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Lost for words, she stood up, gazing out the window. All she saw was ice and a distant smudge of brown. She turned to Rune, who was beaming.
“Incredible, isn’t it? The technology they’re developing these days,” Rune said. “Almost like magic.”
“Rothen has nothing like this,” Elma said, amazed. “We make war machines, great ridiculous devices that fling boulders or fire massive arrows. Even when I lived in Mekya, I saw no telescopes.”
“Certainly, it hadn’t been invented yet,” Rune said, eyes softening. “And you’re the queen now. Imagine all the books you can have brought in, the scholarship, science, and agriculture.”
“Rothen would be unrecognizable,” she said, unable to stop the smile that tugged her mouth.
“The Golden Age of Rothen,” Rune said, his voice low. He was so close to her, just as he had been for nearly two full days. Every movement, every breath he took, was so painfully bright to Elma. He was a star, and she was the night, yearning for his light.
They stood in silence for a moment, a palpable ache in the air between them. Rune’s gaze flickered to her lips, and Elma’s belly dipped pleasingly, a twist of excitement deep inside.
“Rune,” she said, unable to look away from him, his mouth, the obvious lust in his eyes.
“That’s my name,” he murmured.
She swallowed thickly. What could happen between them now? Even if she trusted him completely, even if her heart saw fit to melt, he was the heir of an enemy kingdom. She was Rothen’s queen. Where did love fit in?
“The sun is setting,” she said, pulling away from Rune. “Your mother will expect us for dinner soon.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought a shadow of disappointment crossed Rune’s face. “As you say,” he said, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
They descended from the tower arm in arm. Elma savored the feel of his strength through the woolen fabric of his doublet, his sidelong smiles, the sway of his sword at his hip. He would not be here like this, with her, a friend and ally, for long.
Godwin’s army would arrive the next day, and everything would change. Elma would stop this war, or she would fail, and Godwin would do what he deemed just. There was no guarantee that Elma would survive a meeting with her uncle, or that Rune would want to see her in the wake of it.
But for tonight, at least, she held his arm in hers.
Throughout dinner, Elma couldn’t take her eyesoff Rune, couldn’t stem the tightness in her chest or the ache in her belly when he so much as glanced at her. She found herself unable to focus on her food, on Hildegard’s questions, on anything but the man who had been her assassin.You should be grateful to be rid of him, she thought, watching him laugh at his own joke, eyes crinkled and bright with mirth, his countenance so relaxed and assured. As if he wasn’t worried at all about tomorrow.
His gaze snapped to Elma’s as she stared across the table, and his expression sharpened. As if he could sense her hunger. She thought about how his mouth felt on hers, his skin under her teeth, the way he undid her slowly and masterfully with tongue and hands.
She needed him to chase her, to pin her down, to free her from her worries and surrender again. She needed him to give her that, but she had no idea how to ask for it.
When dinner ended, the three exchanged pleasantries. Elma could tell that Hildegard was preoccupied, the woman’s brows were drawn, and her mouth pulled tight. Elma was relieved to be set loose from the duty of conversing with the other queen; she was nearly drowning in thoughts of Rune.
I need you, she thought, nearly incoherent as Rune led her out of the dining room, hand in hand.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Rune said, almost as if he were asking a question, his gaze searching Elma’s.
Elma said nothing, despite the roaring of blood in her veins. Her tongue lay heavy in her mouth, her heart bright and raw within her breast. She ached for him; she burned at his slightest touch. And when they came at last to her room, Rune bowed — a polite and distant gesture. He meant to take his leave, and Elma would be alone again, wishing she had done something.
She stood still, her breaths coming shallow and heavy.
Rune was the Crown Prince of Slödava. She had no idea where they stood beyond their allyship — if he still wanted her the way she wanted him. Whether he had only enjoyed tasting her when it was so sinful, a servant and his lady. Whether he cared more about propriety, now, in his own kingdom and his own palace. But Elma couldn’t contain herself; something fraught and hungry blazed inside her. Politics were politics.
But this? She wanted this too badly to care.
“Come inside,” she said, opening the door to her room, turning to Rune.
Rune’s gaze met hers — questioning but lit with subtle eagerness. He wanted her. “Is Her Majesty sure—”
“I’m sure,” she said in a rush and pulled him inside, slamming the door behind them.
Thirty-Four
Rune’s mouth was on hers the second they were alone. He shoved Elma back against the door, lifting one knee to brace himself between her legs. She groaned into him, rocking against his thigh, her teeth fastened on his bottom lip. She kissed him as if she were dying, and his immediate hardness, his shaking breath, told her that her desperate desire was reflected in him.
