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“Fine.”
“Good,” Rune said. He freed her hands and throat, and then leapt up to his feet, backing away, giving Elma room to breathe, to stand.
She did so slowly, warily. And with every movement she made, Rune watched her. She felt naked before him, despite her layers of traveling clothes. She no longer knew for certain which man looked at her — Rune, or the Crown Prince of Slödava. It was unfair that despite his treachery, he still knewher. Still saw through to the soft core. She wished she could steal herself back from him and build armor with it to keep him out.
“Youcantrust me,” he said, bending to retrieve his sword, returning it to its sheath. “I spoke to the Queen, my mother. I hope you find some satisfaction in the knowledge that she lectured me quite severely.”
Elma narrowed her eyes. “I had assumed that perhaps she colluded with my advisors. That you were sent on her orders.”
Rune snorted. “Herorders? Absolutely not. I left of my own accord, hellbent on disposing of your father after what he did to mine. It was, regrettably, a mission of revenge. The fact that you overheard your advisors talking about me was coincidental, I’m afraid.” He lowered his eyes. “I was a bit of a fool. And when I saw you for the first time, asleep in that carriage, well…” He shrugged. “I knew what a cocksure dunderhead I’d been. As if I could have killed you.”
Blood roared in Elma’s ears. She didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want tofeelabout him.
“Anyway,” said Rune, at last meeting her gaze. “My mother isn’t particularly happy with me, which puts you in a far better position than if I’d been a good little boy. Compared to me, you look practically honorable, despite being a Volta. I’ve explained everything to her. How you spared me in the Death Games, the deal we made, your desire for peace above all. You do still desire peace…?”
For a moment, Elma considered lying. Rune’s expression seemed to teeter on the edge, ready to fall should she change her mind. And it would have felt good, for a short while. The satisfaction might have cured her pain for a moment. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Cocksure dunderhead or not, Rune deserved peace. Rothen and Slödava deserved peace.
“I do,” Elma said.
Rune brightened visibly. “In that case, I’ve been given the authority to free you from this drab little room and declare you an honored guest of the court of Slödava. An ambassador for peace, by order of Queen Hildegard.” He held out his arm, bent at the elbow. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”
She ignored his proffered arm, crossing her own across her chest. “I want Luca’s sword back.”
Rune blinked. “Was it taken from you?”
Elma gave him a long, withering look.
“Of course, it was. I’ll have a word with Björn. No doubt they’ve put it somewhere for safekeeping. And before you ask, your men are perfectly safe. They, too, are to be treated as guests. I’ve already sent word to have them rescued from whichever dreadful dungeon they’re in and given rooms of their own. Are you going to take my arm or not? It’s getting tired.”
“Then put it down because I’m not touching you.” Relieffilled Elma at the mention of her men, but she refused to show it.
He lowered his arm, his mouth twisting. “Will you at least come to dinner?”
“Is this an invitation from you or the queen?” asked Elma. If the latter, she had no choice but to attend. But if it was an invitation from Rune, if she spent too much time with him, allowed him to crawl back under her skin a second time, she might be lost forever.
If I’m not lost already.
“Me,” Rune said.
Elma pressed her lips together in a thin line.
“Please,” he said. The single syllable was heavy with resignation, but for a glimmer of a tempered hope.
Elma took him in, the man who had been her would-be killer, her bodyguard, her assassin. He was the same man, yet utterly new. And he stood open to her in that moment, ready to let her in. His explanations had made sense, despite her misgivings. Letting out a breath, releasing herself from the cage of stubbornness and mistrust, at least for a short while, Elma held out a hand.
“Fine,” she said. “But only because I’m starving.”
The Crown Prince’s eyes, somehow bluer than ever against his finery, lit up like a constellation in the night. He took her hand with warm and gentle fingers, holding it for a breathless moment. While the bond of trust had been broken, the air between them hung taut like a bowstring. And Elma knew that if she loosened her fingers even slightly, the arrow would fly true, piercing the muscle of her heart.
Thirty
Elma had expected Rune to take her to a dining room, or perhaps even to meet the Queen of Slödava herself. Instead, he led her on a winding path through the palace. When the guards at the door had tried to join them, Rune ordered them to stay.Don’t worry,his eyes had seemed to say, glancing sideways at Elma as they walked together through the corridor.I’m still your assassin.
And so, even deep in the belly of enemy territory, Elma began to shed her all-consuming distrust, her fear. The Crown Prince would protect her, loath as she was to accept it.
When at last they came to a pair of great doors, a chill wind dancing underneath and across her ankles, Elma realized they were about to leave the palace. She wasn’t dressed appropriately; she would freeze. But before she could protest, Rune snapped a finger. In a moment, a pageboy appeared, carrying a pair of heavy fur-lined cloaks.
“Thank you,” said Rune, taking them and handing one to Elma. He slung the other across his own shoulders. He was almost too beautiful then, like a painting rather than a man, a princely figure wreathed in night-dark raiments, his blue eyesshining as he stood half-turned to face her, expectation and affection lingering in his impossible gaze.
