Page 9 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)

R ian was pissed beyond comparison, as well as hard as fuck. He was pissed at himself for letting his brother stoke his anger, pissed for saying the things he did in front of Vrea, and for letting her seep into his mind enough that now he couldn’t get the taste of her out of his mouth. That intoxicating taste of nutmeg and lilac had him wanting more, only to have her rip herself away from him at the last moment.

Her fury had been a seductive taunt, one that he contemplated chasing. If anyone was rage incarnate, it was her. And perhaps his boyish manners could use a lesson in violence, in confidence and assured wrath.

After the failed bedding, Rian wasn’t sure what to do with himself for the rest of the evening. It wasn’t like he planned on taking her, it just happened. He’d been tense after losing a sparring match with Brioc, one that Regulus relentlessly teased him about and it had set him in a pissy mood for the evening. Then Castil hadn’t shown up with the Princess in tow and their father grew annoyed with him, even if he’d been the one to give Castil the task that kept him away.

Castil had been in the study for most of the night, doing gods know what with the general of the army as they tried to figure out the next plan of war after Teminos had launched a full-blown attack after his failure to retrieve Vrea. Rian hadn’t expected him to be away for so long, finding amusement in the way the Princess locked her gaze on the raucous act that happened in the shadows. And then everything slipped into that sort of headspace, allowing him to find a bit of fun.

And she’d been down for it too, allowing him to unlace her strange attire, touch her and kiss her and taste her and suddenly his evening took a turn for the better. He couldn’t deny that she bore alluring features, ones that pulled him from his shitty headspace.

But of course, perfect fucking Castil had to stand there and ruin it all with a slick sentence pouring out of his mouth like warm honey. He’d perfected the art of wordplay from a young age and honed it over the years into an incomparable skill.

Rian knew his brother’s fury and where it came from. It was unfair, truly. But none of that mattered.

He’d angered her, without the intent of doing so.

He’d need to apologise as soon as Vrea would allow him to, whilst being in the same room and avoiding the murderous feeling that she would no doubt be sporting soon. Thankfully, she wasn’t allowed any weapons, otherwise Carylim might find another heir gone.

Castil would be easy to smooth things over with, even with the snide looks he’d received after they both returned to the banquet. He hadn’t spoken for the rest of the night, going so far as to stew in his own foul mood as he picked at his food, swirling his drink but never taking a sip.

Rian couldn’t blame him there.

Not after he’d nearly died from one.

There would be tension with his sibling for a little while before they both cooled off, and both came back around. Unlike their other siblings, Castil and Rian occasionally got along. It was nice to have someone in his corner, even if only temporarily. In a family like theirs, one could never be careful enough.

Easy.

Vrea, on the other hand, wouldn’t be.

But there, in the very corner of bad ideas, where the ones so terrible almost appeared to be good, one floated to him. A way to apologise without even needing to utter the remorseful sentiment, alongside the perfect way to end the war. A foolish way yes, but a way nonetheless. It was time for the fighting to cease and not because either side had lost too many men to continue, but because they had both lost enough.

Enough men, supplies, hope.

Rian would need to figure out the details, and need to smooth out the kinks before even approaching Vrea about it. Then it would be an entirely different matter of if she believed him, and if she would take the chance on him, on her freedom.

Because what he planned to do- if it failed, meant nothing good for either of them.

His father would kill her, that was certain.

The only reason he hadn’t yet was because Castil had done something each month of her capture to keep her alive. The details weren’t known, a deal shared only between the two of them. Rian had a feeling that his elder brother would never share that either, keeping it locked away tightly within himself. Whatever it was, it was often the reason that Castil was quiet and reserved around them all. All except him, and the fire that called him back to life around Vrea. The one that stoked his temper into something wicked enough to clash words against her, fight with her, taunt and tease her until her face turned red.

But that wasn’t what his mind should have latched onto. Because in order for this to work, in order for them both to escape Carylim with their heads and their hearts, then Rian would need to pour all of his concentration into working out the tiniest details and preparing everything before he broke Vrea out.