Page 59 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

“Tilt your head for me,” he said quietly, and a tingle danced down her spine.

Leaning her head back, she allowed him to brush snow across her neck.

Loche’s fingers were careful but assured as they wiped off the blood, and his gentle touch prickled her skin—not just where his fingers touched it but everywhere, and she let out a soft sigh when he tenderly traced her collarbone.

“All done,” he whispered.

But his fingers still traced over her skin, and their eyes locked as she bent her head again.

A pang shot through her chest when she realized his eyes were hooded and faint color tinted his high cheekbones.

Slowly shifting her gaze down to his fingers, she watched him draw tiny circles over her exposed skin, his hand leisurely trailing up toward her face.

Apprehension and something else tightened in her gut, but she didn’t stop him as he cupped her face and his thumb gently swept across her heated cheek.

A floorboard creaked above them, and Loche cleared his throat, stepped back, and headed for the table to set the cup down.

The thud of metal against wood woke her from the trance, and she made her way to the fire, shifting some branches to ensure it would continue burning.

Sitting in her usual spot, Lessia wiped off the last few drops of snow, but her body tensed when she sensed Loche come up behind her.

“Do you mind? The chairs are so damn uncomfortable.”

Glancing at him, she nodded when he gestured for the couch, then shifted her eyes to the fire as he sat in thecreaking seat.

Lessia fidgeted with her tunic, unable to keep her eyes focused on the flames.

Loche seemed to have warmed up to her.

At least enough to care that she didn’t die from infection.

This might be the best chance she’d get to ask him what she needed to know.

“So—”

“I—”

Loche let out a raspy laugh when they started to speak at the same time, and as he shifted on the couch, she turned to face him, crossing her legs and leaning an arm on the cushion.

“You go first.” Lessia needed a little time anyway to figure out how to ask him about the things happening in Vastala without him getting more suspicious.

Dragging a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual, Loche eyed her. “I won’t apologize for Craven. He is his own person and is accountable for his own actions. But I am sorry for what you were called, and I’m sorry that even if we inform Frayson about what happened, there likely won’t be any repercussions for Craven because of what you are. It’s despicable. And I’m truly sorry it’s something you’re probably quite used to.”

Her brows flew up.

Out of everything she thought he would say,I’m sorryhadn’t even crossed her mind. Something warm filled her chest, and she offered him a half smile as she threw his own words from a few days ago back at him. “I’ve been called worse.”

Loche’s lip twitched. “So have I.”

Leaning her head on her arm, she observed him. “Why would anyone call you names? You’re the current regent. The majority of people in Ellow voted for you to win.”

He rolled his neck. “I wasn’t always regent.”

Lessia remained quiet, and when Loche met her eyes again, his brows furrowed as if he was surprised he’d said anything, but then he shook his head.

“I was a bastard-born nobody, darling. It was a long road for me to get here. I’m from Islia, one of the remote islands in Ellow, near the Fae border. My mother was a courtesan, and she didn’t have time—or money—for a child, so she threw me out on the streets, where I lived until I was old enough to enlist in the navy.”

An ache tugged at her heart when Loche’s eyes flicked to the window for a moment, and something distant blazed in them, but his face quickly hardened again, his familiar smirk slipping across his lips. “I fought hard to get where I am. And I think I did pretty well.”

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