“I know that these challenges have been preoccupying, but—”
“Not with the challenges. With you.”
I rock back, the sting of this sudden attack startling. “I accept that my behavior hasn’t been exemplary, but your thoughts being elsewhere is no excuse to lash out at me.”
I gasp as he’s suddenly there, kneeling in front of me, cupping my cheek in one hand.
“Do you not understand me yet?” he demands.
I can do nothing but gaze back at him, speechless and still in his hold.
“My thoughts are all on you,” he says, tracing my cheek. “You are mine. I want tomakeyou mine. Out of respect for your customs, I wait, but…”
My breaths come in shallow gusts as he tilts my head back, leans in, and presses his mouth beneath my jawline.
“A dragon has only one weakness, Princess.” He draws in a long breath, releasing it in a rumble against my throat. “You cannot always expect me to think clearly when mine is so near.”
I find myself completely unable to say anything, but a thought bursts forth in my mind—a wild, unbridled one.
A call comes from outside the tent. They’re calling for him, I think. The pulse thundering in my ears makes it difficult to tell, but as he kisses me once more, the wild thought rears up again, insistent on being spoken aloud.
“Marry me now, then,” I say before whoever calling him breaks this moment between us and I reclaim my sanity.
Soren draws back, his eyes as wide and wondering as a boy’s. “What?”
I gather my courage to say it again. “Marry me now,” I repeat, a blush stealing over my cheeks. “Well, not now as in right now.” I best make that clear before he sweeps me out of the room. “But earlier than we planned, perhaps.”
Why should we wait a month? The marriage will happen either way, won’t it? This is an arranged marriage, one where the terms are already negotiated and set down in ink.
Soren is still staring at me, and I begin to doubt my rash suggestion. I don’t know where such an idea even came from. I drop my gaze to my lap in search of any sand I can pretend to sweep away.
“It was only an idea,” I say.
He seizes my face between his hands, forcing me to look at him and the flames blazing up in his eyes. “It is anexcellentidea.”
I fight back a grin.
Whoever is outside the tent calls again, and Soren, hanging his head, relinquishes his hold on me. “Enter.”
It isn’t Rally, as I expected. It’s Boyd, and he looks near livid.
“I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesties,” he says after a quick bow. “Lord Tallin is here. And he’s asking for an audience with our queen.”
21
Lord Tallin? What could he possibly want at this time of night?
Without warning, the tent becomes darker, tighter, as if a great beast has somehow crept inside unnoticed. Soren hasn’t moved, and yet his presence expands; his shadow lengthens. When he speaks, the fabric of the walls trembles.
“And does Lord Tallin say what he means by insulting our queen by coming at such an hour?”
Boyd flashes his teeth, a gesture I take for agreement. “He does not, Your Majesty.”
Soren rises, a smell of smoke and destruction trailing after him.
“Wait,” I say, reaching up for his hand. His eyes are slitted when he glances down at me.
This makes no sense. Surely, Lord Tallin isn’t foolish enough to announce his intent to see me and then try to harm me in Soren’s own camp?
