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I skid on the stones, slip, fall. A scream more fury than fear cracks through the silence.
Sigurd grabs my hand. And then I’m back on my feet, leaning against his chest, his arm around my back.
I shove against him. “Get off. Let me go!”
“Wren, please—”
My fist slams against his chest. Pain radiates up my arm. “Let.” I hit him again. “Me—”
He frees me, and I stumble away, nearly falling again.
My nails dig into my palms as I stare him down, all simmering fury barely contained in my gritted teeth.
“Yes.” His form is stiff, but his face is cold, emotionless. “I ordered him to steal the king’s consort.”
The confession knocks the wind from me.
“Why?” The word cracks, and only then do I notice the tears blurring the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, refusing to let them fall.
His expression breaks like cracking ice. His shoulders droop. The eerie glow fades from his eyes. All the hardness of his features softens out into deep sorrow.
Not that it dims my anger. Not one bit.
“There was a woman. I…” He glances at me under lowered lashes. “I loved her.”
My traitorous heart clenches. “Evelyn.”
The nod he gives is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough. The woman he loved looked just like me. No wonder he flirts like he does.
“The King of the Forest kept her from me. I thought to return the favor and take someone he loved from him.”
“Did the king hurt this Evelyn? Mistreat her?”
“No.” His gaze narrows.
“Was she unhappy with him?”
“No.” A gust of wind whistles through the room.
“Then why? Why be so, so selfish?”
He flinches, turning his head as if he’s been slapped. His jaw stiffens. “You’d dare speak to a king this way?”
My boot taps a rhythm on the ground as I cross my arms “When you act like a petulant child. Yes, I will. I’ve sworn no oath to you.”
His head snaps in my direction, the heat of his look scalding me. Fury and something much more dangerous threaten to consume me.
My back straightens as he stalks the space between us. I step back, retreating from his advance until I bump into the wall. My palms flatten on the cool stone, and oh, what I wouldn’t give to climb up it or fly away as Sigurd slams a palm on the wall on either side of my head. His presence is dizzying—the glow of his eyes grows as he leans in, his hot breath warming my cheek.
“A selfish king would take what he wants,” he croons.
Dear God. I suck in a breath. “And what is that?”
But I know. Oh, holy sweet baby Jesus, I know, and I might as well melt into a puddle for the effect it has on me.
His chest rises and falls. Our breaths mingle, the only sound in the room.
Sigurd angles his head. His lips part.
