It’s true. In the silvery glow of the moon, he appears more inhumane than ever, like an exquisitely sculpted statue come to life.
His brows draw together in frustration. “I didn’t choose this.” His nostrils flare. His lower jaw trembles ever so slightly. “Finley, I never expected someone like you, but now that you’re here, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. You will be my duchess. An archduchess of the empire is second in rank only to the Emperor himself.” His lips twist wryly. “Sounds like a terrible proposition, I know, but I’ll make sure you have all the preparation you need to equip you for what lies ahead.”
I’m just a lowly baron’s daughter, I want to say, but instead I give him a sharp nod of understanding. “I don’t want to be kept in the dark; placated with lavish gifts and jewels and vapid entertainment, given no other purpose than to be pampered and prepared for the task of bearing your heirs.”
And giving you pleasure.
My insides clench as I wonder what it would be like to have him in my bed; his naked body pressing against mine.
I always believed that when I married, sex would be a joyless task; a forced rutting for the sole purpose of getting me pregnant.
I thought my husband would be a humorless old bastard like my father.
Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined I’d end up with this man.
And he’s opened his entire world to me in such a short time.
He leans in. “I wouldn’t dare waste you on such an existence, Finley.”
He tucks his finger underneath my chin and tilts my head upwards until we lock eyes.
I lose myself in midnight and crimson.
Unbidden, my lips part in invitation. My thoughts turn dark and lustful. My body is on fire—yearning for his touch.
He kisses me. Softly; tenderly, taking his time, with such terrible sweetness.
I annihilate my own doubts and kiss him back. His lips yield. He tastes bittersweet and utterly addictive.
His fingers dance along the back of my neck, tracing up my nape, threading into the upswept strands of my hair.
He holds me there for a moment, his kisses growing deep and insistent.
And then he lets go.
I look up at him, stunned.
“You have no idea how utterly alluring you are, Finley. I…” He shakes his head.
For once, the charming, eloquent vampire prince is lost for words.
He takes my hand. “We’d better get out of here.” He quickly leads me across the frozen surface of the pond. At least he isn’t sweeping me up into his arms again. I don’t mind it all that much, but he can’t be carrying me everywhere.
I’m not a child.
As we reach solid ground, we turn and look back at the icy lake.
Crack.
In the centre, a dark fissure appears, spreading apart to reveal the inky waters below.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did your kiss do that, Corvan?”
He chuckles. “If there’s ever a metaphor for what you’ve done to me, that’s it. Maybe it’s a coincidence… maybe something else. Let’s go back to your chambers. You need to rest, because tomorrow we’re going on a journey.”
“A journey?” I’m still reeling from his kiss.
“Tomorrow we’ll go up into the mountains, to Niize, to pay the Khaturian elders a visit.”
“Why?”
“Because Khaturian lore is ancient and deep, and they might know something about a woman who can bend wood with her bare hands.” He smiles in the moonlight; enigmatic, radiant. “Don’t worry about a thing, Finley. You’ll be perfectly safe as long as you’re with me.”
29
CORVAN
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun rises, while Finley and most of Castle Tyron are slumbering in their beds, I summon Baron Lucar Solisar to the throne room.
He’s brought in by a small, wiry, sharp-eyed guard called Marcus, who’s sworn off alcohol for life and religiously wakes before the crack of dawn.
I lean back in my throne, watching as Marcus leads him into the room.
“Kneel,” Marcus commands, his voice hoarse and menacing.
Solisar takes one look at me and wisely drops to his knees. He opens his mouth to speak, looks at me again, then closes it.
He’s a different man to the belligerent fool that was banging down my gates. His head is lowered. His posture is slumped.
I wait, allowing the silence to stretch out between us. Kneeling on the cold stone floor must be uncomfortable for him.
I don’t care. I’m feeling a little bit savage this morning.
I’ve just returned from killing three lycans outside the castle walls. They came in the early hours of the morning, vicious and hungry for human flesh. I heard them. Scented them. So I stole outside with my broadsword without anyone noticing.
I needed to release some pent-up tension, anyway.
It isn’t the first time I’ve gone out to hunt lycans in the middle of the night, but the accursed beasts have never dared to venture so close to the castle before.
“You are to return to Ruen today,” I say at last. “Aderick Solisar will remain here, in the company of Kastel Solisar and Garan Lorian, until he is deemed fit enough to return home.”
The baron stiffens, but says nothing.
“Furthermore, from this day onwards, I am taking over stewardship of the Solisar Estate. This arrangement shall remain until I deem that one of your heirs is qualified enough to inherit your title.”
Now the outrage overrides his fear of me. “What? You can’t do that! You have no right or authority!”
Lucar Solisar attempts to rise, but Marcus warns him with a quick tap of his sword hilt. “His Highness did not give you permission to stand.”
“Your father won’t let you get away with this,” Solisar hisses. “It’s against the laws of the Empire.”
“I can assure you, I know the laws of this empire intimately. And your estate is operating from a position of insolvency. If you want your heirs to inherit it, I would suggest you do not protest my generosity, because I could just as easily claim the entire estate for myself.”
“W-what are you talking about? I don’t understand.”
“I’ve bought your debts, Lucar. I own you.”
He looks up. His pale blue eyes are lifeless. He shakes his head, as if trying to break out of a trance. “I… I should never have…”
“You did this, Lucar Solisar. You wanted this. Be careful what you wish for. Finley is mine now, and if you ever so much as harm a single hair on her head again, I’ll kill you—or worse. Now, get out of my sight.”
Marcus quirks a grey eyebrow, giving me a half-amused, satisfied look. He enjoys this sort of thing. “You heard His Highness. Get up, Baron. You can fuck right off now, all right?”
30
FINLEY
Since I was reliably informed that the boys are still snoring in their beds and will probably remain that way until at least midday, I take breakfast in my chambers at a small, elegant table by the window. There’s scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread and figs and smoked trout and strong black coffee.