Only one question remained—how did she get to my lands so quickly? Even if she was able to get past our considerable defenses, travel by ship would have taken months. Yet here she is ...
Only one power exists that could have gotten her from Nightshade to the Wildling newland in a matter of moments.
Mine.
That’s when I remembered the flash of silver strapped to her thigh ... it looked familiar. Now, I know exactly what it is.
I only created a relic from my flair once—a portaling device I gave to my general. He disappeared years ago, in the search for a sword that was meant to save my people by stopping the dreks. I always figured it was destroyed with him, in the last place he was sent to look.
Somehow ... the enchantment must have ended up here.
Anyone—especially the ruler of an enemy realm—having access to my portaling power poses a risk.
That’s the only reason I haven’t already killed her. I haven’t been able to find it, in endless searches through her things. She needs to show me where she keeps it, so I can take it from her.
Then, I can kill her.
It’s been five days of this. Of learning her habits. Of studying her closely. I’ve come here every night, watching,waiting.
And the witch has only confused me further.
I expected a woman who had the gall to portal into my own realm, to try to assassinateme, to be ruling her own people with an iron hand. With fear.
Not to be locked away, like she is being ruled herself.
Her room is glass, painted over. She is hidden from the world ... locked in this orb. Why? It doesn’t make any sense.
For a moment, I remember my own childhood room.
I remember my own lock.
I quickly push thoughts of that weak boy away.
I’ve been on edge waiting for her to travel somewhere else, to reveal where she keeps the portaling relic, to show her plan. Clearly, she is plotting something, my death a crucial step of her strategy.
But all the witch has done at night is sleep.
Now, she sits up with a force that has her chest nearly spilling out of the ridiculous scrap of silk she insists on wearing to bed.
For a moment, I remember that chest against mine.
I remember that gasp in my ear—
Enough.
I blame her curse, though I can’t detect it. My nostrils flare. It’s a testament to the strength of the curse that a wicked, shameless hearteater could look so—
The temptress pulls her sheets over her chest and bare shoulders, as if she can feel the intensity of my gaze.
Can she?I watch, entranced, as the hearteater lifts a trembling hand in my direction.
Impossible. It’s impossible for her to see me, or sense me, cloaked in shadow.
Still, she leans closer. Forward.Closer.
The already low neckline of her silk dress dips as she keeps leaning, and I swallow.
Then, I tear my eyes away.
