Page 64 of Oathborn
“A flirt only offers words. Meanwhile, I…” He leaned closer, hesitating just a breath away from her.
Was he… She nodded, offering permission for something she wasn’t even sure he’d requested. When his lips found hers, she realized she’d been right. Zari melted into his embrace, as if she was a plant seeking sunlight, her fingers curled around the muscles of his back. His heartbeat was slow and steady, far more than Zari’s own. Every bit of her body was alive, desire wild and headstrong taking hold. The kiss deepened, as Zari closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation.
With a gasp, finally, they broke apart for air. Only then, did Yansin speak, “Meanwhile I believe in both word and action, where you are concerned.” His fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, as he brushed a second kiss over her lips, this one sweet and chaste. “However reckless that may have been.”
“I don’t mind the occasional bout of recklessness. At least, not from you.”
Yansin laughed. “But only an occasional one, correct? I should otherwise be on my best behavior?”
“Dare I ask what you’re like on your worst?” Her tone had a sultry note to it, one that slipped from her like a sigh, as if her yearnings had taken full control of her voice. Because she did wish she could know him in that reckless way he’d hinted at, that one kiss could turn into countless more, that they could sink down to lay in the shade beneath the trees, as passion overtook them.
Before the bravery escaped her, she placed her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him once more. They were nearly the same height, and as their bodies pressed together, she felt entirely aware of all of him, from the strength of his body to his own growing desire.
“Zari.” He growled her name, as if holding back a barely restrained hunger. “Did I not promise you I would remain a gentleman?”
“You have been! I only wonder what it’s like. On the other side of such things as…”
“As respectability and propriety, when defined by the Rhydonian powers-that-be?” One auburn brown arched up.
“You make it sound as if we invented such things! As if it’s a flight of fancy for it to be scandalous for an unwed couple to—”
“Itis,Zari!” Yansin turned to her, catching her hands with his, and held them tightly. “Do you not understand? I am following your rules, your lead, for things are very different on the isles and—”
“And you have lovers on the isles? Is that it?” She yanked her hands back. “Ones who are more free with their kisses?”
“No!” Yansin reached out, though he did not touch her.
“Is it because you’ve had other, better lovers than me? Fae ones?” A small part of Zari bristled at even saying the words. “Now you’re stuck with this pesky Rhydonian.”
“I’m not stuck with you, I chose you.”
She shook her head, refusing to hear him, to believe him. She’d been a fool to trust him, a fool to even start this journey.
“Zari,” he said her name again, this time, as gently as a prayer. “I chose you. I care about you. I do wish to strive toward the ideals you would want in a man. Even if, yes, I am not as familiar with them, as I was raised on the isles.” His words hung heavy between them. “And I fear they have shaped me far more than I might have wished.”
So it wasn’t his father who had traveled so far, but his mother. Yansin was from the fae isles. A thousand questions ignited within her, wondering if he knew her companions, if he’d ever met the Queen, or knew more than he’d already told her. But where she stood, staring up at him, only one thing mattered. “Who do you want to be?” she asked. “To me?”
She found herself unsure of what he might say and in the silence, her heart raced.
Finally, he spoke. “No more than who you saw me as, when we first met. A simple photographer at a failing newspaper, who had the great fortune of crossing paths with a brilliant, beautiful, spitfire of a nurse.”
“Then be that for me, Yansin Kanoa. I would not ask anything more of you.”
“Except, perhaps, for me to switch to a more lucrative career?” he teased, and just as a summer storm might pass in seconds, his tone was light again. “I’m told even window washers make more than journalists these days.”
As if the terrain they crossed was no more dangerous than a pleasant park, they walked hand in hand through the forest. There was no path ahead, but Yansin led her confidently, pushing aside branches when they blocked the way. Only twice did he draw the sword to hack through thicker underbrush.
Its blade flashed in the sunlight, otherworldly in its glow.
Soon, they entered a clearing where a tangle of ancient trees had fallen. Their damp, weathered trunks formed a rough archway, the thick moss clinging to them like a second skin. The ground beneath them was littered with wildflowers and mushrooms sprouting from the rotting wood. Rabbits darted in and out of the shadows, their quick, twitching noses flicking up every so often as they scurried, barely noticing the two travelers. A stream rushed by, ringing half of the clearing.
Yansin halted, his arms stretching toward the sky. “We’ll rest here. It’s a fine enough spot for a lesson in swordplay.” He handed her the sword, its hilt gleaming faintly in the filtered sunlight.
“Your first task,” he said, as he leaned against one fallen tree, one foot against the trunk, “is to draw the blade smoothly. Set your feet, square and steady. A poor stance is as dangerous as a dull edge.”
Zari took the sword and attempted to draw it but the weapon felt awkward and unbalanced. The blade caught in the scabbard, resisting her efforts. With each misstep, her arm grew heavier, her muscles protesting the unfamiliar exercise. The blade’s elegance only seemed to mock her clumsy movements.
She sighed. “I was foolish to think this would be easy.”
