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Chapter Twenty-Five
My bedchamber is eerily quiet and dark when Zander and I step through the passage. The bell tower doesn’t toll through the night, but it must be well after two as stone grinds against stone, sealing my escape route shut. The lone flame flickers in the lantern within my grasp, but it’s enough to feed Zander’s ability. Candles all around my room suddenly erupt, casting my bed in a warm glow.
He bends to adjust the small area rug at the foot of the bed, the only evidence of my room’s secret and of our recent excursion.
Besides this new unsurmountable tension in the air, of course.
The ride back to the castle was silent and riddled with my unspoken thoughts, and I found myself leaning back against his chest for most of it, to which he didn’t seem opposed. But now we’re here, alone, and I’m unsure of what to expect. Unsure of what I want to happen.
That’s a lie. As I study his tall, broad frame and his handsome face, as I think of that devilish smile and those intent eyes and the feel of his hands on my hips and his mouth on mine, and how his willing body ground into me, I know exactly what I want.
And I’m likely a fool for it.
There is that voice in my mind, the one that seeks out angles as readily as Zander does. It sings of victory, reminding me of my purpose here and how much closer I am to achieving it now that he doesn’t despise me. But with that knowledge comes an unsettling stir of guilt. I don’t want to use him like that.
Zander wanders to the threshold of my sitting room and pauses a moment to scan the shadows before he shuts my bedroom door.
My heart pounds with potent anticipation that I know he can feel.
Are his thoughts as conflicted as mine?
The silence is overwhelming, the need to fill it urgent. “What are you going to do about Ianca?” I ask.
He smooths a hand over the back of his neck. “Give Boaz a description and have the royal guard keep an eye out. There’s not much else we can do until she makes herself known. I’m hoping she’ll find her way to Wendeline.”
Or she’ll hear through the castle’s grapevine—which surely has tendrils weaving through the city—that I’m looking for her.
“Tomorrow will be a long day.” His hard swallow carries in my quiet room. After another moment’s pause, he offers, “Good night, Romeria,” and strolls toward the terrace door.
Disappointment sparks but I push it aside. “Especially with my trip down to the market with Dagny.”
His feet slow and his laugh—a beautiful, melodic music—carries through my bedchamber. “Tonight did not satisfy your curiosity?”
“No, actually. I’ve been left completelyunsatisfied,” I counter, and watch my challenge sink in.
His jaw tenses as he meets my stare.
My stomach flips as he takes several steps toward me.
But then he stops. He inhales deeply. “Whatever this is between us, it is not real. It is the result of a summoning, of Aoife’s intervention, and while I was sure that spell was broken after my parents’ murder, that may not be the case.”
“That’s what you think this is? A spell?” What if it is? What if the only reason Zander is attracted to me is because Aoife made it that way, in some sort of cruel trick?
The discontent that comes with that thought is unexpected and staggering.
His jaw tenses. “I will not be a victim to Neilina’s plans. I will not be a bewitched king.”
“I don’t want you to be.” I hope he can read the sincerity in my voice.
“And yet every time I see you, this pull grows stronger, harder for me to ignore.” His eyes drift over me. “You make me believe that I can accomplish everything I’ve ever wanted for Islor. Is that a fool’s wish too? Is it also part of Aoife’s plan?”
“I don’t know.”
He bites his lip. “I cannot accompany you to the market tomorrow. I have important matters to attend to.”
“Elisaf can take me. Please?” I hold my breath.
He sighs heavily. “Elisaf and Dorkus. In a royal carriage, with suitable guard, and early, before the masses are out.”
