“What did she say?”
Nerves tighten in my throat as I force the words. “She thinks that if I give you an heir, it will increase her social status.” I see no reason to withhold the truth.
“Your mother has always fought to better herself.”
Instead of answering him, I pull my fingers into my sleeves.
He watches me for several breaths, his gaze as intense as the mid-day sun. “That habit of pulling your fingers into your sleeve. You never did that before.”
I swallow and pull my fingers even higher. “I fell, hit my head.” The lie escapes my lips in a rush.
“And you woke up timid, with the urge to garden and feed the poor? What are you not telling me?”
I tighten my lips together and remain silent. The truth would only result in one of two Fates: he would declare me insane and lock me away, or—doubtful but possible—he would believe me and kill me. He would have no choice.
“You will not speak?” he asks.
I shake my head.
His jaw hardens as he turns away from me and removes his weapon belt, then his surcoat. My eyes widen as I tell myself to look away.
But I don’t.
His muscles bulge and twitch as he moves, revealing a body that is not just strikingly toned, but also rippled with the kind of power that only comes from summers of intense physical training.
My gaze is bound to him as he leans down to remove his boots. I have flipped through books with sketches of naked men, but those drawings do not compare toseeinga man.
Torchlight illuminates him, drawing my eyes back to him over and over. Especially, the orange and red flame covering the right side of his chest. The edges are defined by dark, almost black, ink-like pigmentation, which makes the birthmark appear, as if it’s leaping from his chest.
Mother’s voice whispers in my ears.“Every Hematite who has magic is born with a flame birthmark somewhere on their body.”
I should have known Jasce would have crimson fire magic.
He straightens and smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he has on me. I swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Do I impress you?”
“N-no.”Stop stammering, you fool.
“You lie so convincingly.”
“Maybe I am convincing because I am not lying.”
“Maybe you don’t recognize sarcasm.” He moves to the left side of the bed. “Come to the bed, Lyra.”
I shake my head.
“I won’t touch you.”
“I like the sofa.” Determined to stay away from him, I tap the cushioned back. “It’s very comfortable.”
“This is ridiculous.” He stands, crosses the bedchamber, and leans down, scooping me into his arms.
A gasp escapes me as his heat seeps through my clothes, and his scent invades my senses, a mixture of leather, cherry wood, and smoke.
My heart races as I struggle to free myself. He only strengthens his grip, holding me closer to his chest.
“Put me down.” I squirm in his arms, needing space, needing to not think about his muscular arms wrapped around my body or the way his right hand rests beneath my bottom.
