Page 35 of Blood Beneath the Snow

I wanted to say yes. Wanted to welcome him into my bed and my body one more time before we were separated forever. But I didn’t want to lead him on. I knew I didn’t love him. I knew we’d been growing distant as the looming presence of my engagement encroached upon our peaceful hiding place.

Except we both wanted one last night together. And if it meant different things to each of us, then so be it. After tonight, he would be off to the front lines of the holy war and I would be a dead woman walking. He would be the only person I’d ever shared so much ofmyself with—even if only as a friend. If after my death he thought I’d loved him back, surely there would be no harm. Surely it would be better to leave his memories of me intact, rose-colored with love instead of the bitterness that would surge if he knew his affections weren’t reciprocated.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him with me into the castle. We ascended the stairs quickly and I let myself think of it as an escape from the torturous night I’d had. At least I could forget everything that had happened when we sank into the heat of our bodies together.

Before I opened my door, Arne pulled me back, his face nervous. “You’re not…” He scratched at the back of his neck. “The Fastian Prince isn’t in there?”

I blinked. “Why in the world would I have brought you up if that was going to be a problem?”

Even in the darkness I knew he was turning bright red. “Right. Right, yeah.”

He pushed the door open himself, and when I shut it behind me, twisting the knob on the lamp to light the room, he unceremoniously stripped until he was bare. In the past, I’d always taken a moment to drink him in with my eyes. I might not have loved him, but I knew how to recognize beauty when I saw it. Arne’s tall frame, lean muscle, and dark hair were the picture of perfection.

But tonight, hands shaking, I turned around. “Help me with my dress?” I asked.

Arne, ever the gentle lover, obliged, his fingers soft against my back as they undid each button with care. He bent to press the occasional kiss to my spine as he worked, and I was grateful my wandering thoughts and rising guilt didn’t prevent the shiver that raced through me at his touch.

Finished with his task, he pushed the dress lightly so the sleeves fell off of my arms. I stepped out of the skirt and my underthings and turned to face him once more.

His eyes raked over me darkly. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

It was the only time besides the first that I’d ever felt nervous under his watchful gaze. Then he pulled me closer, and we kissed once more. Our lips danced as he pushed me back onto the bed, falling over top of me and hiking my leg up and around his hip without preamble.

Gods, why couldn’t I relax?

I clamped my eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus on everything I was feeling—Arne’s hot breath in my ear, the way he sucked on my collarbone and pressed his fingers between my thighs—but it was to no avail. Instead, the memory of Freja’s arrest formed beneath my eyelids as vividly as if I were seeing it for the first time again. My father’s feral scream when I refused the engagement echoed in my ears.

My panting breaths had nothing to do with pleasure. “I can’t do this,” I gasped, pushing Arne off me and moving to the bathroom. I dunked my face into the bucket of clean, cold water I kept there. The shock to my system was enough to drag me back to reality, despite my shaking limbs.

He was there behind me in an instant. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I choked out a bitter laugh. “No, that’s not—that’s not it, I just—I can’t do this.”

Silence sat so heavily in the room, it was almost like a third person was there. After a moment, I felt him retreat and the rustling of fabric informed me he was dressing again. It was easy to sense what he wanted—but asking him to stay felt beyond my scope of capability, especially knowing I’d spend the evening staring at his closed eyes and pushing myself to feel something—anything—more for him.

It took everything I had to shutter my wild thoughts behind closed doors. When I could breathe once more, I dried my face ona towel and went back into the room. My hands still shook, trembles I couldn’t force away echoing through my fingers.

Arne was lacing his boots, his new uniform now wrinkled from its time spent on my floor. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It isn’t you, I swear.”

He nodded, standing, and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I’ll go home,” he said. “You’re right. It would be torture to say goodbye tomorrow. This will be farewell, Revna. I hope to see you again someday.”

Tears shone in his eyes, and I cried too as he turned and made his way out of the room. Not for our love—or, rather, his love for me—but for the last look at our inseparable friendship. The three of us, Arne, Freja, and I, would never be in the same room again.

9

It was the dead ofnight, and Volkan was sitting in the hallway outside my bedroom.

I paused in pulling my cloak over my shoulders and whispered, “What are you doing here?”

He stood, tilting his head back and forth to get a crick out of his neck. “I wanted to check in on you after the party, but I only barely managed to get away. Thought you might be sleeping. Couldn’t let you leave for the war front without saying goodbye, though.”

Cloak fastened, I rushed forward to wrap my arms around him. He seemed surprised but hesitantly returned the gesture. “What happens to you?” I asked. “Will your parents continue negotiations with my mother?”

“Most likely,” he said. “Though they’re no closer to deciding tonight. We’ll presumably stay a few more days until your mother finds something valuable enough to satisfy my parents and then head back home. With Kryllian skirting closer to our borders…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head, stepping back from my embrace. “They’re terrified of the Hellbringer. Everyone is. I don’t blame them.”

“I don’t either.” I bit my lip, thinking of the masked figure I’dseen three times now. Even if he was a figment of my imagination, he felt utterly real and overwhelmingly terrifying.

Instead of voicing my thoughts aloud, I turned to the other point Volkan had mentioned. “If you finish negotiations soon, we likely won’t see each other again.” I tried to hide the sadness in my voice. A few days earlier, Volkan had been the last person in the world I wanted in Bhorglid. Now I was mourning his loss. In that short time, our worlds had been upended.

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