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Every time before, we’d argued.
But now, standing before him in nothing but my nightgown, the lust of battle and bloodshed pounding through my veins, my body yearned for a different sort of sparring.
“I will guard your door, Princess.”
Oh, but he’d already figured out how to get under my skin.
If he called me princess one more time, I was going to sink my dagger into him and watch him bleed for a solid hour before I removed it and allowed him to begin the painful healing process.
The Princess of Peace had died the same day as Arthur. There was no room for her in Annwyn.
“You will do no such thing. Lyrena and Evander will be sufficient guard—from the outside,” I added. I could not allow Gawayn’s notion of guards in my bedroom to take root. I would never be able to sneak out with fae ears two steps from my bedside.
“Your Goldstones are not sufficient. This evening proved as much. You are vulnerable from too many directions,” Arran argued, stepping closer.
“You’ve seen to the perimeter,” I said, cursing myself for not recalling the name of the flora gifted fae he’d sent away to guard the exterior of the goldstone palace.
“The veranda is vulnerable. The entrance through your handmaidens’ quarters,” he said, brows knitting together into a nearly solid dark line.
Everything about him screamed of darkness. Dark eyes, dark clothes, dark hair. But he’d switched his knit undershirt for a cream linen in recent days, I’d noticed. And his hair stuck out a bit, where my blade had caught his ear on the way to do its deed.
It made him seem… softer? No. There was nothing soft about Arran Earthborn. Completely out of my control, my eyes swept downward—
“Then set one of your flying friends to circle the courtyard,” I said, sharper than I’d intended. “There is no exit from my handmaidens’ quarters. They can only leave through this room.”
“My flying friends have other occupations,” he said, eyes flashing. There was no softness in him. Not even a hint. “Every courtyard must be secured. Every entrance watched. This palace is a nightmare to guard, even with the wards in place to prevent outsiders from entering without escort. The only way I can assure your safety—and the security of Annwyn—is to guard you myself.”
He did not sound happy about it. I hated that the shredded remains of my heart took offense. I should be glad that he cared so unwaveringly for the peace and safety of Annwyn. Someone needed to.
I suppressed the guilt that threatened.Ihad other concerns.
“I do not want you guarding my door,” I said plainly.
I regretted the word the moment I said it. His brows eased apart, his stance shifted. The words slid from his mouth in a dangerous purr.
“What do you want, Princess?”
My hand tightened on my blade. “Queen.”
“Queen.” He said the word slowly, drawing it out over his tongue. The dark stubble on his chin gleamed in the low firelight mixed with stars and moons as he tried out the syllables. As he said, “My Queen.”
There was only one answer.
“You,” I breathed.
There was the real truth.
I hated him.
He was the symbol of everything that had been stolen from me.
Freedom.
I should have been a princess in waiting my entire life, centuries spent sparring beneath the sweltering Annwyn sun while my brother reigned on high.
Choice.
Princesses in a realm of brutal beings held together by tenuous traditions had few choices. But before Arthur’s death, with my mother locked away in her wing, at least I’d had those few to cherish. The Queen of the Elemental Fae had none. Wed. Rule. Reproduce.
