Page 246 of Blade of the Nightking

Seven hells. I hated Ambrosia.

I ripped my arm out of his grasp and stomped ahead of him, out of the chamber and into the corridors beyond. He followed at an unhurried pace, saying nothing, until I realized—with no small amount of annoyance—that despite being the one in front, he'd somehow still managed to herd me exactly where he'd wanted me. Like a sheep.

He closed the door behind us, leaving the apartment bathed in dimness, the only light the ghostly luminescence of the ocean beyond the windows, washing the chambers in spectral blue-green.

I stormed straight to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me before ripping my hair free from its intricate updo, sending pins scattering across the vanity as I yanked them out one after another.

The air was still oppressively humid despite the magic that held back the sea and kept the palace at a comfortable temperature. Within seconds, my hair was plastered to the sweat gathering along my back. Muttering beneath my breath, I reached behind me for the row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons fastening my gown.

Why were there so many fucking buttons?

I couldn't reach half of them, and the ones I managed to touch slipped uselessly beneath my damp fingers.

The room still swayed faintly beneath my feet, the Ambrosia turning every small frustration into a monumental one. I twisted this way and that, straining to reach the endless line of buttons marching down my back. My gown tangled around my legs.

With an undignified yelp, I crashed to the floor, taking a small side table down with me. A vase toppled, shattering across the tiles.

My bedroom door burst open.

Rìan all but flew inside, an iron blade already in his hand, his eyes sweeping the room for an attacker before they landed on me, an inelegant heap amidst the wreckage.

His brows lifted, and his grip loosened, the dagger lowering to his side.

Heat crept up my neck all over again.

"It's the damned dress," I muttered, wrenching off one sandal, then the other, before hurling them both into a corner. "I can't get it undone."

A quiet sound escaped him, almost a huff. I snapped my head up.

"Are you laughing at me?"

He slid the knife back into its sheath without taking his eyes off me.

"Yes."

I drew in a breath, fully prepared to unleash every curse word I'd ever learned.

Instead, he held out his hand.

I eyed it for a long moment before finally slipping mine into it. He pulled me effortlessly to my feet, as though I weighed nothing at all. The moment I was steady, I pulled away, turning this way and that as I fumbled behind me.

Behind me, he watched in silence.

I let out a frustrated sound and twisted farther, determined to undo at least one of the godsdamned things.

He stepped forward. "Let me."

"Absolutely not."

Before I could move away, his hands settled lightly on my shoulders—large, dry, warm—turning me until I faced the mirror. He came to a stop behind me, his reflection towering over mine, both of us standing stiffly in the silence.

The radiance that had illuminated his eyes throughout the evening had faded now, the power he'd wielded over the Court of Pelaga no longer necessary now that we were alone. His dark gaze found mine in the mirror for the briefest heartbeat before dropping to the row of fastenings at my back.

I wasn't sure I was even breathing as he slowly gathered the heavy curtain of my hair and drew it over my shoulder. His knuckles brushed the side of my neck, the lightest of touches, and yet it felt as though he'd traced fire across my skin.

Suddenly, he was everywhere.

The Ambrosia sharpened every sensation until it was unbearable. I could feel the warmth radiating from him at my back. Hear the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. As he reached for the first button at my nape, he stepped that little bit closer, and his scent enveloped me. Clean leather. Wind. And beneath it all, that familiar crackling wildness, like the charged air before a storm. Unmistakably him.