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My stomach lurched. She claimed that her soul was black. But then she asked this.
“I don’t think it was a ‘him,’ anymore,” I said, though I did turn. “I’ll take its head off, just to be sure it stays down. Then we have to get back before your handmaidens awaken. It will be daybreak soon.”
For once, Veyka didn’t argue with me.
43
VEYKA
Arran made good on his promise the next day.
I slept most of the morning, chucking a pillow at Charis when she tried to wake me. Cyara came in and tried to rouse me, no doubt worrying I’d stay in bed all day. But I threw the other pillow at her and then used my forearms to rest my head.
In my half-delirious, half-waking state, I mumbled something about preferring to sleep with my head on Arran’s chest. I was too tired to wonder whether anyone heard me.
But when I did eventually deign to rise, bathe and dress, Arran was waiting in the antechamber, showing Lyrena different techniques for throwing the axe he always wore on his belt.
The massive thing, its head as big as my face, spun past me as I opened the bedroom doors.
I rotated slowly, tracking the path of the axe to where it was wedged in the nearer of the two pale wood cabinets that flanked either side of the sweeping window. Just as slowly, I turned back to face the two of them.
Lyrena, at least, had the wherewithal to look sheepish. Arran just looked downright delicious.
“An entire palace at your disposal, and yet you choose my chambers for target practice?” I drawled, crossing my arms over my midsection, thrusting my breasts upward.
Arran shrugged. “Perhaps you shouldn’t take so long dressing.”
I flicked my wrist, sending the long drape of fabric that hung over my arm whirling behind me. Lyrena moved away as I stepped closer. I hadn’t forgotten the gleam in her eyes that day watching Arran and Gwen spar atop the platform. My more logical angels reminded me that she could have been lusting after Gwen as easily as Arran. But the feral thing in my gut did not care.
It wanted to make a statement.
I’d dressed for Arran today, though I would never have admitted it aloud. I was showing off all the parts of my body he’d admired during that one too-brief interlude. My legs in particular. They were practically bare—a bejeweled belt slung low around my waist, one rectangle of fabric secured just below my navel, draped between my legs, and then tucked up on the back to cover my bottom. Every inch of my legs, save for the very inner thighs, was exposed. I knew the weapons strapped to my waist and across my back would only inflame him further.
To saunter out, and find him so chummy with Lyrena? Unacceptable.
I waited until I was right in front of Arran, stopping just short of actually touching him. But instead of speaking to him, I lifted my chin over his shoulder.
“Fetch the axe,” I said to Lyrena.
Arran’s eyes flicked over my shoulder now, following Lyrena. I could not stand it. I reached out and grabbed his chin, dragging his face down to mine. The surprise widened his dark eyes instantly. There was the little ring of fire around the pupil—the one I’d come to think of as mine. A flame that burned just for me.
“What do you want, Princess?” he asked, a mockery of the line that had drawn the truth from me weeks ago.
We wanted each other, badly enough that we didn’t care what witnesses stood around and saw it.
But before I could retort, Lyrena was back at our side, axe in her hand. I took it before Arran could.
“Show me,” I commanded.
As his arms closed around me, I heard his beast growl in appreciation.
That’s right, I heard myself crooning back to it.You are mine. Only mine.
Another growl of approval.
Then one from Arran himself. “Lift the axe slowly,” he said, grasping my wrist loosely.
Slowly, he showed me the path my arm would take, starting off level with my breast, then smoothly lifting up behind my shoulder.
