Chapter 9
The sentence stayed with me after Rowan's steps faded, and for several days Lucian remained exactly where caution should have preferred him: not absent, not close, only present enough that my body learned the difference.
He crossed my path in cloisters and herb courts, always with witnesses near enough to keep propriety alive.
Each time his scent brushed mine, my wolf lifted her head and the old poison warmed under my skin before my pride could pretend not to notice.
The worst part was how easily I answered him, as if conversation did not cost me anything, as if I had forgotten what names he carried. That evening brought the first snow.
Not the heavy winter kind.
A thin, clean fall just after sunset, bright enough to catch lamplight on the air and vanish when it touched stone. I was standing under the west arcade watching it when Rowan appeared at the edge of the courtyard.
"My lady."
The title sounded almost formal now. Less household. More chosen.
"Yes?"
"His lordship asked whether you still intend to keep a remark you made three days ago."
My mind blanked.
"That depends on the remark."
Rowan did not smile, but the corner of his mouth showed signs of prior struggle.
"You said the mountain would be tolerable only if it snowed properly and someone had the sense to watch it from above."
I had said that.
Lucian had apparently kept it.
"There is snow," Rowan said. "And someone has attempted the rest."
I should have declined.
Instead I was already reaching for my cloak. By the time I arrived, a brazier burned near the bench and snow cut through the western arch. Lucian stood by the railing, and the sight of him made the weather briefly irrelevant.
"You arranged all this for weather?" I asked.
He turned.
The look in his eyes warmed before the brazier did.
"You sounded difficult to impress."
"And snow is your answer?"
"It was the fastest available."
That made me laugh despite myself.
He held out a cup.
"Mulled fruit wine. Mild enough for temple walls to survive our reputations."
"Our reputations?"
"Mine is political. Yours, I suspect, remains unfairly better."
I took the cup. Heat seeped into my fingers. When I stepped closer to the rail, still watching him more than the snow, my boot slid on wet stone.
One breath.
One useless grab at air.
Then Lucian's arm came around me. My back hit his chest, his hand locked at my waist, and the fall ended in the heat and iron scent of him.
Not gently.
Not carelessly either.
Firm enough that I knew he could keep me there if he wanted.
He smelled like winter smoke, iron, and the last heat of the brazier.
Under it, something darker moved: royal blood held too tightly, an Alpha's wolf answering mine before either of us gave permission. Mine answered before I could stop her.
Not with submission.
With recognition so sharp it was almost hunger. My hand had landed flat against his chest. Under my palm, his heart was beating harder than mine.
"Steady," he said, but his voice was not steady at all.
I should have stepped back at once.
I did not.
His hand at my waist tightened once, as if some terrible instinct had leapt forward and he had caught it by the throat.
The restraint in that single flex did more damage to my breathing than any claim would have.
If he had ordered, I could have hated him.
If he had taken, I could have survived by naming him another danger.
But he only held himself still against me, every line of his body confessing want while every breath refused to make it mine to bear.
When I finally lifted my face, he was already looking at me.
Too directly.
Too much.
For one reckless second I thought he might kiss me. The thought itself almost undid me.
Then he let go, abruptly enough that the cold rushed back between us like water.
"Sit before you injure your pride again," he said.
The command was too dry to hide the strain under it.
"That has become an expensive part of me," I said.
"I have noticed."
I sat because my knees had not yet decided whether to recover. We did not speak of what had almost happened.
That was worse.
When I returned to my room, snowmelt still cooling the hem of my cloak, my skin felt hot everywhere his hand had been.
I slept badly and woke worse. My throat burned.
My face burned. The low fever from before had returned and settled into me like a secret I could not confess without giving away too much.
The backlash was no longer theoretical. My body had calmed him for one breath and punished me for it all night.
A bowl of hot broth arrived before breakfast with no note.
By noon, Rowan brought willow bark tonic and said only, "The weather on the upper paths turns quickly."
No one named the real reason.
Not Lucian.
Not me.
That silence followed me all day. It sat beside me through moon watch. It warmed my face when I caught sight of him across the inner court and he inclined his head exactly as if nothing had happened.
It kept me awake after dark until my thoughts finally tired themselves out.
Several days later, I was crossing the front court with a tray of copied sanctuary notices when hooves sounded at the lower gate and a party of riders entered in royal blue.
The man who dismounted first strode halfway across the paving stones, stopped at Lucian's approach, and dropped to one knee.
"Regent Alpha."
The tray nearly slipped from my hands.