Page 17 of Clash of Storms
Not merely a woman trying to avoid him. No, she'd had a warm cloak slung over her arm and a sack at her side. He'd smelled bread, cheese, cured ham. All things the princess wouldn't eat at an ordinary meal. They were the kind of foods that would last if one were going on a journey.
And Malin wouldn't leave her father.
"Mother of kraken," Sirius breathed.
That bloody little wretch had stared him in the eye and lied to him without blinking.
She'd used his forthcoming betrothal as a means to make him back off.
And all along, she'd known there would never be any fucking mating ceremony. Because Árdís was going to try to escape....
Sirius surged to his feet, striding toward the door.
Well played, my lady.
You almost had me.
* * *
Sirius could not escapethis betrothal of his own desire. He'd given his word—his obedience for Andri's life.
But there was one other means to thwart his father's desires.
If Árdís was no longer here, then he couldn't mate with her. And Andri wouldn't have to suffer.
He just needed time for his brother to heal.
Time to get him out of here.
Melting through the darkness of the cellars, he made his way toward the portal the drekling servants used to travel to Reykjavik.
And there, right on schedule, was the princess's scent.
Wrapping the shadows around him, he prowled closer, hearing her whispering to a drekling male. The servant his father had threatened to burn alive, he suspected.
His fingers clicked as he summoned Fire.
Light suddenly burst into being as one by one the torches on the wall erupted into flame.
"Who's there?" Árdís whispered, putting her hand to the hilt of her sword.
"Well, if it isn't my sweet betrothed. Wherever can you be going, Árdís? Especially with a sword that doesn't belong to you, and a pack full of clothes."
Sirius let his shroud of shadows disintegrate.
Árdís's tensed. "Creeping around in the dark again, Sirius? It suits you."
He ignored her, and made a small gesture with his hand. The fire in the muted lantern in his hand flared higher, highlighting her heart-shaped face.
In another male's eyes, Árdís would have been breathtaking. Her golden hair was braided back, her gorgeous eyes narrowing even as she stared haughtily at him. Queen Amadea's twisted beauty was no match for her daughter—the cruelty of the queen's nature gave an odd twist to her lips, and her eyes were hard, green emeralds, where Árdís's gleamed as though sunlight poured through precious stone. But he couldn't look at the princess and not see her mother.
Or worse, a pair of dark brown eyes that sparkled when Malin smiled—though that smile was never directed athim. He felt like a thief sometimes, collecting glimpses of it when she greeted someone else.
"Creeping around in the darkdoesn'tsuit you," he told the princess. "People might notice."
"What?" she scoffed. "That I was using the back tunnels? Perhaps it's the quickest way to the jousting rooms. I do have a sparring appointment with Master Innick most days, even after that debacle in the throne room. And the main cavern is awash with your father's louts. I was trying to avoid them."
Nice try. "Avoid them? Or me?"
