Page 29

So, he did have an effect on her.

Rymedur tilted his head. ‘Why have you not used that immense power of yours I keep hearing about? Demand this stop. You and I both know this is nothing but a sham wedding. Don’t you wish to fall in love?’

‘You think I have the power to demand anything?’ Her hands fidgeted, moving over her bodice to smooth over the fabric.

What did she mean? Of course, she had the power to stop this. A splash of suspicion dusted her words, causing Rymedur to narrow his questioning gaze upon her. Was this some sort of trap concocted by the Andreans to give him pause?

Dancing over the small, subtle silver embroidery on her waist, her hands continued their path across her bodice, shaped like dragon scales. No matter where his thoughts went, Rymedur still found himself wanting to feel those hands against his skin again. He wondered if they would burn with warmth like before.

His eyes didn’t stop. He drank in the sight of her. The slit in the middle of her skirts allowed a sliver of skin to show, but when she moved, the material parted and Rymedur got a clear view of her long, toned legs. Strong. Formidable.

She was tall for an elven female. He was so used to seeing shorter half-bred women. Selcirith was filled with species of different kinds. The city folk were more inclined to care about the purity of blood, but Rymedur’s mother had moved to a smaller village on the outskirts to be with his human father, away from the prejudice of her royal, pure-blooded family and her past.

Rymedur had been sheltered from the bias of his family until his father died. Now that his uncle was king, he faced it more often and more openly. He did not want to leave his mother alone to face such cruel individuals.

‘If you are so against this sham wedding, you call it off.’ Her tone had turned defensive. Skirts swayed as she turned away from him with a dismissive gesture, clearly indicating that she was done with their conversation. ‘My duty is not to find love,’ she seethed, looking at his reflection.

But Rymedur was no longer looking into those brilliant cobalt eyes. Wrath clawed its ugly talons in his mind as a beast he hadn’t felt since the war prowled at the edge of his waning will as he took in the state of her bare back.

The light cascading through the open windows cast a spotlight on the scars that decorated her spine, a mixture of small incisions and long, crooked lashes, like someone had taken great pleasure in torturing her. How had he missed these?

Rymedur found himself reaching forward, and his shadows writhed against his skin, a physical representation of the anger he felt. ‘Who did this?’ His voice was practically a growl—purely animalistic.

Why was he so angry? She didn’t mean anything to him. Did she? His mind told him she didn’t, but his heart ached to learn she had suffered so much. Maybe it was recognition. She had suffered as his mother had. He felt a sudden need to protect her, but how could he marry someone he didn’t know, let alone love?

With his attention fixed on her scars, Rymedur saw the minute her spine locked into place. Her posture stiffened, like she had forgotten about her marred back until he had mentioned it. How often did she receive these punishments that she was used to her scars being on display?

‘My duty is to my people.’ The words almost seemed monotone as they spewed from her lips, a script memorised to appease any who questioned her. It didn’t sit right with Rymedur. ‘I will not run so that I can love.’ She spoke as though she had already tried to do just that and failed. ‘I will not watch as war breaks out, leading thousands of innocent people, my people, to death because of my selfishness!’

She said it as though to curse herself. Like she was unworthy of something as inevitable as love.

How could Rymedur trust the words of an enemy? Still, Rymedur found himself asking, ‘Do you believe in fate?’ Reaching forward, he itched to feel her skin against his. Using his shadows first, so as not to scare her away, he commanded them to drift along her skin in a whispered touch, feeling how she stiffened against his body as he stood closer.

Her shoulders tensed as she answered him. ‘I believe in trust.’ Her voice was firm. Resolute, yet Rymedur noted the hurt in her eyes. Shoulders tense, her jaw clenched as she ground her teeth in anger. Had someone already broken her trust?

Rymedur could not help touching her then. His hands, large against her, wandered from her shoulders to her arms, then back again, as he soothed her. ‘Then may I suggest we make our own fate?’

‘I cannot give you what you want, Rymedur,’ she confessed. ‘The wedding will go forward. But I can promise you that I will ensure your mother is protected and cared for. You will not have to worry about her.’ A flicker of suspicion made him pause, but the way she spoke had him hesitating. Did she really mean it?

‘How did you—’ Rymedur stopped himself. ‘Ah, your spymaster, I presume?’

The slight pull of her lips had Rymedur’s heart fluttering. Her subtle smile brightened those already brilliant blue eyes. ‘You have your spies, and I have mine,’ she chuckled.

So, she knew Selcirith already had spies within their palace? This could be interesting after all!

‘Very well,’ Rymedur conceded. They wouldn’t be able to continue if neither wanted to move forward, so Rymedur would be the first to extend that hand of trust. ‘We can learn to love one another. Build trust between us, and perhaps not have your spies monitor my every move. It’ll be a bonus if we get a rise out of my uncle for going ahead with this marriage. He was rather intent on my assassinating you before the ceremony.’

‘Ha!’ She whirled in a flurry of navy fabric and whacked his arm. ‘I was right! You were my would-be assassin.’

Rymedur was taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanour. She went from hurt and distraught to playful within a split second. He knew then that she, just like the marriage, would be a whirlwind—and he found himself suddenly looking forward to the challenge it presented.

Using his thumb, he lightly pinched her chin, turning her smiling face until she met his eyes.

A fire blazed in those blue orbs; he could see her thoughts racing in that enchanting gaze of hers—a determined look imprinted, and he couldn’t help the sly smirk that pulled at his lips.

‘Then I suggest,’ he leaned ever so close, until he was enveloped in her tantalising scent, ‘we start with the basics. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Rymedur Luca,’ he introduced himself. Her hot breath was a soft touch against his skin. ‘First of my name, heir to the great country of Ardsas Utul Eleymore Selcirith.’

He chuckled at her bewildered expression, and the action pulled at his lips, stretching them into a wider smile. He could feel the slight indent in his cheek as his dimple no doubt made its rare appearance. He continued, allowing a mischievous lilt to take over his tone. ‘A mouthful, I know. I promise I will not make you moan my full title. Rymedur will do just fine.’