turns to leap atop a large stone and climb up the side of an even larger boulder blocking the path.
I scramble after him, determined to hold on to the light moment. Niklaas isn’t all bad, and I can’t deny that I’m anticipating whatever this is that will make us feel better.
The anticipation lasts until I reach the top of the boulder and see Niklaas already down the other side, bounding across two flat rocks toward a pool of steaming water, stripping his shirt off as he goes. By the time he reaches the edge of the smoking spring, he’s shucked his boots and loosened the tie on his riding pants.
I realize what he intends to do, but before I can turn my back, his pants slide off his hips, and Niklaas, eleventh son of the immortal king, is as naked as the day he was born.
I freeze—jaw dropping, blood draining from my face—unable to tear my eyes away, though I know I should. But, warrior’s clothes be damned, I’m a seventeen-year-old girl, and what seventeen-year-old girl could look away from a sight like that ?
Niklaas may have the face of a golden god, but he has the body of a devil, a creature sent from the Pit to tempt a girl to abandon everything she holds dear for one night, skin to skin, with a creature designed for pleasure. The sort of pleasure that, since the day I kissed Thyne, I’ve known I must forever do without.
But now, as I watch Niklaas ease into the water, I wonder …
What if I didn’t love the boy—not even friendly love, the way I loved Thyne? What if he didn’t love me? Would my kiss still steal away his mind? Or would he retain his head so long as our bodies were the only part of our selves involved?
What would it be like to join Niklaas in the water? To show him who I really am and feel his hands on my bare skin, his lips at my throat? The thought is enough to make my pulse speed, until I remember who I’m lusting after and come to my senses with a shiver of disgust.
Even if it were safe, there’s no way I’d give Niklaas the satisfaction of knowing that the girl he’s determined to make his wife before he’s even met her finds him even a lick interesting in that way.
“Come on, Ror,” Niklaas calls, pushing the damp hair from his forehead. “It’s a ball stinger for a few minutes, but after that … pure heaven.”
His wife. I will never be this prince’s wife, and once he knows it, he’ll have no reason to keep helping me, even if I tell him that my brother’s life, and the future of Mataquin, is at stake. No doubt he would refuse to accompany any girl on a hunt for an army, no matter what the circumstances. Human men aren’t like Fey men. They don’t believe a well-trained woman can fight, or lead, as well as a man. Niklaas already doubts my abilities because I’m small. Gods forbid he find out I’m female.
As soon as he realizes the truth, he’ll leave. Or worse, kidnap me—to ensure my safety, if my judgment of his character is correct; to force me to marry him at sword point, if it is not and marriage really is what he’s after—and Jor will die.
Niklaas can never discover my secret. I have to leave. Now. I should have run the moment his billowing Kanvasola shirt hit the bank.
“All right, little prince?” Niklaas asks, a careful note in his voice.
“I’m not accustomed to bathing with other people.” I clear my throat and shift my gaze to a patch of sky visible between the leaves, wondering if my cheeks are as pink. “I’ll go get the fire ready and come back later. It will be dark soon and a fire is … good.”
“A fire is good,” Niklaas says. “Build it beneath the trees. The wind should scatter the smoke, but just in case, the leaves will hide the fire. The Boughtswords might still be looking for us. We don’t want to help them with the finding.”
“Right.” I risk a quick peek down to where Niklaas lounges in the pool, his thick arms stretched along the rocks, steaming water rising to his chest, watching me with a shrouded
I scramble after him, determined to hold on to the light moment. Niklaas isn’t all bad, and I can’t deny that I’m anticipating whatever this is that will make us feel better.
The anticipation lasts until I reach the top of the boulder and see Niklaas already down the other side, bounding across two flat rocks toward a pool of steaming water, stripping his shirt off as he goes. By the time he reaches the edge of the smoking spring, he’s shucked his boots and loosened the tie on his riding pants.
I realize what he intends to do, but before I can turn my back, his pants slide off his hips, and Niklaas, eleventh son of the immortal king, is as naked as the day he was born.
I freeze—jaw dropping, blood draining from my face—unable to tear my eyes away, though I know I should. But, warrior’s clothes be damned, I’m a seventeen-year-old girl, and what seventeen-year-old girl could look away from a sight like that ?
Niklaas may have the face of a golden god, but he has the body of a devil, a creature sent from the Pit to tempt a girl to abandon everything she holds dear for one night, skin to skin, with a creature designed for pleasure. The sort of pleasure that, since the day I kissed Thyne, I’ve known I must forever do without.
But now, as I watch Niklaas ease into the water, I wonder …
What if I didn’t love the boy—not even friendly love, the way I loved Thyne? What if he didn’t love me? Would my kiss still steal away his mind? Or would he retain his head so long as our bodies were the only part of our selves involved?
What would it be like to join Niklaas in the water? To show him who I really am and feel his hands on my bare skin, his lips at my throat? The thought is enough to make my pulse speed, until I remember who I’m lusting after and come to my senses with a shiver of disgust.
Even if it were safe, there’s no way I’d give Niklaas the satisfaction of knowing that the girl he’s determined to make his wife before he’s even met her finds him even a lick interesting in that way.
“Come on, Ror,” Niklaas calls, pushing the damp hair from his forehead. “It’s a ball stinger for a few minutes, but after that … pure heaven.”
His wife. I will never be this prince’s wife, and once he knows it, he’ll have no reason to keep helping me, even if I tell him that my brother’s life, and the future of Mataquin, is at stake. No doubt he would refuse to accompany any girl on a hunt for an army, no matter what the circumstances. Human men aren’t like Fey men. They don’t believe a well-trained woman can fight, or lead, as well as a man. Niklaas already doubts my abilities because I’m small. Gods forbid he find out I’m female.
As soon as he realizes the truth, he’ll leave. Or worse, kidnap me—to ensure my safety, if my judgment of his character is correct; to force me to marry him at sword point, if it is not and marriage really is what he’s after—and Jor will die.
Niklaas can never discover my secret. I have to leave. Now. I should have run the moment his billowing Kanvasola shirt hit the bank.
“All right, little prince?” Niklaas asks, a careful note in his voice.
“I’m not accustomed to bathing with other people.” I clear my throat and shift my gaze to a patch of sky visible between the leaves, wondering if my cheeks are as pink. “I’ll go get the fire ready and come back later. It will be dark soon and a fire is … good.”
“A fire is good,” Niklaas says. “Build it beneath the trees. The wind should scatter the smoke, but just in case, the leaves will hide the fire. The Boughtswords might still be looking for us. We don’t want to help them with the finding.”
“Right.” I risk a quick peek down to where Niklaas lounges in the pool, his thick arms stretched along the rocks, steaming water rising to his chest, watching me with a shrouded
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