Page 142 of Feralheart

“I know why you did. I’m wearing the crown of the enemy.”

“Not you,” she said softly. “Not anymore.” She pinched her eyes shut, then opened them. “You’re here. Sitting closer won’t do any harm.”

My heart surged up my throat. “You’d let me?”

Her gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to meet mine, and I was grateful to find that gleam back in her eyes. “I’m still deciding.”

“Let me know when you’ve made your decision.”

“I will.” Her head tilted. “What would you do if I said yes?”

The question hung between us.

“I’d—” When my voice came out rough, I cleared my throat. “I’d probably start by touching your hand.”

“My hand?” She arched one eyebrow. “That’s very restrained of you, Your Highness.”

“Fen, please.”

“Alright, Fen.”

“I’m trying to be appropriate.”

“Why start now?” But she held out her hand, palm up. An offering. A test.

I took it. Her palm was warm, the red lines barely visible in the dim light. I traced one with my thumb, following its path from her wrist toward her fingers.

She shivered.

“Cold?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t that.

“No.” Her fingers curled, catching mine. “What else would you do after touching my hand?”

“Are you trying to torture me?”

“Maybe.” She gave me such a wicked smile, but it faded too fast. “Or maybe I want to know if you’re brave enough to want something you’re not supposed to have.”

“I burned my mother’s letter tonight because of you.”

Her smile faded. “Fenian…”

“Fen. And I don’t regret it.” I turned her hand over, studying the calluses on her palm. Proof of every hard thing she’d done to survive. “I’d do it again. I’d burn a thousand letters if it meant sitting here with you.”

“That’s dangerous talk.”

“I’m tired of safe talk.”

She leaned in enough I could count the freckles scattered across her nose. “Then what do you really want to say?”

“That tomorrow could kill us both. That I might never get another chance to tell you that every time you look at me, I forget how to be the person I’m supposed to be.” I met her eyes. “That I want to…” Kiss her so badly my teeth ached with it.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Maybe not.” Her free hand came up, and her fingers hovered by my jaw. “Or maybe you should. But we’re in the middle of a death race. We could die tomorrow.”

“You’re right.”