Page 69 of Of Song and Scepter
I stop the trident’s spin, and the captain raises her brow.
“Let me pass. This is highly classified.”
“Mm,” she says. “Tell me, was your mission on the beach this morning highly classified, too?”
The tips of my ears burn. I lift my lip, revealing my fangs. “Thatisa hot trick,” she says, chuckling. “Soren is so fucked.”
My skin crawls with irritation. Who the fuck does this female think she is and why is she familiar with the prince? Against the barrier of my gloves, my spines flex. With a quick flick of my eyes, I assess her weak points—the soft pocket of her armpit, the exposed stretch of her neck.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. I may not bite as hard as you, but trust me, the prince would not be happy if you tried to dispose of me.”
“And what makes you think I care what he thinks?”
“Oh, honey,” she says. Her mouth curves into a mocking frown. “He mentioned you last night, after your little tavern episode. At first, I thought nothing of it, but today, I took a closer look. Caught up with my good friend, Hugo, and we put some pieces together. You and Soren are like magnets—no matter how far you cross the room, you orientate to each other, seek each other out.”
I shake my head. “You’re mistaken,” I whisper. What does this complete stranger know about how I feel? Those feelings are gone. I’ve shoved them into the Abyss, next to every other fight I couldn’t win.
“See for yourself,” she says, nodding through the crack in the door. I follow her gaze, squinting into the bright light of the ballroom. The prince stands at the drink table, arguing with Odissa. A frown twists his handsome face, his brow furrowed in concentration. She smiles at the forming crowd.
“Every time he’s done performing his duty with her, he searches the room for you. He’s been doing it all evening.”
As I open my mouth to deny the captain’s claim, her hand lifts into view, pointing. “Wait,” she says.
Soren sips on his drink and then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, his head turns, and his gaze locks onto mine.
My breath releases in a whoosh, like he’s knifed me in the gut with those piercing green orbs flooding with an emotion I refuse to name, and the world tilts on its axis. I steady myself against the doorframe, dark spots pricking the edge of my vision.
“I need some fresh air.” I stumble away from the door, and the captain steps to the side. The empty hallway stretches before me without obstacle. I trace my escape route down the corridor, around the bend. When I reach the open window, I pause, leaning against the marble frame, and peer into the night. A warm breeze brushes my cheeks. Audrina’s face is nearly full—in five days’ time, she’ll flourish, and Tephra will come to claim her dues.
And I won’t be here to watch.
The spiraling streets are empty. I lean further out the window, checking the distance to the ground below. The jump might hurt, but it won’t be enough to break me. The waves roll in, battering the walls of the keep one after the other, and still I’m glued to the floor like some indecisive guppy. I’ve dreamed of leaving Odissa every night since I met her, but now, faced with the chance to do just that, I’m not ready to go.
Just then, I hear the soft slapping of bare feet approaching. My ears strain, listening to the shift of weight—heavy, large feet,likely male. I take a step back, eyeing the window. Regardless of the male’s intentions, I cannot be seen. But in my hesitation, I didn’t properly prepare for my escape. I need to remove my dress, adjust my pouch to hang from my waist for ease of transformation, both actions that take up valuable time in this scenario.
I press against the wall, slipping into a shadow beside the window, hoping the darkness will conceal me. I wrap my fingers around the bone hilt, warm from the heat between my legs.
I plant my feet. First, I’ll debilitate this unfortunately lost noble, then I’ll leave. Already, my blood warms, eager for the violence—I’ve missed this.
Not a kill,I remind myself.Just a little cut, so the male can’t chase me.
The footsteps near, rounding the corner. And with them, a low baritone humming sound, green curls of magic washing across the floor in sweeping passes.
Soren. I recognize his Voice instantly.
One tendril of his Voice lifts, and the rounded form of the tip tilts to the side. I hold my breath, and on the intake of air, the tendril snaps straight, shooting across the floor toward me.
I lose every ounce of reason. Panicked, I make a run, summoned from the shadows into the moonlight that streams through the window.
In the darkness of the hall, a pair of green eyes flash with victory. “Odd place to be during a ball, Wicked,” he says in a deep voice. The tendril slithers closer, caressing my ankle.
I launch onto the windowsill and judge the angle of my fall seconds before taking the plunge. The ground rises to meet me. I skitter through a soft patch of sand on the smooth stone of the streets. My shoulder collides with a wall and pain flares through me. From the window above me, a growl sounds, then the tendrils slip out of the sill, rushing after me.
Panic seizes my chest, squeezing its cold fingers around my heart. I cannot let Soren catch me. I fear what might happen when he does—he’ll confirm the accusations the captain whispered in the hallway.
I may do lust, but I do not do feelings. Especially not ones like attraction or its deadly cousin, love. Love is a beast with wicked claws and teeth that sink deep, and I’m not about to let it snare me now.
I break into a run, calculating my path to the sea.
