Chapter 6
Sunlight weaves through the leaves,splashing the garden with a mix of light and shadows.
Tahira leaps and twirls, trying to catch a butterfly that dances just beyond her fingertips. While Emerin lies with her head in my lap, her eyes tracing the clouds drifting across the sky.
“That one is a dragon,” Emerin says as her finger sketches the shape in the air.
Tahira squints up at the sky. “It looks like a lopsided potato to me.”
Emerin props herself up and frowns at her sister. “You lack imagination. It’s clearly a fire-breathing dragon.”
“Emerin might be onto something,” I say with a smile. “It’s definitely a dragon, albeit a friendly one.”
“If it’s from a fairytale…” Tahira plops down next to us, “…I hope it has a handsome prince with it.”
Emerin rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Tahira, not everyone is as prince obsessed as you are.”
“I’m not obsessed, just admirably selective.” Tahira picks a blade of grass and tosses it from hand to hand. “Rora, tell us. Are there any real handsome princes out there?”
The question stirs up memories of Jasce’s face, with his sharp jawline softened by the slightest of smirks and his brooding eyes that could either ignite me or freeze me in an instant.
“The world,” I begin carefully, not wanting to fuel Tahira’s fantasies nor Emerin’s cynicism, “is filled with all sorts of people. Princes or not, the handsome ones can be the most dangerous. They know their appearance can disguise less noble intentions.”
A knowing look shimmers in Emerin’s eyes, suggesting she understands the subtext of my words far better than Tahira, who pouts in response.
Then, again, she is only sixteen. She has plenty of time to learn about the world.
I quickly add, “But that doesn’t mean they’re all that way. There are good men out there who are very handsome. Some might even be princes.”
“Might,” Tahira repeats, testing the word on her tongue, like it’s a foreign spice she’s not sure whether to trust or discard. “You make it sound like finding a good one is more about luck than anything else.”
I shake my head. “Not luck. More like instinct and wisdom. You have to look beyond the surface, at actions and choices. A person’s true nature is revealed not in how they appear, but in what they do when they think no one is watching.”
An edge tinges Emerin’s voice as she speaks. “If you ask me, far too many people let the glitter of a crown or the gloss of a smile blind them to the rot underneath.”
Tahira bristles at Emerin’s stark perspective, but I sense the truth in it. Like bitter medicine, it stings on its way down.
“Perhaps,” Tahira concedes after a weighted pause, “appearances can deceive. A crown does not always reveal the true nature of a prince, just as a cover may not reflect the essence of a book.”
“Exactly. The cover is just the beginning of the story. The real tale lies within the pages,” I say.
Tahira jumps up and finally catches her elusive butterfly, only to let it go moments later. She grins as it flutters away.
Emerin’s eyes follow the butterfly’s flight. “I wish I could float away like that and see the world from above.”
“Maybe you can,” Tahira chimes in, always the one to find a way to make dreams seem attainable. “You could invent some sort of flying contraption. You’re clever enough.”
Lines deepen near Emerin’s mouth as she laughs. “And what would I use for wings? Bedsheets?”
“We have plenty of those.” Tahira’s eyes sparkle as she smiles at us.
Emerin and I exchange amused glances.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, its warmth coaxes more laughter and stories from us. We speak of childhood memories, games we played, and mishaps we barely survived. But as midday approaches, our trio breaks as Tahira stretches and yawns.
“I’m famished,” she announces. “I bet they’re serving the midday meal in the Great Hall by now.”
Emerin’s attention drifts to the stone fortress looming in the distance. “I could definitely eat.” She turns to look at me, her eyes questioning. “Rora, will you join us?”
I shake my head. “You two go ahead without me. I want to enjoy the warmth of the sun a little longer.”
Tahira sprints toward the fortress and calls out over her shoulder. “Last one to the Great Hall has to tell Ashes she’s right about something.”
Emerin rolls her eyes but hurries after her sister.
I watch them go for a moment, then I lie back in the grass and stare up at the sky as my thoughts race back to last night, to the moment Jasce climbed through my window. I close my eyes and feel him again—the scorching heat of his body pressed against mine, his lips fierce and hungry as they claimed me.
A rustling sound in the nearby bushes catches my attention, and as I sit up, a paper bird floats toward me and lands on my lap. My mouth parts as I open it and read the writing scrawled across the parchment.
