“I can try to get some more,” I offered weakly.
Simple enough words, but they said everything: I choose you.
He frowned, carefully studying my reaction. “You’re still willing to help us?”
I slowly raised my hand to his face. I was terrified he would stop me, or recoil as he had earlier, but he held stone still as my fingers grazed his cheek.
“I’m still me, Henri. I’m still Diem. And… I still love you.”
I’d never said those words to him before.
And, if I was being honest, saying them now filled me with something closer to shame than affection.
But I was desperate. So terribly, urgently desperate.
My mother was gone, maybe forever. I’d already caused my career as a healer and my relationship with my father to implode. Life as I knew it in Mortal City was over. If I lost Henri, too—what would even be left of me?
Though Henri said nothing, his eyes betrayed the melee between his heart and mind. It was a seed of hope I frantically began to cultivate.
“You asked me to marry you,” I said. He winced. It would have hurt less if he’d punched me in the chest, but I pushed forward. “If you’ll still have me, we could do this together. I could use this Crown to help you—and help the mortals, too.”
The battlefield of his expression shifted—slowly, cautiously, toward a possible future.
“There’s a ball in a few days’ time. I’ll be presented as the new Queen to the most powerful Descended in Lumnos. All the Twenty Houses will be there.” My voice was rushed and breathy. “You could come as my escort—maybe you’ll overhear something useful, or—”
“Or we could attack.”
The words were a challenge. Another unspoken question: How far are you willing to go?
“Gathered all in one place, they’ll be easy targets,” he said. “We could decimate their numbers in one strike.”
My mind jumped to the attack on the armory. The guards I’d tended, their faces burned beyond recognition. The man I’d found inside, his throat slit open so savagely that even his healing abilities couldn’t save him. Perthe, who would have burned alive if I hadn’t pulled him out.
My stomach felt oily and thick. “It’s too soon. I won’t have authority as Queen until I’m coronated. We should wait until then.”
I wasn’t sure if he bought my excuse.
I wasn’t sure if I bought my excuse.
Slowly, Henri nodded. “You’re right. We can’t play this hand too quickly. A Guardian Queen is too good an opportunity to waste.”
I whooshed out a relieved breath—a bit too loudly. “So you’ll come with me to the ball? As my betrothed?”
He hesitated again.
All at once I was overwhelmed with the possibility of losing him and the need to lock him at my side, in body and in spirit. I latched my arms around his neck and pressed my body close, straining my face upward until our foreheads met.
“I need you. I can’t do this without you.”
His eyes jumped around my face, ablaze with an explosive mix of new uncertainty and old desire. His fingers curled around my waist, then paused.
“Please, Henri,” I begged. “Stay with me. Rule with me. Be my King.”
The words ignited us both.
All at once we were kissing, touching, gasping, pleading.
My lips crushed against his, then roamed across his skin as I pledged him my immortal loyalty with my mouth and tongue. His fingers twisted in my hair, and I could tell he was feeling for the Crown, marveling as I had at how it could be so vivid and yet as untouchable as air.
His hands slid to the filmy fabric straps along my shoulders and pushed them down, his palms rolling over my peaked breasts. I let out a soft moan, my pleasure stemming as much from his touch as the relief that he could still desire me, even in my tainted, repulsive Descended body.
“Say it again,” he said gruffly.
“Be my King,” I rushed out, cupping his face in my hands. “The first mortal King of Lumnos.”
He shuddered with a groan, then hauled me up and wrapped my legs around his waist so he could carry me to the bed. I was feverish, barely breathing, too scared that if I paused for even a moment to listen to the doubts needling at my thoughts, Henri might change his mind and give up on me forever.
“We can finally make them pay,” he murmured between kisses. “They’ll never take anything from us ever again.”
Clothes began to slide away. First his tunic, cast absently to the side as I greedily clutched at his solid shoulders. Then his waistband was low on his hips, his hunger for me rumbling in my ears. Then my skirts were rising as his coarse palm grazed my calves, my knees, my thighs, up and up until my breath caught and—
A throat cleared in the doorway.
Luther was standing at the entrance.
Chapter
Twelve
Luther closed the door behind him, staring directly at Henri. His eyes were cold and soulless, the consummate icy Prince. His jagged scar twitched like a bolt of angry lightning threatening to strike.
Henri rolled off me and hauled his pants up, his eyes bouncing between Luther and the floor. His face and bare chest were flushed a splotchy scarlet—embarrassment at being caught or fury at seeing Luther, or perhaps a mix of both.
The heat of shame coursed through my own cheeks. Neither man looked at me as I yanked my dress back to my shoulders and smoothed the skirts down my legs.
What Henri and I had done wasn’t wrong. I was a grown woman. I had every right to be intimate with the man I had just convinced to marry me.
So why did I suddenly wish I could take it back?
Henri grabbed his tunic and pulled it over his head. Luther’s sharp focus marked every movement
I remembered the blade hiding at Henri’s waist, and the murderous hate that had dripped from his eyes in the hallway earlier. This could too easily turn into a bloodbath.
I slipped off the bed and took Henri’s hand. “I’ll walk you out,” I said, my voice deceptively calm.
“I would not recommend that.” Luther’s tone was flat, his words clipped. He still wouldn’t look at me. “A guard saw the two of you enter. He’s waiting outside to escort Mr. Albanon from the palace.”
Dread broke through at the easy familiarity with which Luther said Henri’s name. I’d been so concerned with talking Henri out of slaughtering Luther—what if the feeling was mutual? If Luther recognized him from the day he’d killed that child, would he be willing to hurt Henri to keep it quiet?
I carefully positioned myself between the two men. “Can this guard be trusted? If anything happens to Henri,” I warned, my voice trailing off.
At last, Luther’s frosty glare slid down to rest on me, sending a chill down my spine. “It won’t.”
I took a deep breath and turned to Henri. “You should go,” I urged gently.
His eyes blazed. “Why should I go? I’m to be your King. These men should be answering to us.”
Luther’s spine stiffened so forcefully I could almost hear the steel-strong bones snapping beneath his bronzed skin.
“Please, Henri,” I pleaded. “Let me arrange some things first. I’ll send word as soon as I can.”
Though he nearly snarled with displeasure, he scowled and relented. I kept myself planted between them as Henri moved to exit.