He stays where he is so that his mouth brushes my skin as he speaks. “What do they say of me? In Vasna?”
The question perplexes me, but when he kisses me again, lingering as if he likes the taste, the words come whether I want them to or not.
“They say you are a fearsome leader. That you’ve brought great stability to Tirenth. That you’re known to be fair but that you’re never to be tested.”
“I see,” he says, and the urge to lean into his mouth is nearly unbearable. “Would they say I like to fight, do you think? Would they say I enjoy these challenges to my throne?”
I answer without hesitation. “Yes.”
My eyes flutter shut as his lips travel lower. “They would be right, but probably not for the reasons they think.There are many gifts in this world, Princess. There are gifted painters, and sculptors, and writers. Unfortunately, I am none of these. My gift lies in fighting.”
He pauses here as though he asked a question, and I hear it as if he did.
“Do you worry I find your fighting distasteful?” I ask.
“Perhaps. But I think I worry more about your peace, so I need you to understand, I haven’t lost a match since I was a fledgling. Challenges are unavoidable, but you have nothing to fear.”
I moisten my own lips. “Seltzen…Seltzen was so large.”
“Seltzen is a buffoon. I could have defeated him blindfolded.”
A small, breathy laugh escapes me. “His technique was rather terrible.”
“Abysmal.”
He straightens, and his cheek comes to rest on my own. “Your safety was never at risk, and I’m sorry that you thought it was.”
“I did not mean to offend.”
“I wasn’t offended.”
His lips return to my shoulder, continuing their path with maddening leisure. My hand comes up to tangle in his hair.
“We will learn one another’s ways, Serah,” Soren breathes. “We come from two very different worlds, yet love can’t be so different between them.”
My eyes, on their way to slipping shut, burst open.
Did he say…
Love?
16
The word echoes in my ears with all the jarring solemnity of a gong, and I freeze at the sound of it.
Is he saying he lovesme?
No, he can’t be. We’ve only known each other for a matter of days. He’s likely referring to some indeterminate future where wemightfall in love.
A puff of breath—the product of a low, rumbling chuckle—feathers along my skin, shaking me from my stupor.
“Now I have frightened you,” Soren says.
“No, I…”
I’m what? Am I frightened? I fight desperately to parse out my feelings as he begins his gentle assault upon my other shoulder, his kisses driving my teeth into my lip. My hand in his hair tightens.
Desire. That’s what I feel, isn’t it? This lightheaded lack of reasoning that seems to thrum through every part of me?