Go to the cellar.
I’ll be waiting for you.
Jasce. It has to be from him.
I pull my veil on, then stand and slip the note into the folds of my gown. My pulse throbs in my throat as I force myself to walk slowly. I pass by gardeners who are using their silver magic to mend flowers and grow thicker hedges. They wave and smile as I walk by.
I wave back as I continue toward the fortress. The walls loom over me, their shadows casting long lines across the grass, as if they’re reaching out to keep me in place.
My mind races with thoughts of Jasce sitting in our cellar as I slip into the fortress. What drives him to take such risks, to sneak into the heart of enemy territory just to see me?
As I take the stairs near the kitchen, the damp scent of earth and aged wine fills my nose as I descend. I count each step as I go, trying to focus on them instead of the nerves skittering in my stomach.
What if someone follows me? What if they discover Jasce? What if he dies because of me?
Stop it.
When I reach the landing, I take in the shadows dancing across the stacked barrels and bottles that line the cellar walls. Then, as my eyes adjust to the dimness, I spot Jasce leaning against a barrel with that same infuriatingly confident smirk.
He pushes off from his casual perch as I approach. “Hello, Annora.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice low, as if a thousand people are standing nearby and straining to hear me. “It’s not safe.”
His brown eyes flash with something akin to amusement. “Are you worried about me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s sweet.”
Sweet? There is nothing sweet about my concern.
I let out a frustrated breath. “You need to leave Bakva now.” The words are more difficult to say than I anticipated, like trying to hold back floodwaters with bare hands.
“And why would I do that?” He steps closer, his proximity sending waves of heat coursing through me despite the cellar’s chill.
“Because every second you’re here puts you in more danger,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
“What if that risk is worth it?” he asks in a low, intimate tone. “What if you’re worth it?”
He removes my veil and allows it to flutter to the floor. The moment I open my mouth to protest, he leans down and brushes his lips against mine in a whisper of contact. My hands move on their own accord, gripping the fabric of his surcoat, and pulling him closer, as if I can hide him within myself and keep him safe.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, and my mind quiets, all thoughts of danger and consequences fading into nothingness. There’s only Jasce and the fierce desire that burns between us.
Jasce’s mouth moves over mine with a possessiveness that should scare me but doesn’t. Instead, it anchors me to this moment, to this man who is so many things I should fear, but somehow, he isn’t one of them.
Not anymore.
So many things have changed in the last summer. He’s different from his father. Jasce doesn’t burn our villages the way Jerrod did. Nor does Jasce attack our cities.
I lose track of time as we stand there, locked in our embrace, the world narrowing down to the feel of his lips against mine. Everything could be falling apart beyond these walls, for all I care.
Then, reality intrudes, the creak of a floorboard above us, yanking me back to the present. We break apart and look up. Nothing but silence follows, and I wonder if it was just my imagination.
Jasce tugs me back toward him, and his lips crash against mine with renewed urgency. This second kiss burns away the lingering tendrils of caution and reason.
His taste is intoxicating, like wild honey laced with smoke. I drink him in greedily, losing myself in the sweetness of his lips as I twist my fingers in his surcoat, anchoring myself against the dizzying rush.
I need him to be the one to teach me everything. All those secrets. All those moments I have read about in books but never experienced.
His fingers trail down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I know I should pull away, but instead I let him guide me, trusting that he will be gentle, though my heart pounds at the thought of what comes next.
His hands are sure but unhurried as they move across me, stroking and caressing until I am lost in sensations I’ve only imagined late at night beneath my blankets.
He cups my breast and finds my nipple through the thin fabric of my cotehardie. Warmth burns in my center as he makes it harden.
I arch into him, wanting more. He complies by pulling my bodice down enough to free my breast, and in one swift move, he leans down, capturing my nipple between his lips. I hiss in a quick breath at the shock of wet warmth. He suckles gently, his tongue flicking and teasing until my body aches with need.
His other hand snakes down, fingers slipping under the edge of my gown. I gasp as he grazes the sensitive skin on my inner thigh, each stroke raising the heat within me.
This must be what flying feels like. It’s the freest I have ever felt, like I can just be Annora right now. I don’t have to hide. Don’t have to pretend.
