Page 126 of Soulgazer

Faolan’s fist meets the railing. “You wouldn’t stand against them? Isn’t that the whole point of our godsdamned arrangement,my queen?”

She glares at the mocking twist he gives her title, eyes the color of liquid green flame. “I’ve fulfilled my end of this bargain, Wolf, though I wonder if even that’s enough to save your sorry arse by this point. It’s time you cleaned up your own mess.”

I can’t help myself. My laugh breaks free.

It’s brittle and ugly, coming so hard that I roll onto my hands and knees, and then the wild laughter morphs into a mess of tears and gasping breaths.Iam the mess. It was absurd to think I couldlive a single moment of my life outside the dictates of those men. Ourentire worldbelongs to them. My body, dreams, desires—themagicI possess—what do they matter against the power Maccus and my father hold?

“Dammit, Kiara.” Warmth surrounds me as Faolan scoops me up, tucking my face back into his neck. “You can’t take it easy on her?”

Kiara doesn’t flinch. “You need to grow up. Both of you. There is more at stake here than a story.”

Faolan bristles beneath me. “You don’t think I know that?”

“I think it’s easy for you to forget.”

Faolan’s hand tightens beneath my thighs, the fingers of his other hand splayed across my ribs. “I’m taking her to bed. We’ll talk later.”

“Good. You’re learning to obey.”

I feel her eyes like another brand as Faolan turns his back on her, carrying me to our cabin. He kicks the door shut behind him, cursing under his breath, and I want to laugh all over again at the way my bridal gown catches in the door, tearing at the hem.

Faolan sets me on my still-bare feet and I hold numbly on to his shoulder as he hesitates, eyes racing over my damp dress, the crown of flowers in my hair. When his fingers meet my skin, a piece of him bleeds into me without either of us asking for it—envy mixed with longing.

Good. This, at least, is something we can both do.

My fingers shake as I reach for his arms, but he takes my betrothal torc instead, jerking it free of my throat. “Never again.” He tosses it below the bed to be forgotten as I wipe at my damp face with the waifish skirts, then reach behind to pull the laces free one after another.

It stops Faolan where he stands, hands still hovering in the air between us. He hesitates, then starts to turn away.

“Don’t.”

The fabric eases its hold on my chest as the first knot comes free. Faolan’s gaze darts down once. His throat works as he clears it. “Someone’s not quite so shy anymore, then, is she?”

I want to smile at the joke, weak as it is. Want to blush and turn away. Want to do anything but this—the only thing IknowI can do right, because people have been doing it since we were first born of the sea.

The careful bows on the dress knot together. I swear and reach for the ribbons at my shoulders instead.

“Saoirse?” Faolan’s voice is softer, the tease gone. I can’t look at him as I pull one of the bows free, the clever bodice falling away like a petal. The shift beneath is hardly a whisper of fabric.

My throat feels raw when I swallow.

Maccus was meant to see me like this, his face impassive, hands efficient and cold. Was Mam the one who directed the seamstress? Did she run her fingers along the fabrics, choosing the one that might entice his interest the most?

Something skates down my cheek.

“Saoirse, what are you—? Slow down, lass.”

“Why? You heard your cousin. We need to con-consum—” My teeth lock together and I can’t push the word out and take this off at the same time. “I’ve seen enough of nature to know it can be done quickly, and this isonething we can do right, s-so—”

I glance up and freeze as another layer of soft blue silk slips free. His gaze is wary and dark at once, hands half raised like he’s about to hold me still and yet terrified to touch.

My throat runs dry. “You said you wanted me. The night of the market—you said you wanted this.”

His breath is shaky when it comes. “Aye.”

“Then take it.”

He doesn’t move, and my heart lashes my chest, so I reach for the dagger at his belt and take a fistful of the dress in hand. One flick and it tears straight down to my navel—cuts through the shift as well. I drop the knife just as Faolan curses and steps forward. But instead of shoving the material off like I expect—like maybe I’d want if I weren’t so bloody lost inside myself—he catches my hands and traps them against his chest.

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