Chapter 8
eight
Nesrina encounters a bump in the road.
“We’ve been here a week,” she commented to Rihan as they wandered back toward the house after sharing kisses in the trees where her favorite willow went above and beyond in its duties as the prime reading spot.
His fingers were already wound through hers, and he gave them a squeeze. “It’s gone by so quickly.”
“I know,” she lied. Her time at Stormhill had not gone by quickly, at all. What did feel like it passed in the blink of an eye was the full month since she’d arrived at Kirce Palace.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the early-evening sun hanging over the rolling hills in the west, and not having much to talk about. As they fell under the shadow of the estate’s north wall, Nesrina asked, “Do you know what kalal means?”
Rihan shook his head.
“Do you know any Old Tongue? I think it might be that.”
“No, why would I?”
She shrugged. It was something the duke had said when leaving the library.
To say it had piqued her interest would be an understatement.
But she didn’t need to explain that to Rihan.
They reached the northeast corner of the manse and turned right to follow the long stone wall up to the side entrance.
“I don’t know, I thought maybe you would have studied it at the Institute in Rohilavol? ”
Rihan laughed heartily, flashing one of those disarming grins she was growing oh-so fond of. “Nope. Those boring classes are for men who’d rather have their noses in a book than in br—” he cut himself off, a wide, sheepish smile taking up the mantle as he eyed the not-books on her chest.
“Oh!” Nesrina giggled, realizing his meaning.
He wasn’t bookish at all, which was a shame.
A part of her recognized a future with the soldier was unlikely.
Had Papa been alive, he’d have thought him an utter fool.
While Rihan’s class would have been passably acceptable, her papa always said, “Wasting time on an unread man is like tossing away a thousand thoughts.” She couldn’t say she disagreed, but she had time to waste, and her mind never shut up.
“Speaking of . . .” The soldier slowed his gait and rounded on her, pinning her against the sun-warmed wall.
“Yes?” she breathed, tilting her head back to peer up at his adorably rosy cheeks and smooth hair. The rough stone behind her tugged on her braid, but she didn’t mind. Those butterflies were back, flapping their wings and threatening to burst from her belly in a potentially unladylike manner.
“Nesrina.” He moved one hand to cup her cheek and bent toward her.
She skimmed a finger along the smooth line of his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed, and she followed suit, angling her face toward him. Their lips met, and he pressed his tongue into her mouth, prodding as he maintained his hold on one arm. His free hand moved from her face down to knead her breast.
Swallowing a groan—he squeezed pretty hard for a moment there—she probed his tongue with hers.
Rihan withdrew from their kiss, putting a breath of distance between them, enough to glance down as his other hand found her other breast. He squeezed them in tandem. “Who needs books when you have these?”
She tittered and shifted his calloused hands to rest on her hips.
“Oh, you tease,” he grumbled, capturing her mouth once again.
A gruff cough from somewhere above interrupted their kiss, and she blinked stupidly at Rihan.
Another gravelly “Ah-hem,” this one accompanied by a frigid gust of wind that had no place in the summer evening, told her exactly who interrupted.
Rihan leapt away. A good three feet lay between them, and he stood at attention like the lened duke was his captain. “Your Grace.” His voice was raspy, and his rosy cheeks grew blotchy.
Nesrina stepped forward, but a tangle of hair stayed behind, and she had to jerk her head forward to free herself from the rough stone wall.
With one hand, she smoothed her skirts, and with the other, attempted to smooth her hair.
She refused to look up at the infuriating man who’d intruded on one of her few private moments with the handsome guard.
Instead, she glared at his kneecaps, half considering using her magic to create a mallet with which to bop him.
“This behavior is unacceptable.” The duke’s gruff tone did little to surprise her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nesrina watched Rihan’s formerly stoic gaze drop to Lord Kahoth’s feet. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he ground out, all signs of the confident soldier vanished, and his frustration evident from the white-knuckled fists tensed at his sides.
“Return to your quarters,” the duke commanded.
Rihan began to turn away, paused, angling for a moment as if he was going to check on her, then stomped off, almost petulantly, toward the entrance near the guards’ rooms.
After a beat, Nes turned toward the nearest door, prepared to scuttle away, frustration at Lord Kahoth for his interruption burning hot in her belly and embarrassment heating her face.
“Not you.”
She left her shame on the grass, and nothing but injustice raged within her as she lifted her gaze, finally deigning to look at the man blocking her path. She glowered at his far-too-tiny mouth. “Yes?”
“You’ve interrupted my work,” Kas grumbled.
Taken aback, she spouted, “And you interrupted mine.” Who was she to speak to a lord like that? She’d probably regret it soon, but the situation was beyond intolerable. She had a routine, and he’d thrown her off.
He looked down at her, said nothing, and after far too many seconds of heart-hammering silence, lifted his palms before dropping them back to his sides.
“That’s what I thought,” she huffed, bumping him on her march inside.