His hand drifts higher until he touches me between my legs, fingertips lightly grazing over my silk undergarments.
What would he do if I pulled them off? The thought sends heat rushing to my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it and imagining him touching me without any barrier.
He must sense my thoughts and answers with a pressure that makes me gasp and jerk my hips toward him. His other hand releases my breast to clasp the back of my neck and draws me in for another kiss. I taste the tang of ale on his lips and groan into his mouth.
He slips his hand beneath my undergarments and touches me there until I can hardly breathe for the pleasure it brings me.
After a moment, he pulls away from our heated kiss and studies my face in the dim light. “Is this what you want?”
His fingers remain between my legs, making it hard for me to think, let alone respond.
“Yes,” I whisper and rub myself against his unmoving hand.
“I want you to say it, Annora,” he commands with a voice so steady, so calm, it belies the storm raging in his gaze.
A strange mixture of embarrassment and bravado flares within me. “Touch me, Jasce.”
With a groan, Jasce crushes his lips against mine once more, while his hand resumes its previous motion. The sensation is too much, too intense. A sharp pang of need throbs in my core, and I press myself against his hand even further.
“Please,” I manage to breathe out between kisses.
His thumb moves in slow circles, the friction sending shockwaves through me. My legs tremble, and I cling to him for support. His touch is relentless, pushing me closer to the precipice.
Oh, how I want it, need it.
His other hand moves down my body, tracing a path over my trembling stomach and down to the edge of my cotehardie. His fingers grip the fabric, pulling it up bit by bit until they can join his other hand in its exploration. The room blurs as he slips a finger inside me, and another wave of pleasure washes over me at the deliberate intrusion.
He kisses me again, then, a hard, possessive kiss that brings me closer and closer to my release. Then, he does something entirely unexpected, he slides another finger inside me. I let out a loud moan, reveling in the delicious stretch.
His thumb continues to circle and tease me, sending shocks of pleasure through every nerve ending in my body. My breath becomes ragged as I surrender fully to his touch.
A creak from above rattles through me, and I freeze. When the sound comes again, I gasp, and Jasce releases me and helps me straighten my clothes.
Panic burns through me like a wildfire as I step back, trying to put space between us even though every fiber of my being screams to cling to him.
My skin tingles where his fingers touched me, and I crave more. But the fear of being discovered overpowers my desire, and I force myself to maintain the distance, even as my body trembles with longing.
“Go,” I whisper frantically. “There’s a passage behind those barrels. It leads to the orchard.”
With a curt nod, Jasce moves toward the hidden escape. He glances back, his eyes locking with mine in a fleeting moment of connection, before disappearing behind the barrels.
Quickly, I slip my veil back on and try to smooth my hair as footsteps echo on the cellar stairs.
I grab a jar of wine from a nearby shelf as an excuse for being here.
Cook’s voice calls down to me. “Annora? What are you doing down here in the dark?”
“Just fetching some wine,” I call back up with as much steadiness as I can muster.
Cook clucks her tongue as she stops at the bottom of the stairs. “You should’ve asked one of the servants to come down for you.”
“I needed some air,” I say. “The cellar is cool and quiet.”
She eyes me suspiciously but says nothing more as I scramble around her. The wine sloshes in the jar as I climb the stairs too quickly, spilling crimson drops that look like blood on the stone steps.
Cook’s gaze bores into my back, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I race up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest as I navigate the winding corridors. Finally, I reach my bedchamber and hurry inside, shutting the door behind me with a resounding thud. With trembling fingers, I lock it, then rush to my bed.
I sit on the edge of the mattress and trace my lips with my free hand. It’s the first time I have ever been with a man.
Well...as Annora, anyway.
Not that I had exactly been with him in the fullest sense. But he had kissed me and touched me with such passion. Surely, he wouldn’t do those things if he didn’t yearn for me the same way I yearn for him.
I place the jar of wine on the nearby table, the pottery clinking softly against the polished wood. Then, I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.
He likes me. Me, the woman locked away by her tyrannical grandfather. The woman scorned and belittled by her mother.
Despite all of that, Jasce sees something in me, something worth desiring.
I smile again, my fingertips ghosting over my lips again as I recall the sensation of his mouth on mine.
For the first time in my life, I feel truly wanted by a man, and it’s thrilling and terrifying.