“I wasn’t sure you’d come down.” I turn my head just enough to see his silhouette in my peripheral. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“My eternal adoration.”
My cheeks heat as the crowd bursts into murmured whispers, and I arch a brow, looking back.
The vision of him is a punch to my chest—his arms crossed, snow caught in his beard and the loose bits of hair hanging about his face.
Eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.
He hides it well, the fear I could feel thrumming off him while I requested he not intervene, no matter what. While he put together a hearty meal we enjoyed together, passing me warm smiles that embraced me from a distance, plumping me with confident strength and encouragement.
He pulls a deep breath and steps close, reaching out. “Want me to look after that?”
I glance down at my cloak, then to the málmr hanging between my breasts—stark against the brown leather garb laced all the way to my nape.
I’m not good with words, but if I die this dae, I need Kaan to know. To see that in this life, I choosehim.
Loudly.
I turn, facing him. Watch his gaze drop.
Watch all the color leave his face and pool into his eyes.
Ignitethem.
The ball in his throat rolls, a low growl emanating from his chest that skitters a warm shudder through my bones. He takes the weight of my cloak, then steps forward and grips my waist, pulls me close, and presses his lips against my ear. “One of these daes, Moonbeam, I hope to repay the great honor by wearing your uhloo.”
I frown, about to ask what he means when his next words render me breathless.
“If you die, I’ll rip the fucking world in two.”
He plants a kiss on my temple—swift and warm—then spins, moving back through the bowing crowd. Though he doesn’t look back, I hear him murmur a sculpting sentence with the precision of an artisan.
The ground shakes.
The crowd gasps.
I whip my head around in time to see twin arms of soft, tan-colored clay flexing free of the riverbanks, mashing together like gripping hands. The structure flattens, as though being rolled by some invisible force, the excess pinching up into shapely handrails. An exact replica of the previous bridge, minus the moss.
It settles, hardening to a lighter tone as water wicks from the sturdy structure, dribbling into the river like a million dashed tears.
A seamless path for me to reach the pillar.
My chest aches at the gesture, thankful beyond measure. Half convinced I would’ve brought the entire mountain down had I so much as tried to pull up some wonky stepping stones.
Most of all, I’m thankful he didn’t build me a staircase or something to make scaling this thing easier. There’s nothing honorable about receiving such help.
I scan the crowd, some of them murmuring between each other, eyeing the pendant I boast. Perhaps wondering who the fuck I am.
If they knew the truth—that their perfect king has fallen in love with a rogue assassin—they’d probably riot.
I tuck the treasure safely beneath my garb and move across the bridge, edging around the island’s rocky banks. Leap over shattered trees that look almost glass-like, until I’m standing in the pillar’s shadow, skin prickling.
Anticipating its feel.
Tentative, I reach forward, brushing my hand across the unbuffed surface. So cold it bites my flesh and strikes me with memories of the glacier shard I used to dig a shelter for Fallon and myself after we escaped Arkyn … shoveling snow as the shard slashed my palms and painted the snow red—
I grit my teeth and shove the memory down,away. Sketch a path up the tapered structure, the column littered with flat spots where bits of the growth stalled. By no meansfootholds—more like thin grabbing points that hopefully won’t slate off—but they’ll have to do.
