Gods, she was aggravating.

How? My fingers brushed along her cheek.

I’d used hand speak against Emi’s palm, or Thane’s at times, but I didn’t touch others. Truth be told, the thought of it often repulsed me beyond sparring and battle and the occasional tryst.

There was no reason to draw near to anyone in Stonegate.

But brushing a word against Lyra’s skin caused a bit of pleasure to burn in my veins when her breath caught. As though I unsettled her as fiercely as this gods-awful woman was peeling back my ribs, peering inside to see my every secret.

How? I pressed again, slower, gentler.

Lyra frowned. “I’ve studied them. Is that not what you intended when you sent the guides?”

No one has picked it up so quickly.

Lyra’s eyes tracked my hands. When I lowered my palm, she swallowed, her voice went softer. “As I said, must…must be my craft.”

It wasn’t craft. This draw, this dangerous pull, was something more.

I hated her for what she represented. Pain, blood, anger. I hated her for the risks she brought merely by having melder craft.

But another part of me wanted to hate her at a nearer distance. And each damn day the desire to stay away cracked and shed more of its strength.

My fingers curled around her jaw again, tilting her head. Every breath I took was filled with frostrose petals from the oils left in her chamber and sugared honey scrubs in her hair.

Gods, unwanted desire was there, and I’d be wise to remember the risks of getting too close to a melder. She was a tool to be used and destroyed by royals. Nothing more. The fara wolf in the wood was proof Lyra Bien was fated to fall like Fadey. A truth I couldn’t forget.

I took a step back. Since you understand me so well, there is no reason my commands should not be obeyed.

“You are not my king.”

No. I rested one hand on the curve of the crescent pommel of my sword and spoke with the other. But I am the one your king tasked with keeping you alive.

Lyra’s jaw worked for a moment. “You’re so angry I spoke to that woman, but do you know what I think, Sentry Ashwood? I think there is nothing so terrible beyond the gates. A few ravagers perhaps, but caravans and travelers are everywhere in the fortress. How can it be so deadly on the trade roads? I think you and the royal house want to keep me afraid, so I never fight back.”

Gods, this woman.

I stepped nearer, head tilted until my nose nearly touched hers. My fingers spoke against her face. You do not want to test that theory, Melder.

Before she could say another word, I took hold of her arm and pulled her toward the doors of the tavern.