His expression turns glacial as he crosses the space between us, his movements impossibly graceful. “My father knows things about people that they themselves will never realize. That’s why he’s still sitting on the throne at such a ripe old age. It’s no coincidence that you had a taste of my blood and then were able to twist wood as if it were dough.”
“I… I’ve never done such a thing before, and no matter how hard I try, I haven’t been able to manifest it again. I honestly have no idea how I did that.” A sudden panic rises in me. What if he has reason to think I’m an enemy? That I’ve been sent here to harm him?
But much to my relief, his gaze softens. “I know, Finley. The look on your face told me that much. You were just as shocked as I was.”
Shocked is an understatement. I still can’t fathom such a thing.
Could I be capable of magic? I’ve never touched a spellbook or a magical artefact in my life. Where would I have inherited it from?
Certainly not father.
Mother?
I don’t know much about her. Only that she died when I was a newborn. It was forbidden to speak of her in Ruen Castle. There are no pictures of her; no traces, nothing to remember her by…
And as the years went by, I never felt her absence in my heart, because I’d never been permitted to know her.
Corvan’s scent envelops me; crisp, clean, with hints of leather and aromatic wood and spice and myrnim.
He reaches out, his fingers gently grazing my cheek. At his touch, a gentle tremor courses through me. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain you’re innocent in this. But even if you were complicit, I would still keep you.”
I grab his hand, curling my fingers around his—big, strong, callused. I pull his hand away from my face, lowering it. “Would you still be so kind to me if you hadn’t tasted my blood?”
Crimson eyes crinkle in pure amusement. “I would. Because I’ve never met anyone like you, Finley Solisar. And I think that I would desire you even if your blood was bitter.”
Oh, sweet Goddess. Do not lose your head over this man, Finley. Not yet.
I grip his hand tighter. “So by sending me here, does your father want to hinder you, or help you?”
“Who knows?” His lips curve wryly; deliciously. “He’s usually quite a practical man, not swayed by fear or superstition. And he thinks he can control magic in his empire. He’s the only person in this world who immediately relished the fact of my transformation. He’s a master manipulator, but I would wager my entire fortune that you being sent here is a good thing.”
“He knows about your condition?”
“The emperor knows everything… well, almost.” A devious chuckle escapes his lips.
“And he allows you to remain a part of his court.”
“If he had his way, I would still be next in line for his throne.”
“You would?”
He reverses my grip, covering my hand with his, gently stroking my palm with his thumb. That small gesture almost melts the last of my defenses. It’s swift and unexpected and shockingly intimate. But it feels surprisingly natural. “I’ve been resisting marriage for years, Finley. Even more so since I turned—for obvious reasons. And father is bitter with me for not giving him grandchildren—more heirs to ensure his line.”
I take in his beautiful, wintry visage; his obvious inhumanness. “Is it still possible for you to…？”
“According to some ancient, obscure text that he keeps obsessively referencing, it’s supposed to be possible for someone like me to have children, but that remains to be proven. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on his part. Confirmation bias. Even wise old scholars come up with bullshit from time to time.”
Children…
My heart backflips. The deep, primal part of me yearns for him.
“He gave me an ultimatum. That I marry you, or be stripped of all my lands and titles. So you see, Finley, my father might still favor me, but he can be vicious when one tries to go against his will. I’ve already pushed him far enough by leaving Lukiria and creating my stronghold here in Tyron.”
Bitterness lances through me. “You were forced into this too.”
“My hand was forced,” he admits, still holding my hand. “Because of the emperor’s decree, there’s no way I can refuse. Too many people depend on me for their livelihoods. I don’t know why Hecoa turned me this way, and I don’t have time to dwell on it, nor do I see any point. But now that I’ve met you, I don’t think it’s such a bad thing. Rest assured, Finley. I have every intention of playing my own game in the long run. I’ll find a way to subvert father’s agenda. I’ll never take from you without your permission again. I’ll treat you as a queen, and I will protect you, always.”
His expression is so earnest right now. I so badly want to believe him.
There’s a poignancy to him that I hadn’t noticed before.
“I just needed you to know this, Finley, before we embark on solidifying our bond. There’s much to unravel, but I’m doing everything in my power to find the answers. It’s the only way we’re ever going to know peace.”
“Is that what you want? Peace?”
“Amongst other things, yes. Peace is fragile, and unfortunately, it can only be kept by preparing oneself for war.”
“That’s why you’ve turned this place into a military fortress.”
“I won’t allow anyone to destroy what we’ve fought so hard for. What my men died for. The people of Tyron are my responsibility now.”
His expression turns hard. His eyes are like flint.
I sense his will; powerful and unyielding.
What really happened to Corvan and his soldiers up in the mountains? I have so often heard that the war against the barbarians was bloody and brutal, made all the worse because of the biting winter and the unforgiving terrain.
Men freezing to death.
Monsters and terrible magic unleashed.
Even dragons.
What happened to you, Corvan? What did you see?
I run my fingers over his hand, feeling the broadness and power of it; the old nicks and calluses that speak of brutal violence. “Did you really see the Goddess of the Underworld in your dream?”
He closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh, dark lashes falling against his luminous skin. Although his hair has turned white, his eyebrows and lashes remain deep brown; a remnant of his human self.
“It wasn’t a dream. I felt it with every fiber of my being, more vivid and profound than life itself. I died, Finley. Then she sent me back into the world of the living, even though the threads of my soul were tethered to the afterlife. And when I opened my eyes, everything was brighter and more intense than ever before. The sun burned right through me, but I relished that pain like nothing else, because it meant that I’d been given another chance.” He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses the backs of my fingers. “The only other time I’ve ever felt so alive is when I’m with you.”
I try to ignore the thrill of being wanted; the intoxicating notion that I might be irreplaceable to him. “I believe in gods and monsters,” I say softly. “If you really did go to the underworld and return like this, then Hecoa must have sent you back for a reason.”