“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Even as a hushed whisper, Prince Baldair’s voice carried.
“How many times must I tell you?” A voice, deep and dark as midnight, replied—its whispering tones echoing straight through Serien and into a woman who had been suppressed for weeks. “I will accept it no other way.”
“You and her ...” The voices grew near and Serien heard two sets of footsteps in the sand pass by Daniel’s tent.
“Again, how many times must I tell you?” She could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in her mind’s eye.
“I know,” Baldair muttered in disbelief. “You’ve thought this through, right?”
The question went ignored. “How is she?” The voices began to grow faint.
“Well cared for. I have my own looking out for her. They’re reporting into me and I’ve kept my promise, brother: she’s had everything she’s needed to be well.”
Serien glanced at Daniel.
“You mean the Easterner.”
“How did you know?” Baldair seemed as surprised as Serien.
“I must speak with ...” Their hushed whispers were almost out of earshot.
He was there. He was right there, a voice in the back of her mind echoed. If she moved now she would see him. Serien knew she couldn’t let herself. She’d been so careful to avoid the Black Legion at all costs. She knew what the sight of him would do to the other woman within her.
When his voice faded away entirely, her feet were under her, moving without thought. Serien made haste from the tent, praying she didn’t wake Daniel. She saw them in the distance, the two princes side by side, walking toward Baldair’s tent. A tiny mote of flame lit their path, and Serien staggered toward it, hypnotized.
His lean frame was swathed in black as if cut from the night itself. His elegant fingers curled around each other at the small of his back. His presence radiated the essence of poise to all who gazed upon him.
“Aldrik,” she breathed.
It should have been impossible for him to hear, but he turned anyway. He stilled as though he saw a specter. Baldair turned as well, curious to see what had so enthralled his sibling. The second he saw her, he knew.
She took another step forward, and Aldrik said nothing, his arms suddenly limp at his sides. Serien staggered across the gap between them. Her eyes were lost in Aldrik’s and the crown prince seemed to see nothing else either. They were both oblivious to Baldair’s nervous glances for any onlookers.
“Vhalla,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her.
Prince Baldair gripped his brother’s wrist. “In my tent.” He gave her a pointed glance, and she quickly followed behind them.
The moment they were both inside, Aldrik’s hands were in her hair. His long fingers wove themselves into the dark strands, as if trying to entangle himself with her very essence. She felt Serien melt away and, without the other woman’s armor, Vhalla was as naked as a babe, raw to the world and the emotions fighting within her.
She tilted her head upward, grabbing Aldrik’s face and pulling it toward her. The prince obliged, dipping his tall frame to crash his lips against hers. His chainmail dug into her chest and her fingers scratched against it, searching for a grip to cling to. She was desperate for him, for the life only he could instill in her.
Baldair cleared his throat for their attention. Aldrik pulled away only a fraction, his eyes searching her face. His hands ran over her cheeks, down her neck and shoulders. He stared at her, at the broken and scarred creature that she was, in amazement.
“I’ll go stay with Raylynn tonight, I think,” Baldair announced.
They both turned to see the tent flap falling back into place. Vhalla felt a blush sneak across her cheeks for her forwardness in front of Aldrik’s brother. But the hand that hooked her chin brought his lips to hers once more erased all thought of it.
Every slight turn of his head, shift of his wet lips over hers, was an ecstasy she had not known until the first time she had kissed him. It was the sweetest taste she had ever tried, one that only improved in flavor with each passing moment. It was the perfect thing to lose herself in and forget the pain. Aldrik pulled his body away, eliciting a whimper from her.
The arrogant royal grinned against her mouth. His hands fumbled with his chainmail, pulling it over his head between kisses. It fell heavily to the sand, and he pressed his body against hers once more.
It was a dance that only they knew the steps to, each movement purposeful. His hands, her hands, his mouth, her mouth, their bodies, all moved with perfect precision. The backs of her ankles hit Baldair’s bed and Vhalla was forced upon it. Carrying such a thing on the march now seemed much more pragmatic than she had first given the younger prince credit for.