Page 122 of The First Spark
“Glad to know I don’t bore you, then,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Zane grinned, but it withered into a frown. “If we’re settling the score on apologies, I should apologize for that night in the bar.” He chafed his free hand against the back of his neck. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”
The smirking, arrogant drunk who’d snarled at her on theChimaeraseemed like an eternity ago, worlds away from the man who’d bandaged her wounds and dried her tears. It was almost jarring to remember what he’d looked like then, with rumpled clothes that stank of a stripper’s perfume and breath reeking of alcohol. She’d hated that man, but gods, she liked this one. He didn’t coddle her, like that boy she’d ghosted at boarding school, he didn’t belittle her, like Ariah’s pathetic exes, he didn’t try to shape her into his ideal, like Julian. He saw her, for better or worse, and maybe, just maybe… Maybe the man she was looking at now was the one she should’ve been seeing all along.
“You don’t need to apologize.” He looked like he was about to protest, but she held up her hand. “My grandmother is your Carik. I see that now. And I’m going to make it up to you someday, I promise.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now.” Zane’s eyes roved across her face as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His gaze fell to her lips, then struggled up to meet her eyes. It was absurdly thrilling, and a rush of heat blazed through Kalie, heat that warmed her face and demanded more.
“For now,” he said, his voice husky, “let’s just let ourselves live.”
“Yes,” Kalie echoed, as her heart fluttered. “Let’s do that.”
They hovered there, legs pressed together, heads almost touching. She breathed in the smell of his toothpaste and ocean spray cologne. His eyes hovered on hers, dark and intense, but he waited for her to make the first move. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She glanced at Zane’s lips, his powerful muscles, the rumpled shirt that hid his well-defined abs. There were a million reasons she shouldn’t be doing this, but she didn’t care. She wanted to live, to feel, to forget the rest of the world?—
Boots thumped outside. Fire crackled in the hearth, and she jolted back to herself—back into a palace where the walls had eyes and ears, back to reality, where her sister would seize any grasping reason to discredit her.
As her cheeks flushed, she cleared her throat and pulled away.
“Sorry.” Her face was on fire. “I forgot myself.”
Zane was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “It’s late.”
It was an out, one she was immensely grateful for, and she nodded. She wasn’t in her right mind. It was only a momentary impulse, a mistake. He was her guard, her friend, and she had responsibilities—duties she couldn’t cast aside, no matter how hot he was or how badly she wanted to give in.
She was the Duchissa of Dali. She could not risk crossing the line.
But when she got back to her room, Zane followed her into her dreams.
The sea’sbriny scent washed over Zane as he followed his Praetorian escort towards Redmont’s highest precipice, a dark cliff face looming over the ocean. Fires burned over onyx altars, and as their acrid plumes of smoke twisted up his nose, phantom explosions thundered in his ears. Ghastly images from that article were seared into his eyelids—a bombed building, a child’s charred shoe. Oneman had leveled an entire Dalian city. Fifty-four other terrorists had escaped last week, so it would only get worse, and what if something happened to Kalie?
He had always intended to stick by her. He had no choice if he wanted his money.
But after their conversation, things had changed. It was about the money, yes, but it was also about her.
She clearly didn’t hate him, and she wasn’t the selfish royal he’d initially taken her to be. She was genuine and kind, and she really did care for her people. For all her flaws, she’d be a far better ruler than Lexington, who’d given the Feds free rein over Dali.
Despite the cycles he’d spent despising her family, she could be a friend.
Maybe something more, but he couldn’t dwell too deeply on what might’ve been. He’d left it up to her, and she’d pulled away. It had been the wrong time, anyway, with nightmares still heavy on her mind.
“He’s here, Your Supreme Highness.” The Praetor’s voice jolted him from his thoughts, and the guards flanking him bowed.
Though his skin itched at the thought of bowing to anyone, Zane forced himself to do the same.
Kalie’s dark-haired brother sat on the edge of the cliff, dangling his legs over the edge. Zane raised his eyebrows. The haughty Crown Prince hadn’t struck him as the type to sully his clothes in the dirt, even if Kalie was right and he enjoyed dueling.
The Prince didn’t turn. “Dismissed.”
The Praetors’ boots clomped away. Kalie’s brother didn’t rise, so Zane trudged to a strip of grass and dirt at the edge of the cliff. Hundreds of feet below, murky waves crashed against the island’s rocky shores. Foamy spray spurted into the air, stinging the tar-black cliffs. Zane slanted a look at the Prince. It was off-putting to stand to the side while he sat in the dirt.
“I presume you’re here because of the bombing yesterday,” the Prince said. His blank expression didn’t falter. Not a flicker of emotion, not a shred of grief for the dead Dalians.
Zane scowled. “That’s part of it.”
“Have they caught the bomber yet?”
“They haven’t caught any of them.”
