Page 10 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

One of the fifty-odd sniffling boys on this forsaken island was the cousin of the Dragon Prince, then.

I didn’t know it before, and yet, that wasn’t surprising.

For the last five years I’d kept my head down, with very little interest in the new arrivals.

They learnt of me quickly and avoided me, anyway.

Rumours pass faster than the Nox ever did, and I was one of the stories that was still breathing.

The prince hesitated. “No.”

“As you wish.”

King Braxthorn had two sisters who could have fathered this cousin of Langnathin’s.

Princess Derynallis, a year older than the king, resided with him in Droundhaven after the death of her first and only husband many years ago.

And Queen Hyamis, a span younger than them, married King Canenrill of the Scentlands.

To my knowledge, they had a few sons already, including Prince Brascillan, but I hadn’t heard of a Moontouch in their family.

I heard feet shuffling, though which of them it was, I could not say.

Then the prince spoke again. “You are dismissed, Thread.”

“My prince.”

I pressed my back against the wall, then released a relieved breath as Groulin’s steps retreated down the corridor in the other direction rather than heading towards me.

The other steps moved forwards, and then a door opened and closed.

Total quiet fell in the corridor, except for my quick breaths .

I waited a full minute, counting each second. Even after they passed, I waited longer still in the silence, steadying my heart and reshuffling my beads. It should seem like a natural length of time before my arrival at his door.

When I stepped into the corridor, my heart stopped.

It wasn’t empty.

The Dragon Prince stood before me like a statue, his arms folded in front of his chest. His cold face was just as sharp as it had been on the dais. He was no paler than the rest of the Sightlands Brothers, and yet with his dark hair and black robes, he looked luminous in the dim light.

“I’ve spent enough time in the Soundlands to hear a mouse move,” he said. “And you, strange girl of the Brotherhood, are far louder than a mouse.”

Dread fell over my body like cold rain. I ducked my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were curious,” he said. “I don’t begrudge you that. But if you’re going to spy on people, you’ll need to be smarter.”

I kept my head down, the blush rising sharply to my cheeks as I waited for him to dismiss me. A scolding from the Threads would soon follow, I was certain of it. Embarrassment didn’t cover it; I felt entirely mortified.

“My name is Langnathin,” he said. “You are Tanidwen.”

He said it in the same way all of the Brothers did, quickly and emphasising each part the same, as if it was recited off a page and not a living name.

There was no care given to the ‘a’, no warm rounding of it, no elongation of the first syllable.

I was certain if I was a Tastelander, or from the Scented Hills, he would have taken the care.

But as ever with Touchlanders, even our names were not granted a drop of the prince’s respect.

I nodded nonetheless.

“I requested an audience,” he said, and his tone lifted my eyes. He inclined two fingers towards him, ushering me forwards. “ Let’s move inside. There may be more than your ears in this hall.”

Before I could react, he turned and opened the door again, stepping inside with his back to me. Curious, I followed him inside and closed the door.

His rooms were far grander than even Seth’s.

The men bound to stay upon the island, such as Threads or the men who served it, were granted their own rooms. I, too, had my own room, but that was more from the accident of my womanhood than from any esteem.

My room was plain, a cot bed and a small desk.

Seth had plush sheets, a thicker mattress, and a freshly carved desk.

The Dragon Prince had two rooms.

The one we walked into seemed to be for the sole object of sitting.

One armchair sat opposite a narrow lounging chair, with a small table between the two.

A steaming pot sat on a silver tray with two empty cups.

Through an ajar door in the left corner, I saw the edge of a huge and comfortable bed, with the linens strewn across the mattress and a pillow lying discarded on the floor.

I knew nothing of the politics of a man and a woman meeting alone, but it felt wrong for me to see his unmade bed, and I couldn’t help my blush.

“Tea?” Prince Langnathin asked, taking a seat and sweeping his hand in the direction of the steaming container.

I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

“Your Grace.” His voice was lazy, but his piercing study was anything but.

I blinked. “Sorry?”

“You’re supposed to call me ‘Your Grace’.”

My blush grew. “Of course, Your Grace. I wasn’t thinking.”

He narrowed his eyes, but not unkindly. It was a look of discernment. I didn’t like it. He reached for the pot, and poured himself a cup of dark, hot liquid. I wasn’t sure why I’d said no. It was cold, and I did want tea, but it seemed more polite somehow to refuse him.

“Come closer.”

I shuffled a few steps forwards until I stood before the other chair. I rested my shaking hands on the back of it, using the soft velvet for support.

He watched me with such intensity that I desperately wanted to turn, but I was certain that would be rude. “How long have you been here?”

“Since a little past my second span,” I responded, and saw him tense. “Your Grace.”

He relaxed, and smirked. “If you’re going to Isle de Courvin, you’ll have to learn some manners.”

“If,” I echoed, before clapping my hand to cover my mouth and making the beads rattle.

“What was that?” he asked, taking a sip of the tea.

I swallowed. “Nothing.”

“You said ‘if’. Why?”

“I don’t have a choice, Your Grace,” I replied. “I must go to Isle de Courvin.”

“You are not happy with your Fate.”

There was nothing to gain by lying. It was obvious enough. “No, Your Grace.”

