through her.

His eyes were black, and he drank her reaction in like a man starving. “Gisele,” he said, voice deep and guttural, and did it again.