Page 41 of The War Queen's Daughter

Hallick frowns, then smiles. “Ah, that.” He chuckles. “No, my dear, not that. I’d have invited you to join us, but I was already so far along, and the princess is rather jealous of the attention she requires. No, I meant in the ballroom.”

Of course. This has nothing to do with intimacy, remember? “I don’t know what you mean.” I know exactly what he means.

“I see.” Hallick backs away, hands spread before him. “Whatever it is you think you overheard…” his arms drop, thudding to his sides under his robe. “We both know you’re not gifted when it comes to Citadel politics. The subtleties, you see. Lost on you, I’m afraid.”

“I’m very familiar with death threats, though,” I say, because I simply can’t leave well enough alone. “Good night, Chancellor.”

He watches me as I stride past him, making no effort to touch me or stop me.

“Sleep well, highness,” he says as the door swings shut behind me.

I’m raging by the time I reach my room, but I don’t know why. It leads to a bath, to pacing, to trying to ease that anger with another orgasm, but all methods fail me.

The thin sleeping gown and robe I’ve draped myself in barely ward off the chill of the Citadel’s halls, the echoing sounds of the party continuing as drunken revelry turns to drugged lechery. I pass many open engagements that remind me far too much of my mother as I walk the halls, finally entering the base of Atlas’s tower and climbing.

I don’t think I intended to see him. I’m just looking for the means to end this restlessness inside me. Fucking Zenthris should have fixed it. And it has, to a point. But there’s more that needs addressing, and I’m at a loss to find the means on my own.

He answers my knock, startled to find me there, as surprised as I am. “Remalla.”

“Atlas.” I shrug, hugging my robe around me. “I need a favor.”

The Overprince’s surprise turns to curiosity in a flash. “By all means, come in. I’m nothing if not favorable.”

I laugh at his joke, exhaling heavily. He’s shed his mask and costume, tossed aside on a chair, and he crossed behind me, offering me wine that I refuse with a shake of my head.

“I’ve had enough for tonight,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t meant to say that, either, but it seems the right thing to do.

“No need,” he says with his own sigh. “I understand, Remalla. You have every right to be angry with me. With this.” He looks up, then back at me. “I lost you in the crowd. Did you leave?”

I nod. “Have you ever heard of a term called kinspark?” Why did I ask him that?

He frowns a little, sitting down, thoughtful as always. I cross to him without stopping, reaching up to smooth back his hair. It’s in his eyes and makes him look so young, though he’s two years older than me.

Atlas doesn’t pull away. “It’s familiar,” he says, “but I don’t know why.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Thank you. For trying to be kind.”

He shrugs. “And you.”

My jaw clenches. “I’m not kind.”

“You have been to me,” he says, gentle, sweet. Far too sweet. Why is he like this? Surely, he knows better than to show such vulnerability? It’s his turn to reach out, to tuck hair behind my ear, come from the elaborate braid when I tugged free the mask. “Why don’t you think you’re kind? You’re not allowed to be?”

I meet his eyes, grim and jaded to his lovely openness. “You’re an idiot,” I say. But I’m talking to myself.

“I am,” he sighs, then smiles. “I should have asked you to marry me the moment we met.”

We stare at one another, Atlas suddenly blushing as I reach up and cup his face in my hands.

I lean my forehead against his before I hug him to me. He embraces me slowly, tenderly, and I sink against his chest, cheek on the bare skin at his open collar, breathing him in. The predator settles, sighs, and curls into him, finally at rest.

When I pull away again, I’m no longer anxious or angry. I’m confused.

“That word,” Atlas says, clearing his throat, standing and walking away from me, but not far. He’s perusing his books as he goes on, hand sliding over the spines. “It reminds me of drakonkin. Could that be the connection?”

I frown at his back. How could it be? “Explain.”

He makes a soft sound of delight and discovery, pulling a heavy, black leather tome from the top shelf and bringing it to me. When he sits down again in front of me, I tuck in next to him, our cheeks practically pressing to one another’s as he turns the pages. My arm drapes over his shoulders, our breath in sync, deep and abiding comfort in his presence like a key in a lock.

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