Page 40 of The Silversmith

The glowing fire of his eyes licked me. But finally, he stated, voice low, cold, and uncompromising, “Tell me you’re not going to let anyone touch you.”

I straightened my shoulders and crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s not fair for you to decide.”

“Well, Your Highness,” he sneered, stepping toward me. “I’m not fair.”

“Yes, you are.” I held my ground, chin up. “You are. I can tell that about you.”

He grimaced. “Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Maybe I would like to.”

“No.” The chill in his tone sliced through me, leaving my nerves and senses covered in a thick layer of frost. “You would not.”

I rolled my eyes and turned from him, very much over this ridiculous conversation, when—

“Do not let Elias Winterton touch you.”

I halted, turning back. Fury flickered inside me. “Excuse me?” The gall of him. This domineering need for control. What gave him the right?

Gavin stepped forward, shaking his head in warning. “Don’t let that little shit put his hands on you, Ella.”

“You can’t—that’s not—” I forced a deep breath. “You don’t get a say! It’s already decided. I’m supposed to marry him.”

He took another step closer, only an arm’s length away now. And there wasn’t just wild anger in his eyes as he looked at me, but… a silent plea. “I’ll kill him if he touches you, Ella.”

I forced my shoulders to straighten. “You can’t protect or keep me from the man meant to be my husband!”

“Then I’ll be his fucking nightmare.”

My mouth fell open, shocked into silence by his brutal honesty. Though I couldn’t deny that the thought of having Gavin Smyth as an impenetrable barrier between me and all those wanting to control my life was enticing.

A shield. My shield.

So even though he was wrong, even though he had no right, I gave in. Just that little bit. For my sake, not his.

“Fine,” I surrendered.

“Fine?” he countered, eyes narrowing. “Is that permission you’re giving me, Your Highness?”

“Yes, fine,” I bit out. “Be his nightmare.”

His mouth curled into a snarling grin, and his jaw clenched. I inhaled sharply at the menacing sight. I hated how he drew out my fury and comfort like twin peaks of a staggering mountain I could not climb. But we had come to a concession.

Before I could object any further, he brushed past me, adding coldly, “You’ve had four days off. Too long. We resume training tomorrow. Two hours, every morning, before we get moving.”

I started to remind him that walking for ten to twelve hours straight was not what I would consider a day off. “But—”

“This discussion is over.”

I groaned. “Wait, what about your hand?”

He just clenched that hand, blood trickling out through his fingers like it was nothing. Like that pain was nothing.

Nothing compared to what he felt at the thought of me with another man.

***

We walked for twelve straight hours. Gavin led the way and everyone—including Caz and Finn, who were in the best physical shape of the rest of us—struggled to keep up with him.