Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I’m piss drunk.
The last time I was this intoxicated was when Lydia and I stole four bottles of wine from the castle kitchens one night.
We drank in the gardens under the maple tree so Ulrik wouldn’t catch us.
We eventually fell asleep under the stars, Valentin waking us early the following morning.
The memory left me feeling wistful, missing my closest friend.
The longer I ponder things, the more I realize that I don’t miss Cathros.
I miss the people who live there, like Lydia, Valentin, and Eleanor.
I stumble up the front castle steps, nearly falling as I hold my arms out to steady myself.
Glancing up, I see Kieran and Marek, both attempting to stifle their laughter as they watch me.
Frowning, I hurry into the castle to save myself from any more embarrassment.
I rush through the halls before anyone else sees how inebriated I am.
My eyelids feel heavy. Keeping them open is a struggle—how late is it?
Sleep is whispering sweet promises in my ear with each step.
The world around me is a haze as I turn the corner, bumping directly into someone.
I stumble, grabbing fistfuls of their jacket as I try to stay standing.
Their hands grasp tightly around my shoulders, steadying me so I don’t fall.
Glancing up, a pair of gray eyes meet mine.
“Hey…” I greet him, using all my effort to keep my tone casual.
It is time to put Kaia’s advice to the test. Instead of arguing, I will throw Wrath off by flirting. Then, I can ask questions while he’s distracted, setting up my game pieces in the shadows.
Wrath assesses my state as he releases me. “Are you drunk, Raelys?”
“Are you sober, Wrath?” I mimic, words slurred. Of course, he’s able to tell I’m intoxicated simply by looking at me. Nothing ever gets past him.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“That s-sucks for you, then…”
“Is that so?”
I shift in my boots. The wine coursing through my veins gives me boundless confidence. I focus on Wrath’s lips, unsure of why they look more inviting by the second. Something about his hair is enticing me to run my fingers through it, and I try not to think too deeply about the impulse.
“You know…” I point a finger at his chest. “For the most wicked king in Dratheria, you sure do get me a lot of gifts.” I step closer. “It’s… it’s like you like me… or sum’thin.”
Wrath’s hand wraps around the back of mine, causing my skin to heat from his closeness. It’s one of the rare times he’s not wearing gloves. “You’re counting?” he muses. “That must mean you like me, Princess.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wrath replies, his breath grazing across my skin.
“Did… d-did you mean to give me that much coin?” I ask boldly. “It starts with a P… Plalala, or something?”
“Platasia,” Wrath corrects. “And no, I accidentally gave you an entire year's worth of feudal dues.”
I stifle my laugh. “Well… thank you.”
“You spent it all.”
“On pretty princess things,” I coo.
Wrath steps closer, closing the space between us. “Well, you are a pretty princess.”
A thrill runs through my body from his gruff voice, but I try not to let it show. His smell is intoxicating, as leather and bergamot invade my senses. Every part of Wrath holds a dangerous edge, like a wolf cloaked in shadow. His magic sweeps across my skin, sending a chill down my spine.
“Are you flirting with me, Wrath?” I raise a brow at him.
“You’d know if I was flirting with you, Raelys.”
“That’s exactly something a—” A burp escapes my chest, and I feel the familiar burn of alcohol in my throat. “S-something a scoundrel would say.”
“And what is my menace up to tonight?” he asks gently, thumb slowly running across the back of my hand.
The sensation sends me into a tailspin. No one touches my hands.
Ever. Wrath passes over every divot and scar with a tender caress.
I struggle to remain composed as I go breathlessly still.
He does it again. I had aimed to throw Wrath off with flirtation, but now, with only a touch, he is the one catapulting me off a cliffside.
Wrath’s body is warm as it eclipses mine, all corded muscle and broad chest silently beckoning me to press against it.
“Oh, you know…” I shrug lazily. “Just another day of bringing r-ruin to your kingdom…”
A roughish grin forms on his face. It’s the second time I’ve seen him smile. “It’s still here. Are you sure your master plan is working?” Wrath taunts.
“The Warlord always says… that victory is not in the clash of s-swords—” I waver on my feet, stumbling slightly. “But forcing y-your enemy to kneel by willpower and… prestige—or something.”
“It’s willpower and unseen influence,” Wrath corrects me. “But close enough.”
“Riveting,” I reply, unimpressed that he also knows the lines. Someone with his family’s name wrote the book—I’m not sure who—so of course, he’s familiar with its contents.
Pride shines in his gaze. “You truly have the whole book memorized.”
Neither of us drifts away from the other, locked in a battle of wills.
I study his features, looking for a crack in his facade so I may slip inside.
His dark lashes lower as he slides his hand down, looping his thumb between my pinky and ring finger.
It’s not a complete handhold, yet the touch feels so intimate that a small breath escapes my lips.
“So do you,” I point out, dropping his hand and walking away. My room is a few corridors away, if I could make it on my own without succumbing to the wine. “Why do you have the pages memorized?”
