Page 50 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter forty-seven

Nahla

Day four and still not a peep from the Frost King. I have the urge to sprawl myself naked before the fire, tuck my hand between my legs, and sing a summoning song. Could he resist me then? I bet he’d be here in five seconds flat. Break through that door and grovel like a good boy.

But I don’t do that. Instead, I sink into the leather chair by the fireplace and pick yet another book.

The stone tablet rests in my lap, humming quietly with activated magic, moving pictures in my mind.

It’s another story about another couple falling desperately in love.

Working against the odds to be together, and in the end, love wins.

It always does. So why does it break my heart?

When the lovers fuck, I chuck the book into the fire. The flames lick at the stone, but it remains unharmed. Fucking useless magical artifacts. What good are they if I can’t burn them in my rage?

A short pattern of knocks sound on the door—one heavy, two quick, then two light taps. Perrin. I move to answer him, repeating the pattern on my side of the door. Then the lock turns and the door cracks open. Lamplight spills in from the bright hallway.

“Hey,” he says, sticking his head through the gap. “Got more books for you.”

I take the stack of tablets and hug them to my chest. Three, this time. Glancing at the titles, I guess they’re more romance.

“From the Royal Icicle?”

Perrin nods. “Who else?”

I roll my eyes. “Hey, do you think you could go to the library and find some different books for me?”

The young guard brightens. “Sounds like an adventure, I like it. I’ll have to find someone to take my place for a bit…”

I level him with a look. “I’m not escaping, Perrin. I’m just tired of the king’s taste in romantic comedy.”

“Right.”

“Think you could find me history books? I’m curious to learn more about the Frost Kingdom. Origin stories, royal lineage, famous battles. Know of anything like that?” Anything to help me figure out the mysterious king.

“Sure. I’ll look later today, when I’m on lunch.”

If it wasn’t weird, I’d pinch his cheeks. I give him my best, friendliest smile instead. “Thanks, Perrin.”

He shoots me a sheepish grin before he locks me in again. I add Aethan’s books to the growing stack by the fire, then pace the room.

Aethan is doing what he said he would. Piles and piles of romance books. Way too many to read in a few days. Is that his goal, then? To stuff me with romance fantasies so I can escape the reality of his failures?

And when you run out. I’ll get you more.

Shit. I should have seen this coming. He said it, clear as day. That night he got drunk on the Frosted Plains and told me he wanted to keep me forever.

That way, you’ll never have reason to leave me.

I should take the books and shove them out the window. Drop them right into the snow. Refuse them when Perrin brings me romance. No books? No reason to stay. Maybe that’ll teach the king his lesson.

With a determined huff, I scoop a pile. Out the window it is. As I make my way to the curtain, I feel a mental tug. A wisp of feeling at the periphery of my conscience.

I freeze in my tracks.

He’s here.

Aethan.

It’s the first time in days he’s ventured to my side of the castle.

The books drop to the floor with a dull thud.

Heart soaring, I race to the door. Press myself against it, as close as I can get. My cheek slides against the smooth darkwood, and my ear suctions. I strain to hear. Is he in the hallway? Is he close?

There. In the distance. Large feet on wood slats. His footsteps come closer. Closer.

Aethan.

I get a glimpse of his emotions: Anxiety. Pain.

Is he in trouble? Is he hurt? My fingers trace the surface of the door, catching in the grain. With all my heart, I will him to come closer. To close the gap. To let me out and into his arms. His mind. To let me soothe that pain.

But his footsteps retreat, and I lose my hold on him. Shit. I slump against the door as my heart sinks. Serves me right for hoping.

I eye the scattered books on my floor, all will to finish my earlier task vanished. Is this my imagination playing a cruel trick on me? I’m driving myself insane. I need to stop obsessing over him and move on with my fucking life.

I’ve experienced heartbreak before. I knew this would happen, and I still caught feelings.

Aethan has kept me prisoner since the moment I arrived. Posted a godsdamn guard at my door. What idiot falls for the asshole who caged her?

Me, that’s who. I’m a stupid, chum-brained idiot.

I ball my hands into tight fists. If he comes through that door, I’m going to punch his pretty little nose.

Angry tears spill on my cheeks.

Wait.

His footsteps sound again. Coming closer. Faster. I feel a flare of emotion, burning with hope. It’s mine—and his. Aethan is hopeful ?

I press my ear to the door, desperate for any clues. Perrin stirs on the other side. Clears his throat. His keys jingle as he adjusts his stance.

“Your Maj—”

Aethan grunts, cutting him off.

That sound, the rumbling gravel in his chest, I missed it. He’s here . Moisture springs into my eyes anew, and I wipe them away. No time for tears.

Quickly, I run my fingers through my hair. I snare the tangles, pulling them apart. Fuck it. I toss it on top of my head and tie it in a quick, loose knot.

Hope. Anticipation. Worry.

The key fits into the lock.

I scramble away from the door. Smooth the wrinkles from my nightgown. Should I put on a robe? Mine lies in a puddle next to my bed. The sheets are a mess, drooping off the mattress like melted cheese. This is no way to greet a king.

A king, sure. But this is Aethan I’m worrying about.

I reel in my thoughts for a reality check. He trapped me in here. What did he expect me to do, keep it pristine for him in case he graced my sheets?

He hurt me, by accident, and instead of talking to me about it, he locked me in a room. I haven’t seen him for four days. Why visit me now? Is he here to apologize?

The key stops turning.

Crushing rejection. Pain.

There’s a thud on the door, dull like a forehead sinking against wood.

Oh, no, no, no. What happened? Why did he stop turning the key? I wring my hands, twisting them in the silky fabric of my shift.

“Aethan.” A whispered plea.

“Are you all right, Sire?” Perrin says outside my door.

Aethan grunts again. “She’s not ready to see me.” His voice pierces like a knife, and I flinch. He must have heard my thoughts. Dread sinks cold and heavy into my bones as I sway on my feet.

No. I didn’t mean it. Don’t go.

“Pardon me, but what do you mean? Not ready? Sire, she’s been—”

“She’s. Not. Ready.”

A whip of leather. His cape? And then his footsteps storm down the hall. Growing softer with each step.

I rush to the door. My palms sting as I slap the wood with both hands. “Aethan!”

“Nahla,” Perrin groans from the other side. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shit!” I slap the door again. Slide to the floor. My body collapses in a heap. He was so close.

So fucking close.