Page 31 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter twenty-nine

Aethan

The two females exchange a weary glance. Deirdre hesitates, seeming to pull strength from the look in the princess’s eyes. “I won’t leave Her Highness alone,” she says, swaying on her feet.

The princess shrugs. “I’ll be alright, Deirdre. I think I can handle him.” Her gaze swivels to me, daring.

Handle? My cock twitches.

“But, Sire—”

“Please, Deirdre. You’re exhausted. Let me take care of it.”

Deirdre doesn’t fight me for long. After one final protest, she dips her head and submits to my offer, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

Me and the princess.

Alone.

Everything about her screams trouble .

What could go wrong?

“Come on, then,” I say, before she tries to fill the silence with something frivolous or irrelevant. The quicker I get this done, the better. It’s a favor for Deirdre. And nothing more.

I may not like guests, but I can still be an excellent host, dammit.

I retrieve my cloak from the rack and head for the East Wing, swallowing the anxiety that prickles my throat.

She follows me, feet quiet on the wooden floor. Sconces flicker in the wind of our passing. In a few hours, dawn will break, and daylight will stream through the windows as the aethersky fades. Until then, we move in a cocoon of near darkness.

“I have a few requests for my room,” she says.

“You assume you have a say.”

“Somewhere with a window, if possible,” she continues, ignoring my comment. What’s she planning, another escape mission? My fists clench at my sides.

“Fireplace, like I said before. An attached bathroom would be nice. And a bookshelf…”

“So you can read your romance novels?” I snap.

“You assume because I’m female, I must like romance novels?”

“What? No. I just meant…” My jaw grinds, and I trail off. I’m not sure why I said it.

Something tickles my mind. Something about a sweetnut tree. Sunset rays. A guppy with curly hair. Guilt trails a cold claw down my spine. This young male in the Beast’s memory, is it her lover she left at home?

“You strike me as the type to crave a happily ever after,” I mutter. There. That should be enough flattery to shut her up.

She inhales, readying to speak again.

Or not.

“I read other things, too. Lately I’ve been into grimoires.” She catches up to me, and in my periphery, I spot her smirk.

She searches my face for something, then frowns. Disappointed in me? Get used to it, Princess.

“Sounds better than romance,” I say.

“How so?”

“Magic, unlike romance, is predictable. You guide your intent, and the spell happens as you imagine it. Romance…” Why am I telling her this?

At the end of the hallway, I spot our destination. Relief washes through me. Just a few more moments with her, and my duty is done.

I glance at my hands. No sign of the scales, yet. Despite the princess’s insistence on annoying me with her questions. I can do this. I can keep it under control.

“Romance is what?” she presses.

“It’s misleading. Guppy’s play. And it never goes as planned.” I stop abruptly, turning to face the door to the suite, and she walks into me.

Her starfish-clad breasts press into my arm, bundled in soft fur, and I hiss through my teeth. She’s too close. My cock flexes, aroused by the touch, by the thought of taking those breasts, soft and supple in my hands.

“Your room.” I sidestep to break the contact, like a fucking gentleman.

It’s the only room I’ve kept clean the past ten years besides my own. No guests mean no reasons to keep spare beds, which is a blessing for my staff, but has put me in a bit of a crunch tonight.

I have no other choice.

With a deep breath, I open the door and let it swing wide.

She tiptoes inside, peering into the dark room.

I know the layout by heart. There’s a large bed in the center, a writing desk to the left.

Two plush chairs frame the fireplace on the right, next to a handsome bookshelf.

The whole room is painted in a deep muted blue, too dark to see clearly now.

In the morning, light will stream through the single window, chasing away the horrors of the night.

This is my mother’s room. When we moved ashore, I had it made up for her, on the off chance I’ve been wrong, that she’ll come back from the dead, walk through my front door, and demand a place to rest her weary feet.

Every week, I make sure the sheets are fresh. Just in case.

Inviting the princess here feels strangely like bringing a female home to meet my parents.

My fingers find the top desk drawer. I rummage for a match to light a few squat candles on the desk. The strike breaks the silence, and flame flares with a hiss of smoke.

“Oh,” she gasps. “It’s beautiful.”

It’s dusty. The air is cold, the fireplace empty. A few stacks of dry wood rest on the hearth, collecting silkmite webs. I cross the room, then squat to arrange the wood. My fingers are numb, beginning to stain blue, and my heart races.

Heat to quench the anger, bran to stave the hunger, darkness to calm the fight.

I need heat. Now. Before I lose control. Maybe I can stave it off. I’ve already transformed once tonight. What’s the likelihood of it happening twice?

With another match, I light the kindling. The sticks crackle and pop as the fire grows. I hover my hands over the logs, much too close to the flame.

“Did you decorate this?” she asks, and I turn to see.

Her curls catch the candlelight, glinting bronze, and she looks almost regal. She walks with a certain sureness, a spunky twitch in the swing of her hips. She peers around, running her hands over the frame of the bed, the blue velvet curtains.

“No. It’s all Deirdre.”

My chest burns, watching her. Is she impressed? I let my imagination wander, just this once. Her, living here long term. Her, curled in a reading chair. A romance novel on her lap. Deirdre tottering through the doorway with endless cups of tea.

No guard at her door, because this is where she wants to be. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Would she learn to like me? Could we be friends?

More?

Hunger for her claws at my heart, sharp and fierce with sudden desire. The longer I watch her, the more I want it. Want her, under my care. A chance to tame that troublesome tongue.

Earlier tonight, I thought she was dead and nearly succumbed to my relief. But I know I could not live with myself if I let that nightmare come true.

The princess turns toward the bookshelf, her eyes widening. Her fingers trace the stony spines. In the candlelight, her face falls into shadow, her eyes reflecting the flame. Watching me, from the corner of her eye.

She’s fucking beautiful.

Who am I to desire the likes of her?

“Are you trying to catch yourself on fire?” she asks.

I glance at my hands. The flames lick at my skin, hot, but not hot enough. The Beast prowls the periphery of my mind, refusing to submit.

When I look at her, I feel him growl. Possessive.

I yank my hands from the fire.

“That should keep you warm until dawn. The washroom is through that door.” I point to the attached doorway next to the wardrobe. “Good night.”

I practically run from the room. My foot knocks a bucket of iron firesticks, and they clatter to the floor. Pain throbs through my big toe. I hop over the mess, send her an apologetic smile, and hurry to the door.

“Good night, Grumpy Gills,” she calls after me with a muffled giggle.

I pause at the doorway, gripping the frame, and allow myself one last glance.

Her eyes shine in the amber glow of the fire. She drags her appraising gaze over me, and a warm pink colors her cheeks. And damn she looks good in a blush.

My stomach twists into a tight knot, and the truth punches me square in my chest.

I’m in trouble. And if I’m not more careful, trouble will lure me somewhere I can’t afford to go—deeply, irrevocably obsessed with her, the princess I’ve made my prisoner.