I wrap my fingers with Lincoln’s, feeling the warmth of his skin. Yes, we can do this. Together, we open the door and cross the threshold, following Octavia to a massive tent made of black tapestry woven with silver eagles. Tall wooden poles hold the structure upright, each topped with a line of thin golden banners. A guard in black armor stands by the entrance flap.

Octavia wags a finger at him. “No one gets within twenty yards of this place, no matter what.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

The Queen turns to me. “We use this for official audiences.” Flipping about, she disappears into the folds of the tent.

Once Octavia’s gone, Lincoln grips my hand. “Just a minute, Myla.” He pulls me out of earshot of the guard, stopping a few yards from the tent entrance.

I stare into Lincoln’s mismatched eyes, my head tilting to one side. “What’s wrong?”

He gently sets his hand on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing my skin in a soothing motion. “I don’t want you to be surprised. My father may be a little gruff with you.”

I suck in a fast breath. That little factoid was a shocker. Suddenly I’m very happy about the mini-shoulder massage I’m getting. “Why? He doesn’t know me.”

Lincoln smirks. “You’re the greatest warrior in Antrum, everyone knows you.”

I mock-frown. “That’s not what I mean.”

He glances about, searching for the right words to say. “My father’s looking for a reason to give in to Acca.”

Meaning he wants Lincoln to marry Adair…And me out of the way. Oh, he’ll be a little gruff, alright. My upper lip curls. “Do we have to do this?” My voice came out a little whiny there.

Lincoln winds his arm around my back, the other wraps about my shoulder. Drawing me to him, he sets his mouth on mine. Oh, yes. His lips are everything soft, warm, and delicious. We kiss slowly, deeply. The rest of the universe disappears. Lincoln’s hand pushes into the small of my back, then slowly slides around my waist to my belly. My mind goes blank. What was he was asking again? Why wasn’t I saying yes?

Hey now, Myla. Way to think with your hormones.

I break the kiss and do my best to frown. “Is that your way of talking me into this?”

He eyes me with that sly grin. “Yes.” His palm slides up the side of my torso, almost-just-maybe touching the swell of my breast.

Damn, damn, damn. He just talked me into this.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “You won’t regret it.”

I try to swallow past the knot of emotion that just formed in my throat. “Can I get that in writing?”

23