At that thought, Gideon pulled his hand free of Rune’s, remembering why he was here.
He suspected Rune Winters was a witch hiding in plain sight. To catch her, he needed proof. And there was one telltale sign every witch carried on them.
He remembered tracing Cressida’s silvery scars in the dark while she slept.
Remembered Harrow’s advice from two nights ago.
The sun was slipping below the horizon. Soon it would be gone, and the only light remaining would come from the small lantern in Rune’s hand. Before the darkness descended, Gideon unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt.
Rune’s forehead creased. “What are you doing?”
“Going for a swim.”
“Now?”
“The water’s calm. The night is warm. Perfect conditions for swimming.” When the shirt was loose enough, he tugged it off and dropped it into the sand between them.
Whatever objection Rune was about to make died on her lips. At her startled expression, Gideon nearly laughed.
He cocked a brow at her. “You coming?”
THIRTY-ONE
RUNE
THE SEA WAS FREEZING this time of year. Rune had opened her mouth to tell him so when Gideon shucked off his shirt.
The words died on her lips.
She pulled in a sharp breath, her blood running a little hotter at the sight of his muscled shoulders and arms. She coiled her fingers into her palms, pressing the nails into the skin, trying to stop herself from tracing him with her eyes: the rigid lines of his collarbones, abdomen, hips. His skin turning honey-gold in the setting sun.
Rune tried to look away, but something on the right side of his chest dragged her eyes back: the symbol of a thorny rose encircled by a crescent moon. Rune knew it on sight. The Sister Queens had their casting signatures turned into crests, and these crests were sewn into their garments. The queens wore them embroidered on the cuffs of their shirtsleeves, impressed into their jewelry, or emblazoned across their riding cloaks.
The rose and crescent belonged to Cressida.
A tattoo?
The sound of Gideon’s pants dropping into the sand made the thought freeze in her head. She stared hard at that crest, knowing he stood almost naked before her, afraid to look any where else. The story he’d told still hummed through every fiber of her being. Rage and grief and shame—his voice had been full of it. And though Rune desperately wanted to believe there was another side to this story, that Gideon was twisting the truth, she couldn’t ignore that crest.
It’s not a tattoo, she realized, studying the red lines. It’s a brand.
The youngest witch queen had branded Gideon the way a farmer burns his name into an animal, so that when he lets the beast out to pasture, everyone knows it’s his and no one takes it home with them.
Cressida had permanently marked Gideon as her property.
The horror of it made Rune go cold.
“Gideon …”
Not seeing the realization dawning on her, he looped one finger into the seam of his underwear. “Last chance, Rune.”
He dropped them next.
“Oh. My. Stars.” Rune covered her eyes with her hands. “Gideon Sharpe!”
“Is that a blush coming up on your cheeks?”
The heat of his teasing chased out the cold.
“Why so bashful? Don’t tell me you’ve never taken advantage of all those suitors lining up at your door.”
Her skin burned hotter even as a smile crept across her lips. “You are the worst.”
Surprising them both, she laughed.
Rune wanted to drop her hands and look at him. Desperately. But she didn’t want to take advantage, the way another girl had. So she stayed where she was, keeping her eyes covered.
His footsteps hissed in the sand. Instead of heading for the sea, though, they moved toward her. Rune took a step back and nearly tripped over a log. Gideon’s hand grabbed her elbow, steadying her.
His breath hushed against her cheek. “Come with me.” He stood inches away. All six gorgeous feet of him. She pressed her hands harder against her face. “Don’t you want to feel the sea on your skin?”
“Absolutely not,” she said from behind her hands. “That water is freezing.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, letting her go.
The water splashed as he walked into the sea. At the sound, Rune gave in to temptation, lowered her hands, and watched him wade naked into the waves.
She tried to remember the part she was playing. But the protective mask she wore was slipping fast. Rune couldn’t pretend to be a shallow, gossipy girl after he’d bared his soul to her. She couldn’t tell herself there were two sides to this story, or that Cressida and her sisters were the actual victims.