Page 59 of The Stolen Crown

The points of Mira’s ears heated, but she buried any disquiet beneath a smug grin. “You really think I brighten the world?”

“Bleeding hells, forget I spoke.” From inside the pocket of my trousers, I removed the tin of fire sticks we discovered on the shore and placed it beside my boots and belt. I stepped into the water first, waded out a few paces, then held out a palm for the princess. “Careful on the bank’s edge. It’s soft and gives a bit.”

Mira unlaced the collar of her gown.

Damn the hells, this was a horrid idea.

She wriggled free of the dress, leaving only that thin chemise that gave up too much of her curves. The princess approached the water’s edge with caution, careful not to slip and injure her arm again. A strip of cloth covered the gash and hid some of the pulpy bruising on the wrist.

Mira clasped tightly to my hand.

I held my breath, forcing my thoughts to her movements, not the heat of her flesh against mine. Not the thought of hands…so many ugly hands.

“I’m all right now.” As though catching sight of the blood leaving my face, Mira straightened in front of me with a hesitant grin. She pulled her hand away.

I could not stop the rough breath that slipped over my lips. Relief was short-lived. When I glanced down at the princess, the water rose beyond Mira’s hips, making the silk stick to her wretchedly perfect form. I could make out every dimple, every shape.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked away. “So, just…soak the wrist?”

“Aye.” I peeled my attention to the surface of the water. “The cold’ll help with the swelling. I’ll heat a cloth—maybe one of your damn leaves—and wrap your wrist in it when we return. Cold and heat are simple but help with such sprains.”

“Boneweaver,” Mira whispered.

We fell into silence. She let her arm fall into the cool pond. I washed grime from my palms. Mira cupped some water and washed behind her neck, across her chest. I splashed water on my face, unaware I’d drawn closer to her side.

Little by little, we scrubbed days of brine and sand off our skin. More than once, I cast a look to the side to watch Mira tilt her head and trail the slender fingers of her one good hand down her throat. Hells, one time she even bleeding moaned.

“Hearttalker.” Mira turned from me, dragging her long, damp hair over one shoulder. Her chemise dipped low in the back, revealing the sharp edges of her shoulders, the divots of her upper spine, the perfect row of freckles that lined the edge of her neck. “Would you mind?”

“Mind what?”

She peered at me through long lashes and held out a handful of yellow moss she’d been using as a sort of sponge. “Would you help me wash the sand off my back, I mean. It itches terribly.”

I ought to have told her to sit lower in the water as I’d done to wash away the grit. I ought to have told her to use the moss to squeeze water droplets over her skin. I did none of that and instead filled the space behind her.

One deep breath and my chest would brush against the skin of her shoulders. I closed my eyes, swallowed back the thick unease in my throat, then lifted the moss. Careful not to brush my fingertips over her warm skin, I dragged the moss up the sides of her arms.

Mira sucked in a rough breath. Heat scorched my veins at the sound.

“Cold,” she whispered, a little breathless.

“Sorry.” My damn voice was hardly there, rough and haggard. I ran the moss over the blades of her shoulders, along the long slope of her neck, down her spine until I reached the fabric of her chemise.

The thin strap of her undergarment slipped off and my hand stilled. For a long breath, we didn’t move, merely stood there leaning a bit more into each other.

Before I realized what I was doing, my chin dipped. My nose brushed over the shell of her tapered ear. Her breath came swifter, lifting her chest. Droplets from the moss in my hand slid off her shoulder, glided down her chest, and disappeared between the visible cleft of her breasts.

My cock twitched. Bleeding hells, what was I doing? I did not understand the need, the draw, but for the first time that I could remember, I yearned to feel the heat of skin tangled with mine.

Our bodies were close, near enough Mira’s head fell back, lightly resting on my chest, as though testing if I’d shove her away. One slight movement and I’d be able to slide an arm around her middle. I’d be able to pull her closer…

No. I released a rough gasp. I couldn’t act on this.

To give in would end in nothing but phantom pains she wouldn’t understand. Out of anyone, Mira Sekundär would not see me in such a way. Gods, the very notion of falling into the chaos that always took hold when too much sensation found my skin was a horror I could not risk with anyone.

Certainly not with her.

I dropped the moss and took an abrupt step backward. “Done.”