Castien absently petted the wolf. He had been screaming into his pillow at the time, frustration and anger clawing his chest from another nightmare. Lying beside his bed was the wolf. Unexpectedly, she had echoed his screams with a mournful howl. The heartbreakingly beautiful sound had silenced him.
He had rolled off the bed to sit level with her head and asked her to do it again. Ringing through his ears, his chest, his soul was the sound of loss and hope, fear and need. Of course, the wolf had expressed his emotions better than he.
Then Darius had almost broken down his door, demanding that the noise stop. Castien might have snarled that the only noise he heard was a pampered, whiny lord. Boisterous laughter beyond his door had infuriated him, then he had chuckled as well.
This trip to Nadraken had been easier in most ways. No starvation, minimal pain, no torture. Even the mental trauma was easier.
“Castien.”
Hearing his name on her lips was a particularly strange kind of torture. Clear and beautiful as the midnight stars, her voice demanded his attention like the trance. She didn't need specific words. Any of them would do. The slightest sound from her lungs would do.
With his fingers buried in the wolf’s fur, he lifted his head. Gold-trimmed leathers hugged her curves. Her hair was tied back. Sword and dagger hung from her waist. She stood just outside his room.
“My Queen.”
He hadn't meant to address her quite so formally. But ‘Anais’ wasn’t right. Her name on his lips would be a sensual caress that might heat the cool emeralds of her eyes to a darkened forest green, sharpening a temptation he was already hard-pressed to resist. No, formality was for the best.
Taking his cue, she said, “We found Zara. I’d like you to accompany me when we bring her in. Please come to the courtyard when you're ready, Escort.”
He waited a beat.
She didn't mention his return to his room, but he didn't miss how not even the toes of her boots cleared the doorway.
He didn't miss the way she examined him head to toe, and the slight relaxation in the corners of her eyes when his appearance satisfied her.
He didn't miss her glance at his left hand.
His fingers curled. The ring sat heavy in his pocket. Last year had been worse, but he had felt healed after.
Except that had been a lie.
“Yes, my Queen.”
Chapter 40
Anais
Waiting had never been her favorite activity. Frequently did the court test her patience, and she found herself with less and less of it each passing year.
With measured steps, she paced the courtyard’s main entryway. Five – no, six steps. She lengthened her strides, hurrying for no reason. Perhaps she should leave without Castien. His presence was more wanted than required. It troubled her that she wasn’t certain of the difference. Yes, he could recognize the tranced, green-eyed women, and it was important to find as many as possible, as quickly as possible. Plus, he needed to feel useful. The command to travel with her was as much for him as for her. Not simply the desire to see him smile again, even if it was only at the wolf. Not only to see the way he turned his face toward the sun like a flower at the morning’s rays. He'd scowled the first time she'd commented on that.
“Trying to blend in with the sunflowers?” A row of the tall plants guarded the wall of the training area. Their large heads were angled in much the same way as Castien's had been, tufts of black hair peeking out from beneath a straw hat making him resemble the flowers even more.
He turned to her, smiling lazily. Truly, just like a gently-woken, warmed-up flower. Perhaps a darker one than a sunflower, though.
Confusion crossed his brow. He adjusted his hat, then slowly removed it from his head. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced between the flowers and his hat. “Laureline said it was to protect my skin from the sun.”
Amusement had stretched her lips. “What did you expect when you accepted a featherless hat from Laureline?”
His brows drew down, and he held the hat at arm’s length. “She thinks I'm a flower.”
Anais plucked the offending object from his hand and set it on his head. “She thinks you like the sun. Roses like the sun, too.”
His arms wrapped around her and pulled her in, his chin lowered and eyes heated. “If I'm a flower, I'd rather be a prickly one.”
She traced the side of his face with a claw. “That's my job, Escort. Yours is to be soft and sweet.”
His fingertips brushed a shiver down her back as he leaned in. “And here I thought you were the soft one. My mistake, my Queen. How shall I be soft for you?” His gaze dipped to her slightly parted mouth, and he bent – only for his lips to skim her cheek at the last second. Small kisses rained down on her skin as she lifted her head and closed her eyes. His lips grazed her ear, her neck, lighted on the corner of her eye. But not her mouth. Laughter was in his voice when he purred, “Is that soft enough for you, your highness?”
