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Which would you like it to be?

Nyxaris, I hissed.

Was I in your dream? Is that why you are acting so bizarrely?

I’m not answering that, I said hotly, my face flushing with shame.

The bond is a twoway corridor. I have had to suffer through your mortal cravings before. I am sure it will not be the last time.

Cravings? My face felt hot enough to melt a candle. Before? Oh, Bloodmaiden.

Of course. The strawberry scones. The time you cried over that painting of the bird with a broken wing.

That was sad, you monster. And it was a masterpiece.

Nyxaris ignored me. The way you looked at your new betrothed this evening …

I did not look at Kage any which way, I protested. I was assessing him, that’s all. Besides, I thought you wanted me to do this. To be safe.

A pause. I do wish that.

Then, what’s the problem? I grumbled. Or are you jealous?

There was no reply.

Nyxaris?

He’d probably gone to sleep. Or was chasing down sheep. Poor, pitiful sheep. They had no hope in hell of escaping that dragon—and neither did I.

I turned over again, lying on my back. But all I could think of was the way it had felt. To be desired like that. In the dark, every inch of my body betrayed my rational mind, my hand moving slowly between my thighs, and my eyes closed tightly.

Bloodmaiden … I was in so much trouble.

CHAPTER 18

MEDRA

Florence was back. Florence was home. And so I fell asleep with ease. In my dreams, the forest outside the castle in Camelot was just as I remembered it. Sunlight spilled through the tree canopy. A gentle breeze stirred the aspen trees. The sound of the wind in the leaves might have been my favorite sound in the world. In the clearing ahead, Odessa stood waiting, pulling her long, black braided hair up into a heavy knot.

“You’re dawdling.” She wore a gruff expression, but the teasing tone of her voice belied it.

“I was picketing the horses,” I protested. “Someone had to do it, after you stalked off to do your hair.”

I studied my mentor. In some ways, she was the closest thing I had to a mother. Her features were lovely, even delicate, but the dark skin of her face was lined with countless scars. Two formidable blades were strapped to her back, hilts wrapped in worn leather. Now she slid the sword belts off her shoulders, reaching down to pick two wooden practice swords up off the ground.

She grinned. “Catch.”

Moments later, our blades clacked together.The rhythm was familiar and comforting, just like Odessa herself—yet how I’d hated her at first! As a child, I was used to hating everyone, trusting no one.

Duck, twist, spin. Strike!

Odessa was faster, far superior in skill, but I still possessed the surety of youth. I believed I’d catch up someday, perhaps even surpass her. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t nervous. I was just there. Happy.

The forest changed, trees shifting closer together. The canopy overhead suddenly dimmed, no light spilling through the leaves. The colors of the woods melted from warm greens and browns into a palette of black and gray. The colors of death.

Medra.

I froze, my sword halfraised. “Did you hear that?” I asked Odessa.