Roark’s hand gripped around my chin, then lowered to my neck, his thumb running along the smooth slope of my throat. More than a little. He pulled one of his palms back enough to say, I should go.

I allowed my palms to slide down his firm chest. “Don’t do anything foolish like turn yourself over to the Myrdan guard all to be some hero to honor my tarnished name.”

I’m no hero.

“Probably best. I never favored the hero in sagas.” I gnawed on my thumbnail while Roark straightened his tunic and smoothed his finger-raked hair. At the open door, I dipped my chin. “Good night, Sentry Ashwood.”

Alone in my chamber, I fell into bed, only to drop into a fitful sleep. Screams, smoke, terror filled the night.

“Go, elskan! Run, keep your eyes down.” The woman’s voice carved through me like sharp glass. My mother. I could smell her—bread and honey and lavender soap—and she was screaming for me to run.

Dreams were timeless. Where the smoke and clang of steel swords had been, now there was only darkness, the chill of the night, and a sharp taste of brine from the sea.

My head rocked back and forth. Two sturdy ropes held me—no, arms. I was in arms.

“Stop fidgeting, godsdammit.”

His voice was older, sharper, and lined in fear.

When he came to a pause, breathless and frantic, I let my head loll to the side. My heart shot to my throat. We weren’t alone. There was someone else nearby, someone clad in black but for two brilliant eyes the color of a golden sun.

35

Roark

“She’s mine.” An embarrassing sting of tears burned behind my eyes. “I felt it. They can’t take her.”

At long last, he lowered his sword—crafted from the black iron of the ravines, a royal blade—and knelt in front of me. “You know what you’re asking?”

I nodded. “I’m dead if they catch me.”

“And that can’t happen.” He blew out a long breath. “If you’re certain, I’ll help you.”

My heart raced like I’d been running for days. “You will?”

“I don’t take such bonds lightly, but this doesn’t mean you can keep her.” His eyes were deep blue, like the tides near the coves. That was why he was a prince; he looked like Dravenmoor. “They’ll never let you keep her, but we can keep her breathing. That’s what it means to claim another soul, you understand? Sometimes you must give them up if it’s what’s best.”

But I wanted to keep the silver-eyed girl. She burned through me like wildfire at the first touch, the first laugh when I slurped back her spoon of water.

It was exactly how Father described Mother once.

“We do this my way or we don’t do it,” the prince said again, shaking my shoulder slightly.