Page 65 of The Hurricane Wars

It was that last part, more than anything, that elicited in her a most peculiar kind of ache. She needed to see him. She needed to make sure that he was all right.

But first—

Talasyn let her attention drift to the squabbling nobles. Queen Urduja’s close allies were angry that the future of Nenavar had been placed in jeopardy due to Surakwel’s actions, but quite a few lords and ladies were now taking the opportunity to air their grievances with the betrothal. This was not something that the Zahiya-lachis could talk her way out of, and it was becoming more and more apparent that she was losing control of the gathering.

Talasyn studied the sea of proud, belligerent faces, and a staggering epiphany hit her. She could have prevented this, or mitigated it somewhat. Every time she’d treated Alaric like dirt, every time she’d let the Nenavarene cast aspersions on his character, she’d been solidifying in their minds that she was some hapless martyr. This went against the very grain oftheir matriarchal culture. Prince Elagbi had been right when he said that the court would follow Talasyn’s lead, and her blatant aversion to her circumstances had spread through them.

She had let her emotions get the best of her, and in doing so had not only pushed the Dominion one step closer to a war they could not win, but also placed the Sardovian remnant at greater risk of discovery. And she was doomingeveryoneto the Voidfell.

Five months to the Moonless Dark.

Five months and it would all be over, if she didn’t rectify the situation.

“It’s not a forced marriage.” Talasyn’s words cut through the hubbub, and every eye in the room immediately swung to her. “I stand with the Zahiya-lachis. I accept the Night Emperor’s hand of my own free will.” Her voice felt as though it would crack at any moment, but she held fast, to her duty, to the part of herself that had always kept on moving, outrunning the storms and the shadow of death and whatever else the Hurricane Wars had thrown her way. “Have I not proven myself his equal in strength?” she asked, some instinct telling her that she should not let these nobles forget what they had witnessed tonight. Alaric was powerful but so was she. “There is no subjugation here. Tomorrow, when we’ve finalized the agreement, he will be my betrothed. And youwillafford him all the respect that is his due as my future consort.”

How it grated at her to say that. But this, like so many other things, had to be done.

Once she was alone in her chambers, Talasyn darted out the side door leading to the orchid garden. Her silver heels clacked on the stone pathway leading to Alaric’s chambers. All the lights in the guest wing were out, but she took a chance and squared her shoulders and knocked. The determined rap ofher knuckles elicited a flare of gold from one window as a lamp was ignited. The door swung open.

A large, strong hand clamped long fingers around her uninjured arm and yanked her into the room, releasing her immediately once she was inside. Her squawk of outrage mingled with the slamming of the door.

“What did Isayabout manhandling me—howdareyou—” Talasyn sputtered, only for the rest of the sentence to die on her tongue when Alaric finished sliding the bolt into place and whirled around to face her.

“You will forgive me for not granting your snipers the luxury of an easy target.” His tone could have frozen the waterfall in the garden. He had taken off his gloves and his coat. The ivory shirt clung loosely to his powerful frame, incapable of disguising how the lines of his upper body were utterly rigid with agitation. His gray eyes were so dark that they were almost black, glittering with barely contained menace against the paleness of his face as he glared down at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Talasyn made an attempt at scoffing, but the effect was ruined by the fact that she knew she would likely be just as paranoid if she were in his place. “I’m here to apologize on behalf of the Dominion.”

“You,” Alaric said, “are a beautiful little idiot.” His gaze strayed to the treated wound on her arm and lingered a little too long before flicking back up to her face. “What possessed you to throw yourself in the Shadowgate’s path like that?”

Anger razed through her, a dark red pulse. “Who are you calling an idiot?”

He stalked closer. She automatically shuffled backward until her spine hit the wardrobe and there was nowhere left to go. He caged her in, planting a heavy hand beside each of her shoulders. There was but a sliver of space between their bodies, and the scent of him overwhelmed her senses, hot skin overlain with forest and juniper berry and myrrh. His hair wasdisheveled, as though he’d raked his fingers through the midnight waves in frustration before she came knocking. Those same fingers slid down the wardrobe until his palms drew level with her waist.

Talasyn’s hands moved as well. They slid across Alaric’s shirtfront to push him away but, for some reason, theydidn’t. They just stayed there. She felt the warmth and hardness of his chest beneath a layer of ribbed silk, felt his heart racing in erratic beats against her fingertips. She was pinned in place by his scorching eyes, by the formidablemalenessof him that surrounded her, by the static charges that skittered and sighed through this moment of lightning and glass.

“Answer me, Talasyn,” Alaric commanded in a harsh rasp. The syllables of her name rolled off his tongue, dripping in that deep, gravelly voice, the lush lips that had shaped them so dangerously near.

“What... what was your question?” she breathed out.

Gods.

Talasyn wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow her whole. But she truly could not call to mind what he’d asked—all logic, all situational awareness had disappeared.

No one had ever stood this close to her before. Even in battle, no one else had ever gotten this close. It had always only been him. His lips were a breath away from hers, as they’d been in the plumeria grove. Would they be as soft as they looked? She longed to find out, so badly. To learn what it was like to touch, tofeel.

Alaric blinked at her. A disbelieving look came over his face, slow to be replaced by the inscrutable mask he usually wore. He wrenched himself from her and sat down heavily on the edge of his mattress, all the while studying her the way a wolf studied a hunter’s trap.

“What,” he finally repeated in quieter but more guardedtones, “possessed you to throw yourself in the Shadowgate’s path? How could you have done something so utterly asinine?”

Now that they were apart, Talasyn could breathe easily again. Could summon the answer from the strange inertia that her brain had been trapped in scant seconds ago. “I was preventing a diplomatic incident. I don’t know what possessedyou,continuing to advance on Surakwel after he lost his sword.”

“Surakwel,” Alaric jeered softly. “I’m glad that you and his seditious young lordship appear to have become such fast friends.”

Talasyn flushed with a renewed burst of temper. Over the months she’d improved at referring to people by their courtly address, but it wasn’t ingrained in her just yet. She tended to slip up when she was flustered. “Now isnotthe time to lecture me on etiquette.”

“I wasn’t—” Alaric broke off with an exasperated sigh. He looked away, his sharp jaw clenching, and Talasyn had the unsettling sensation that she’d missed something. That she’d misinterpreted what he’d been trying to imply.

“Anyway,” she hastened to continue, belatedly recalling why she’d come here in the first place, “as I said, I want to apologize on behalf of the Dominion for what happened tonight. I know that the court hasn’t exactly been welcoming, but that changes now. I’m reaffirming Nenavar’s willingness to cooperate—”

---