I bared my teeth in a smile.“Sinceyou’vebeen agoodboy and asked nicely, I can’t say no.” Could I? That might be fun.
No, Aerinne.
I danced around the hard wall of Darkan’s no.I know, I know, I'm already skirting the lines of the sort of manners that can get mekilled.
Killedfaster, you mean.
You need to learn to be more positive,I said.
This is actively painful.
Well. . .slink off intothemistyplacethen.An icepick pang in my temple—themistyplace. . .
. . .White stones, scarlet blood turning black under thehalfmoon, shrieking wyverns dragged from the sky by the power of one male. The flash of asilverblade, and moonstone eyes boring into mine.Blackandgoldscaledarmstrapping me against a broad chest—
Prince Renaud's colors were white andsilver. Why was I rememberingblackandgold?
He offered a hand once the brown of desert climes, paled by sunless centuries. “You will enjoy yourself in myarms. Warriorstraintodancethe way theytraintokill.”
I dragged my mind back into focus, disguising my disorientation with a spun sugar smile, as false as honey was sweet, answering his innuendo rather than his literal words. “Then it’s a wonder House Montague manages to reproduce at all.”
Sliding my fingers onto his palm, I almost swore when crackling energy seared the skin where we touched. Like electric static, but ten times more painful. The Vow reminding me of my sworn purpose? Or the Prince giving warning? His eyes glinted in his emotionless face.
Fine. The Prince giving warning. I’d behave. For now.
Really?Darkan drawled.Care to wager?You’re down two, I believe.I ignored him.
The Prince led me down another flowered forest path to a stone clearingbigenough for dancing, the courtiers falling behind us in procession. An early evening breeze lifted notes of lavender and smoke into the air.
He stopped in the center, one hand clasping mine, the other sliding onto my waist. Hepulledmetoo close, breaking everyhalf-hearted Faeruleregarding personal space and etiquette.
No malehadeverpulledmewith such casual command against his body. He settled a hand on the small of my back, above the curve of my bottom. Lavender burnt to displeased dust in my nostrils the moment he touched me.
I stiffened. “Be careful where you put your hands, Prince. I am not yours.” I tried to draw away andhis fingerspressed into me, a silent refusal.
Prince Renaud lowered his mouth to my ear, his voice a breath of sound. “Do not run from me.”
“And if I do?”
“Run, and I will give chase, my halfling.”
ChapterTwo
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
“Ifany gods still answer the prayers of dust, let the blood and tearsI'veshed be enough.”
Kneelingover my mother's grave, I murmured the prayer, the light of a half-moon shimmering over her tombstone in Faronne district’s cemetery.
Likeithada hundred times before now, my iron blade bit into my skin.There wasa brief line of fire before my partial humanity quelled the iron poisoning,thenmy blood dripped down.
Let none of my people die tonight. This feudhadclaimed too many lives.
Are youthere, Dark Angel?
No response. My lips twisted. Darkanhadbeen too quiet the last few weeks. He might be a figment of my imagination, an aspect of my personality that had split off in order to help me cope with the trauma of living in a city state constantly at war, but I didn’t care. When I reached for him, invisible arms circled me. When I called him, he came. Some days his acerbic tutelage drove me insane, and other days his calm wit kept me from the brink.
If loving him meant I was loving myself, I was good with that. And if loving him also meant I was insane. . .I’d happily join the billions of other crazy people on this planet.
