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Strong hands slide down my back, cupping over my backside. Then he lifts me. My legs twine around his waist, scrambling for purchase, but he never breaks our kiss.
“Wren,” he groans against my lips.
I whimper as he pulls away, but he doesn’t go far. Our foreheads press together, breath mingling in the ghost of a space between us.
A blue glow greets me as I open my eyes. His glow.
One second apart is too many. I lean in, eager to resume our kiss, but he lifts his head. My heart sinks as I slide down his solid form and back onto my feet. My legs wobble under me, and I cling to him, unwilling to let go.
“I thought I could show you the house.” A deep flush colors his cheeks, and he won’t quite look at me.
A hard, sinking feeling settles in my gut, and I turn away.
He kissed me first, yes, but then he pulled back.
Stupid.I kick a stone across the ground and scowl when it doesn’t roll off the cliff. Should have known I could never be a good enough replacement. I don’t want to be. Of course not. But for a moment there…
“Wren?”
A shadow cloaks my form. Tingles race across my skin as he slides stray hairs behind one ear.
“Why? I’m not the one you want here.”
His fingers go still. Breath catches in my throat.
Each second is an eternity until he tugs my back against his chest. His breath is warm against my cheek, my neck, as he whispers, “You mistake me, Wren. I want you a great deal.”
He can’t lie. He can’t lie. He can’t lie.
“Then why?” I can barely form the words. With his hands on me, the warmth of his breath raising goosebumps across my skin. “What you said the other night on the balcony…”
“Ah.” He exhales a long breath.
Yes, that.
“You are nothing like her,” he says. I try to pull away, but he holds me tight. “But that’s not a bad thing, Wren.”
Sigurd turns me in his arms, forcing me to face him and all the sincerity in his eyes. “Evelyn accepted me for how I was. She didn’t see me as a prince of the fae, as I was at the time, nor a commander of troops, my father’s son, a disappointing heir, or any of the other ways people regarded me. You don’t accept me for who I am.”
I open my mouth to refuse him, but he shakes his head.
“No, you don’t, not fully. But, Wren, I was content with who I was with her. But you—you make me want to be a better man. A better king.”
“I-I do that?”
“Yes.” His hands flex on my sides, stirring up all kinds of thoughts that mirror the desire in his slightly hooded eyes as he stares me down. “It’s another reason I can’t regret spending time with you as Zale.”
My head tilts to the side. “Zale?”
He grins. “Your eagle friend. And mine.”
A huff of laughter catches in my throat. I should have known he already had a name. Zale. It fits. And terribly, it may already be etched on my heart, even when I tried to avoid it.
“You said much to my face, but the honesty, your openness with him moved me even more. No one, not even Moria and Hawke, dared so much, and I needed it. More than I knew.”
“Be careful. I might just give you all my thoughts to your face in the future. I’m known to do that sometimes.”
“I hope you do.” His voice is light and teasing, but the words are absolutely sincere.
