She shifts the hot coals with a set of iron tongs. “I’m happy traveling with you. I do look forward to being somewhere more … permanent, but I was not lying when I said there was nowhere I would rather be than here, with you and the king.”
“Who is not technically the king right now,” I remind her.
“But he will be again. I have faith.” Her firm nod says she truly believes that.
I want to believe it too. But what will happen to me then? I don’t expect Islor will welcome me with open arms … ever. Will Zander defy them and marry me? Or will he keep what we have hidden?
How long can a king rule with a shadow queen?
The flap to my tent pulls open, and in barges Jarek, his tall, muscular frame filling the space. “The witch wants to speak to you outside.”
“Now?” I make a point of shivering against the wave of brusque cold he let in. His clothes are still dry, so at least it doesn’t look like it’s raining yet. “Why?”
“How would I know? I’m not her messenger.”
“But you kind of are.”
His sigh is laced with irritation. “Must you have the last word every time?”
“Yeah?”
He shakes his head before dismissing me, his steely eyes shifting to Eden. “The stew is ready. Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet.” She clears a sudden hoarseness from her throat and emphasizes her answer with a sharp headshake. But her cheeks are burning.
I stifle my groan, seeing where this is going. “Tell Gesine I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Tell her yourself,” he mutters, and in the next breath, his voice softens. “I will ensure there is a bowl waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” Eden’s hands stall with the tongs, her smile following him out of my tent. When she realizes I’m watching her, she stiffens and refocuses on her task.
“What is it about him you find attractive?” Yes, his face is enticing, as is his body—I can say so with confidence after that day I saw all of him in the river—but he’s such an asshole. Then again, I would have said the same about Zander initially. And maybe if Zander wasn’t in the picture, I might find Jarek appealing, too, in some twisted way.
But I’m a conniving thief, a practiced liar, a survivor.
Eden seems too pure for the likes of him.
Her mouth hangs open, faltering on her words as she searches for an answer she thinks I’d want to hear.
“No judgment. I’m curious what a nice girl like you finds attractive about a brutal warrior like him.” The guy may have murdered those Freywich keepers on orders from Zander, but he enjoyed every second of the monstrous act.
She swallows hard. “His strength. His fearlessness.” She bites her bottom lip. “His kindness, on the rare occasion he shows it.”
Like just now, checking in to see if she’d eaten. Or to see her, period.
In a world where someone like Eden is preyed upon by unscrupulous keepers, of course she would be looking for a protective wing to take shelter under.
Maybe Eden is learning to be a survivor too.
As much as I want to steer her away from the warrior, there couldn’t be a better immortal to take a special interest in her. He will kill for her … literally. And what right do I have to dictate who she cares for, who she allows to take her vein or lie in her bed? If I’m adamant that these mortals have the right to choose their paths, then I have to be willing to accept that this is what Eden wants for herself. Maybe that will change one day, when she grows confident and learns what real freedom feels like. But for now, still reeling from the nightmare that was Lord and Lady Danthrin, she’s looking for safety. And Jarek can give her that.
“I’m not going to stop you, Eden. But don’t forget what he is, and what you are, and what exactly he’s looking for.” And all the rules that govern what happens when her heart gets tangled.
She nods. “I am a mortal, and he is elven—”
“Not just elven. An elven warrior who enjoys killing and has had more women under him than you would ever want to know about.”
Her cheeks flush. “I will not lose myself to a fantasy of what can never be. I know this. But I like that I can give him strength. That he needs me for it.”