Wrath follows me. “You think my only skill is slaughter?”
I laugh. “You’re right, the destroyer of peace must mean something else.”
“Where did you find a copy of that book?” he asks.
“I stole it from Cathros’s library.” My steps are uneven. “When you’re trapped within a castle… you end up having a lot of free time.”
“And now you have busy days?” Wrath’s question holds a quiet triumph.
“Yes,” I huff. “I have a job, friends, and this Elvarran king who keeps finding himself in my presence.” My gaze narrows at Wrath to emphasize my last point.
He hums. “Where do you work?”
“The Whispering Willow…” I sigh, awaiting his scrutiny.
“An interesting choice of employment.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“On average, how many fights do you see a night?” Wrath asks curiously.
“I only pay attention when t-they t-take their tunics off,” I admit boldly, the alcohol giving me unfiltered assurance.
He raises a brow. “Hiding that salacious side, are we, Princess?"
I erupt in a fit of giggles. “W-wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Just be careful on the eastern side of town,” he warns.
“Why?” My lips quirk up. “Are y-you worried about me?”
Wrath ignores my question. I notice he’s trailing a step behind me, prepared to catch me if I trip over my own two feet again. My steps slow, and I turn to face him, stopping my advancement.
“Why are you following me?” I ask.
“I’m making sure you get to your room after you nearly toppled me in the hall,” he replies plainly, standing before me.
“The King of Khalessor taking time out of his busy night for me?” I say playfully as I turn and continue walking. “You must not be that important, then.”
“Well, I am a scoundrel.” Wrath follows me.
“You accept your fate.” I feel a sense of triumph in getting him to admit it.
“Oh, Princess,” he purrs. “I think it’s you who needs to accept your fate.”
“What fate?” I sass him.
“That you enjoy it here.”
It may be the copious amounts of wine, but at this moment, he’s right—I am thoroughly enjoying my time in the North. I would never give Wrath the satisfaction of knowing that, though. Our banter is like a duel, each line a scheme for the other’s surrender.
My smile widens. “Then you’ve fallen for my plan.”
“Your plan to fool me into thinking you enjoy it here in the North?” Wrath muses. “And then what?”
“It’s no fun if I tell you—” I stumble while walking down a small step, my arms shooting out to stop my fall as I anticipate hitting the ground.
Arms wrap around me, stopping me mid-air as Wrath bends down and picks me up. “Come on, Princess. Let's get you to bed.”
“Careful, too many altruistic deeds… and people might think you’re not soooo… wrathful,” I mumble, my body liquid in his grasp.
“Noted.”
My eyelids feel heavy, the world spinning slightly as I drift away in the safety of his hold. I reach up, smoothing a hand down his coat to steady myself. My mark excitedly flares from his touch—the traitor. In my drunken state, I inhale deeply, taking in his delicious scent.
Something crunches against my left hand, and I notice a piece of parchment sticking from his coat pocket. If I distract him, I can take it. There may be something to learn, an important letter to intercept. I must get it from him without him noticing, but how?
Wrath impressively holds me with one arm as he twists the knob, opening the door to my room and walking inside.
As he bends down to set me on the bed, I reach up and press my fingers on the very place that would cost someone a hand if they touched—his scar.
I gently brush down the length of it, moving closer while my left hand lowers to his pocket.
“Raelys,” Wrath warns, his voice a low growl. His body goes rigid as he restrains himself from moving. I trail lower, past his jaw and onto his neck. His breath catches in his throat from my caress.
“Yes?” I whisper, tilting my chin up slowly, inching closer to kiss him.
Wrath pulls back suddenly, the parchment slipping from his pocket. I crumple it in my palm to hide it, lowering it to my side. Wrath’s eyes go wide. I’ve never seen him this visibly shaken before. He clenches a fist at his side. A tick forms in his jaw, the air thickening with unspoken tension.
“Go to sleep, Raelys,” he commands in an abrasive tone, storming from the room and slamming the door behind him.
My lips press into a thin line as I take note of his flustered state, feeling slightly dejected.
Why didn’t Wrath want to kiss me? Is it because I’m a human?
It’s not like I wanted to kiss him. Yes, I simply needed a distraction to take the note, I tell myself.
So why do I feel the sting of rejection?
Huffing an annoyed sigh, I roll onto my back and unfold the crumpled parchment to read.
King Wrath,
We sincerely appreciate the gift you sent to our Salasyr residence. My Lady Lydia Leonora has expressed gratitude for our union's faith. May Khalessor hold strong with Salasyr’s support.
- Duke Alec Wulfstan of Salasyr
I gasp.
“Lydia!” I whisper to myself in disbelief.
Lydia married the Duke of Salasyr? She’s here in the North?
My mind races with every possible outcome, but I can’t figure out why an Elvarran duke would want to marry a human girl.
It is possible that Lydia and I have something in common that we never realized?
Would she accept me if I told her I was a halfling?
There must be more to this.