“Why?”
“Because I will not die before I take you against this damn wall.” He reaches down and yanks up my hem until the cotehardie is bunched around my waist. Just as quickly, he pushes against me until Ifeelhim. I gasp as his mouth comes within an inch of mine.
So close. So tempting. So capable of sending me over the edge of control.
“This will keep me alive. This…” Boldly, he brings his hand to touch me between my legs. “The feel of you. The longing to taste you.”
The muscles tighten in my thighs, and heat pools in my center. The kind of heat I never imagined was possible.
He leans down, crushing his mouth against mine, his kiss claiming, as if he’s trying to carve out a piece of himself inside me.
He breaks the kiss and whispers against my mouth. “Make no mistake. I will win this war, and when I’m finished, you will freely give me what belongs to me.”
A part of me longs to say yes, but three truths stay my tongue. I cannot stay here as Lyra.
He would not want me as Annora. And our houses will always be at war with each other.
I push against the walls of his chest until he frees me.
He says nothing. Just stares at me with those dark eyes of his.
Then, he walks away, leaving me to the agony of my thoughts and the heat churning inside me.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Stone missiles blastinto the walls, shaking the very foundation of the palace. Even sitting in the room far below the fighting, I feel the cataclysm of war. It shakes my bones and rattles my teeth.
I huddle in a room full of women and children, trying to calm them down as they tremble in fear. Some of the women pray softly to themselves, while others sit in stoic silence, holding onto their loved ones.
A little girl, who doesn’t look older than five, cries for her mother, who is fighting with Jasce’s army. Sadness tightens in my stomach as I hold the girl, knowing her mother’s Fate is uncertain.
Zerah shifts next to me, clutching Spark on her lap. I adjust my body until we’re shoulder against shoulder. She glances over at me and smiles.
Horrifying memories still invade my thoughts—memories of another attack. I was only eight when Jerrod attacked the fortress where I lived.
Grandfather is attempting to turn the tides. Now he’s attacking one of Jerrod's cities.
Grandfather could take me home.
Hope blooms for an instant before logic returns.
He wouldn’t know me like this.
The truth stings my skin. I’m stuck here, frozen in a sketch I didn’t draw. There’s no way to color outside the lines and escape the frame that House of Crimson has placed around me. Not unless I want to brave the desert on my own.
When the little girl looks up at me with wide, trusting eyes, I silently vow to protect her. She deserves that—my protection. After all, she’s a casualty of a war she didn’t ask for.
War doesn’t care about the innocent lives it takes. It plucks from the earth until there is nothing left but ash and dust.
I don’t want either side to win. Because even if Grandfather conquered Jerrod, someone else would rise to take his place, and another civil war would carve the life from this land.
I don’t want Jasce to defeat Grandfather, either. I cannot lose another family member, even if it is the one who is ashamed of me. He’s still family.
If only I could change everything, but I cannot. I am trapped in a stranger’s body, in a foreign territory, with no weapons, no power, and no voice.
When another explosion echoes through the walls, I cringe, bracing myself for them to crumble around me. Zerah lowers her hand to mine and squeezes my fingers.
“It’s all right.” Confidence shines from Zerah’s eyes as she continues. “Jasce will win. He always wins.”
