Page 68 of Burn of the Everflame

Again, he hesitated. He looked north, to a large campsite near the edge of the royal grounds. The mass of tents and rising smoke from the campfires took me right back to my days as the rebels’ hostage.

First, their prisoner. Now, their leader?

“For the moment, their loyalty is with Auralie. She told them your cause is worth joining.” His gaze returned to me, bright with hope. “Once they get to know you, Diem, once they see who you are . . .”

He closed the distance between us, his broad hands curving beneath my jaw. His palms were rougher than I remembered, covered with the callouses of labor, not the leisure of a Prince.

The feel of his skin on mine was ecstasy. The mating bond purred with a delicious sense of rightness, the mark on my chest burning hot beneath my cloak. Every nerve ending sparked with need for his touch, his kiss, his body, his love—and above all else, a frenzied desire to see a mating mark on his skin.

His forehead pressed against mine. The warmth of his breath on my lips had my knees ready to fold. Gods, this was something more than lust. More even than love. The mating magic had placed a vital piece of me inside him, so that only with him could I ever feel whole.

This was exactly what had always made me fear commitment. I used to look at people like this and mock them, even pity them. I’d wondered: If I give my heart away, I’ll lose who I am forever. Surely I’ll live to regret it.

But I hadn’t lost myself at all. I’d found exactly where I was meant to be. And with his hands on my face and his lips a breath from mine, I felt more me than I had in weeks.

“I thought of you every second,” he whispered. “When I slept, I dreamed of you. When I woke, I saw your face in the clouds. There was not a single moment that I was not thinking of the day I could hold you again.”

My hands rose to his chest, fisting in his tunic. I searched in vain for words to do justice to the agony of how much I’d missed him.

“I thought of every possible way I could get to you,” he said. “I would have gone realm to realm and slaughtered every Crown myself, but I feared that might seal you there forever. And your family . . . if I left them, and something happened⁠—”

“I’m glad you stayed with them,” I managed to get out. “They’re safe. And you’re safe.” My hands slid to his neck. His throat rumbled as my thumb grazed the line of his scar. “That means everything to me.”

Our bodies pressed closer, our hammering heartbeats thumping in time.

“I tried to see you.” His lips brushed mine with his smile. “I knew you’d scold me for it, but I didn’t think I’d survive one more day without you, so I came to the island.”

“I know. I saw you.”

He went still. “You did?”

I nodded. “I was hiding in the grass.”

“Why didn’t you come out?”

Because I looked weak and dirty and pathetic, and if I never made it out alive, I didn’t want you to remember me that way.

Because one word, and I would have run to you, and I wouldn’t have cared if it killed me.

Because I lost my mind on that island, and I’m afraid I’ll never get it back.

The sounds of footsteps and chattering arose behind me, and a distinct, beloved voice: “D, is that you?”

I swiveled around to see my brother standing on the palace steps with a group of young Corbois—including, to my great relief, Eleanor and Lily.

“Diem!” the women shrieked in unison, smiles bursting across their faces. The three of them came running toward me.

My body seized up. The thought of them hugging me, prodding me, seeing what I’d become . . .

Luther stepped back, but I found myself clinging against him, tucking my shoulder behind his like a human shield. He glanced down at me, brows low.

My brother reached us first, grinning and opening his arms to wrap me in a hug. Luther edged further in front of me, and Teller lurched to a stop. Luther gave a slight shake of his head. Teller’s smile disappeared.

Guilt and embarrassment gnawed away at me. I forced a lopsided smile to ease the alarm growing on my brother’s face. “How much trouble did you get into while I was gone?”

“You’re the troublemaker in the family,” he said. “I’m the obedient one, remember? Always do what I’m told.” There was a bite to his voice that was wholly unlike my sweet, easygoing brother. His eyes rose above my head. “Nice Crown.”

Mine dropped to his chin. “Nice, uh . . .” My head cocked. “ . . . would we call that a beard? Maybe a goatee in training. A mustache with a dream . . .”