Page 103 of Promise of Darkness
He glances toward me, the sharp lines of his cheekbones giving him a feral sort of beauty. There’s an untamed wildness to his features that’s both alluring and unnerving. I can’t help feeling as though he’d shed this skin if he could, with all its courtly trappings, and reveal the real man beneath.
“Ceres was built by my queen,” Thiago says softly, turning his gaze back to the city. “Those golden banners aren’t mine. If you look closely, you’ll see the rising dawn emblem upon them.”
My gaze returns to them, understanding exactly what he’s not saying.
This city may belong to him, but some of the fae here will never accept him.
“Some of the city folk call me ‘abomination’ when they think I can’t hear them.” His voice drops to a soft croon. “Sometimes I walk the city in a cloak of illusions, and I hear them talk of the old days when the queen ruled. Of her legitimate sons. Prince Emyr was a monster, and Prince Arawn no warrior, but to hear the fae speak of it, both were heroes. They forget the day Emyr had forty craftsmen strung up for protesting the new taxes. They ignore the little girl he rode over when she didn’t move out of his way fast enough. Everywhere he went, he filled the ground with coffins and the streets with blood. His mother despaired of ever breaking him of his arrogance and cruelty, but she merely sent him to different posts in the hopes he’d stop. That’s the monster they call the True Heir.”
“History often softens the stark reality of the truth.”
“And I’m an impure bastard who murdered the rightful heirs and stole their mother’s throne.” This time, his smile holds edges. “When Emyr was a golden-haired warrior with a smile that could light up a room.”
“I think your Emyr would have made a wonderful consort for my mother.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s always the blonds.”
“You bear a grudge? It wouldn’t have anything to do with your very blond mother and sister, would it?”
He’s caught me out.
“All my life I hated my hair,” I admit. While Andraste looked like a perfect little replica of Mother, I was the ugly, dark cuckoo in the nest. “I paid a travelling peddler forty gold pieces when I was twelve to chant a spell that would strip the color from it.”
“What happened?”
“The color faded and the peddler moved on. I was delighted. Until I woke the next morning to find my hair had fallen out. It was all over my pillow, and my mother was furious at my stupidity.” She’d ordered me shaved bald, and I was locked in my rooms, with only a nurse for company, until it grew back. “If it’s any consolation, I findmyselfpartial to green eyes and dark hair.”
Thiago’s gaze darts to mine. “Do you?”
The tension in his shoulders softens as I press my back into the stone of the arch, turning my entire body toward him. “Do you think I’d stand in an open arch with my enemy behind me if I wasn’t bedazzled by his pretty eyes?”
“I thought we were past the ‘enemies’ part of this?”
“I’m still considering the notion. I don’t know what comes after ‘enemies.’”
“That’s easy.” His voice grows rough. “We kiss. We argue. We fall into bed. We fuck.”
My cheeks heat. I’d wondered if he’d mention that.
Thiago brings his hand to my cheek, brushing his knuckles against the smooth skin there. “But you’re the one who makes that decision. I won’t steal into your bed, Vi. You’re the one who’s going to have to do that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You only just woke to the truth; you’re entitled to feel confused about it all.” He gives a sly smile. “And for every day you make me wait, I’ll repay you with an hour of sensual torture.”
Help.
I stare at him breathlessly. “Doesn’t that behoove me to make you wait longer?”
Thiago leans closer, stealing a soft kiss from my lips. “That depends.” He takes a step back, finally giving me some space to breathe. “On whether your willpower is stronger than temptation.”
It’s not.
I know it’s not.
I want to throw up the white flag of surrender right here, to taste more of that kiss he barely gave me.
And some part of it must show on my face, because he draws back and laughs. “Willpower, Vi.”
It’s a smoky sound that curls inside me, as though he’s somehow infected me.
