“I was not raised in a grand palace like you, and have never had servants wait on me hand and foot, but I am honorable and courageous and smart and strong—and as you yourself said, kind. I am a worthy match for any woman, no matter her rank. Even you.” His voice trembles with passion and stirs my heart until it is beating so hard, I can feel it through my whole body.
His fingers drop away from my lips, and I hug my knees tighter and let the warmth from the fire heat my shins as the weight of his words settles over me. “When I said the thought of kissing you was disgraceful, it was because I have been taught that when a princess is being courted, she plays the role of the shy, na?ve woman, and the suitor is in charge of initiating all intimate interactions. It is a role we are taught to play until we are betrothed. After she is married, she can take more liberties with her husband, but any other behavior would bring shame down on her family. Because I wanted to initiate the kiss, I was a disgrace. Me. Not you.”
Golmarr nods and runs a hand through his hair. I watch the way the firelight moves over his face and think it is possibly my favorite face in the whole world. It is a face I could never get tired of looking at. “Is that why you jump away whenever we touch?” he asks. “Because you are scared of disgracing your family?”
“Jump away?” I ask.
“Yes, you jump away. If I touch you, you jump away. If I hug you, you push me away. If I look into your eyes, you look back for a long time, and then suddenly look away without any explanation. Is it because I am Antharian?”
I smile. “No.”
“Then why do you?”
“I’ve never been around a boy my own age before,” I answer.
“Look at this beard, Sorrowlynn,” he says with a laugh, running his hand over the short growth darkening his chin. “I’m not a boy; I’m a man who—”
I reach forward and press my fingers over his lips, silencing him. His eyebrows slowly rise and his mouth curves up into a smile beneath my touch. The feel of his soft lips makes my head spin.
“If you want me to explain, be quiet,” I say. His smile grows, but he nods, and I slowly remove my fingers. “When you look into my eyes, I want to act in ways that I have been told are improper and disgraceful, so I look away. And when you hug me, all of these emotions fill me and overwhelm me, and I can’t breathe, so I step away to clear my head.”
He studies me, his face uncommonly serious. “So in essence, the reason you look away or push away from me is because my mere presence makes you want to act in scandalous, shameful ways. In other words, you are fighting an internal battle to keep your filthy little hands off me.”
I sit up tall and smack him hard on the shoulder. He leans away and starts laughing. “I didn’t I realize I, an Antharian warrior, was so irresistible to you.”
“You are a fiend, Golmarr!”
He stops laughing. “I’m just teasing you.” He raises his hand and lets it hover over my shoulder. “Can I put my arm around you without you shoving me away?” he asks, his voice full of mischief.
“Yes,” I say, and lay my head back down on my knees. He drapes his arm across my shoulders and his hand comes down on my arm. Gently, he runs his fingers over my shirt and I can feel the warmth from his fingertips through the fabric. He raises his hand to my neck and lifts my hair. I feel his warm breath on my skin, and then his lips as he places a kiss at the curve where my neck and shoulder meet. I can hardly breathe as excitement, fear, pleasure, joy, uncertainty—too many emotions to name—overpower me.
“That wasn’t a hug, and I wasn’t looking into your eyes,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice a deep rumble. “Did that overwhelm you with emotions?”
I sit up and look at him with wide eyes. A smile spreads across his face, and I smack him on the shoulder again. “Stop teasing me, sir.” He laughs and puts his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I tilt my head onto his shoulder and turn my face toward him so my cold nose is on his neck. “I’m not pulling away,” I whisper, and my lips touch his warm skin. He shivers and holds me tighter against him, pressing his chin to the top of my head.
I close my eyes and immediately feel the weight of sleep weighing on me. And then I see Ornald, my former guard, sitting in this very shelter, looking into my eyes, speaking to me, and I know what I am seeing is a memory passed on to the fire dragon by one of his victims.
“Is that why he forbids her to attend family functions?” Ornald asks, his eyes tight with anger.
“Did you suspect?” I am the one who says this, but it is not my voice. I look at my hands—large, thin, wrinkled hands—and a wave of shock ripples through me.