“Having every man in that arena compete for your hand does not appeal to you?” he asked, leaning forwards and settling his cup back on the tray. “Having them fawn over you?”

I laughed despite it all. “I am sure that if the men knew their victory would also win them me, most of the field would yield.”

Prince Langnathin did not laugh. He simply stared at me.

I ducked my head. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I spoke out of turn.”

“Why would you think that? ”

I shook my head, keeping my eyes focused on the material under my hands, not knowing where to start. He must understand it; he was the Dragon Prince, his father the patron of this accursed place.

The prince stood, and I took a step back. His gaze pinned me with its intensity. “Have they always made you wear that?”

“No, Your Grace,” I replied. “It is out of respect for you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Come here.”

I hesitated. I knew nothing beyond the scientific about the touches a man could bestow on a woman, but there was something in his nature, something in the heat in his gaze, that rooted me where I stood. My heart pounded in my chest.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. When I still did not move, he reached his hand out. “Your power works with skin contact. I wish for you to tell me what you sense when you touch me.”

“You want me to read you?” I replied. “Your Grace.”

“Yes.”

The Prince of the Sightlands had given me an order. My heart thundering in my chest, I stepped around the furniture and stood before him.

I kept my attention on his outstretched palm, too scared to meet his gaze. I lifted my shaking hand and touched him. My tanned skin pressed to his white flesh, and I felt his emotions as readily as food touching my tongue.

I swallowed as my skin prickled. Desire and unease. Almost in equal measure.

“What do you sense?” he asked.

My breath hitched, and I tried to focus. Beneath the desire, beneath the unease. There was ambition there, but it was clouded by something. Fear, or agitation. Curiosity. Dread. Resentment .

And then, underneath that, something new. Another set? Curiosity sat there, too. Hunger, greed, jealousy. But wonder, pride, and love, too.

I pulled my hand back and retreated two steps. I’d never read so much from one person. I blinked and raised my white eyes to his blood-red stare. “You fear something, or you are nervous about a course of action. You know something needs to happen, but you don’t know if it is something you want.”

His jaw clenched. “What else?”

“You strive to be more than what you are, but something or someone holds you back,” I said.

The words fell from me, bubbling out just as quickly as I thought them.

I couldn’t stop it. The Brothers so rarely let me use my gift, and I could usually guess what Seth was thinking before I even touched him.

“You long for adventure, but you’re scared of something. ”

Langnathin searched my eyes. “I can see that you discovered more.”

“You and your dragon are very close,” I hedged.

He blinked at this. “Can you read her through me?”

I paused, then nodded slowly. “She’s trying to work me out. And she’s hungry.”

The Dragon Prince tipped his head back and laughed. The sound unnerved me, and I stood, waiting for him to tell me off.

“You speak too frankly,” he said, more sombrely.

“I apologise, Your Grace.”

“Though I admire your diplomacy in one area,” the Dragon Prince added.

“Your Grace?”

“I knew what I was feeling when you touched me,” he said. “Did you not mention my attraction to you for my dignity’s sake, or out of your own sense of propriety?”

My face reddened again. “Both, Your Grace.”

He stepped forwards, and I sucked in a breath. “Look at me. ”

I did as he said, raising my chin. Some of his feelings had slipped through the cracks of his expression, his fascination with me similar to those first few months on Eavenfold, before dragonfire burnt me a new reputation.

Had he heard what the Brothers said about me? His eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.

“I might not have your gift of reading people,” he said, his voice husky. “But I am from the Sightlands, where we treasure beauty above all else. And you, strange Moontouched mouse, are hard to look away from.”

My mouth went dry.

“I would very much like to see your face in full. Without this covering.” He closed the gap, lifting a finger to my face.

I jumped back. “Your Grace, I do not think that is wise.”

Langnathin opened his mouth as if to argue, then he blinked, and looked away, staring at the steaming tea pot. “Yes, quite right. You’re a fast learner.”

Once more, I was at a loss for words, my face flushed as I darted my eyes around the room.

I didn’t know why exactly I’d stopped him.

My stomach had flipped the moment he reached for me, and my skin tingled with an entirely new sensation.

I had wanted him to touch me, to remove the beads from my face, and yet at the same time, I feared it.

I didn’t know what it meant, where it could lead.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tanidwen,” he said, his impassive mask back.

I swallowed hard. Rejecting his advance had been the wrong move, as now I was dismissed.

A strange disappointment filled me, with a sobering resentment quick on its heels.

I sought his approval, and yet I had no idea why.

He’d never been a prince to me, I’d never known the Sightlands nor wanted their court's approval. So why did I want his approval?

“And you, Your Grace.” He did not meet my eyes again, and I stepped towards the door. I hesitated with my hand resting on the handle. “Will you be at the Games, Your Grace?”

I’m not sure what compelled me to ask it. But I wanted to know.

He did look at me then, and I felt a small victory in that. One corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “Let us hope for both our sakes that I am not.”

I nodded, trying to return the smile and failing. The tension rolled off me in waves as I left, walking fast away from that room and that man, for good. I had no idea what he meant, but I had seen the flicker in his eyes, and there was nothing kind about it.