Page 92 of Embers of Ruin

He smiles thinly. “And her role? Will you be taking a queen anytime soon, Your Majesty?”

My hand tightens around the bread, but Thorin’s expression doesn’t change.

“That is no one’s concern. Lady Tarethyn is a guest of the palace, under my protection.”

A ripple of silence spreads through the nearest tables at the unmistakable emphasis he places on my. Heat climbs up my cheeks. He may as well have announced to the entire court that I belong to him.

Sir Highland lowers his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He inclines his head toward me. “If I may ask, Lady Tarethyn, your hair is lovely. Where are you from? I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. It’s the most remarkable shade. It’s almost like—moonlight.”

I know Sir Highland isn’t asking about my hair. He’s trying to get me to answer what Thorin won’t. How long will I be here? Will I be his queen? Am I of noble blood?

Fucking noblemen.

“No,” Thorin says before I can so much as part my lips. “You may not ask Lady Tarethyn anything.”

His shadows surge across the floor, coiling around my chair before spiraling upward in a dark curtain that swallows me from the court’s view. They linger only a heartbeat before melting away again, but the message has been delivered. The dining hall falls silent and heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m sure I look completely flustered.

“Your Majesty,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady as I rise from my seat, “if I may be excused... I could use a bit of air.”

Thorin's silver eyes never leave mine as he gives a single nod. I don’t wait for anyone else to speak. I slip between the rows of nobles, acutely aware of every stare following me, and make my way toward the open terrace doors.

The cool night air greets me the moment I step outside. The doors open again only moments later. I don’t have to turn around to know who followed me.

* * *

I look up to find Thorin already watching me.

“You seemed overwhelmed.” His voice is quieter now, stripped of the authority he wore inside. “My apologies. I had hoped you would not feel uncomfortable.”

I let out a short laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yes, well…” I look out over the dark gardens instead of at him. “I’ve spent my entire life feeling uncomfortable. I’m used to it now.”

The admission slips out before I can stop it. I should swallow the rest, bury it beneath another sarcastic remark, but for some reason I don’t. For once, I just want to tell him what I'm thinking.

“It always comes back to the silver hair.” I tug absently at one of the loose curls draped over my shoulder. “Back home, people stare. They ask questions I don’t have answers to. They point out how different I am.”

I shrug, trying to make it sound like it doesn’t matter. “Usually, they’re just looking for a reason to remind me that I don’t belong.”

My gaze drops as I twirl the curl around my finger.

“I don’t need the reminder. I already know I’m unwanted in most places.”

The night breeze brushes against my skin, cooling the heat still lingering in my cheeks.

“I just…” I sigh, heavily. “I needed a moment where no one was looking at me.”

I glance at him. “I hope I didn’t ruin your royal dinner by making a dramatic exit.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I assure you,” he says, “the court has survived far greater scandals.”

Despite myself, I smile. It disappears the moment his hand rises to my face. His knuckles brush my cheek before his palm settles against it, warm and steady.

“Lyra,” he murmurs, his silver eyes searching mine. “You may speak openly to me. And you are wanted here. Nothing about you is unwanted in my kingdom.”

His thumb brushes my cheek.

“Or with me.”

My breath catches and without thinking, I lean into his touch. I hate how natural it feels. I hate that the warmth of his hand is becoming as familiar to me as my own and I don’t resist it.