“Drop that right now, Rosalina,” Keldarion says.
Okay, so good to know a little accidental mooning means nothing to him. I hold up the object in front of me. “This?” It’s a fucking sword. It looks like it’s been crafted from ice, the blade as clear and cold as glass. But it’s been smoothed to be more reflective, like a mirror. At its base, the blade flares out and is wider than the slender hilt, which has been wound with gilded vines and a jeweled rose where the cross-guard meets the blade. The sword itself is a story…
“Yes, that.” He reaches out his hand.
The sword glows, glittering gold at the base and a sapphire blue at the blade. Magic radiates through me, pulsing in my ears. Maybe it’s all the fae alcohol, but this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Whoa.” I stagger away from Kel. “This is so neat.”
“It’s not a toy, Rosalina,” Kel growls.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Put it down.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re taking very good care of it.” I examine the sword. I didn’t realize you can feel magic, like the waves of heat on a desert horizon or the taste of clouds swooped too low.
“Drop it.” Kel stalks behind me. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t take it back. I’m sure he could snatch it from my drunk, stumbly self in a moment if he really wanted too.
“You’re always so grumpy, Kel. And why not? Surrounded by these things all day and night?” I gesture to the thorns. “That guy was a total creep. A hot creep. But a creep all the same.”
If looks could kill, the one Keldarion gives me would send me straight to the grave. But thankfully they can’t, so I turn back to the thorns. “Why don’t you prune them?”
And with all the stupid confidence a shot offyranagives one, I swing the beautiful sword right across the brambles. At the same moment, Keldarion screams, “Rosalina! No!”
The thorn turns black then breezes away in a cloud of ash. “Hey.” I blink. “That actually worked.”
A rumble shudders through the castle, and a great crack forms along the wall. There’s the shifting of rock and suddenly a whole section of the ceiling crashes down.
Keldarion grabs me around the waist and throws me to the side. We roll together on the hard floor.
My vision blackens then spins, and I blink, trying to get my bearings. Keldarion is braced above me, breathing like a wild animal. A new purple vine slithers up, right where the last one was.
“We can’t remove the thorns,” he says roughly, then reaches down and grabs the sword from my trembling fingers and sends it skittering across the icy floor.
But his gaze lingers on the tunic raised high on my waist, exposing the soft swell of my stomach and the aching mound between my legs.
Keldarion braces himself on either side of me, his white hair a wild halo around his face as he gazes down with raw hunger.
The air between us is heavy, and the moment stretches until I can’t take it anymore.
“You saved me,” I whisper, and his gaze intensifies.
“Of course I did,” he says gruffly, and his eyes fall to my mouth. He leans closer. His breath is like a promise on my lips.
I close my eyes, and in that moment, I feel like I’m flying, like I’m completely free, like I’m exactly where I belong. Then, in a flash, he pushes himself up and away from me. The moment is gone, leaving me breathless and dizzy.
“The thorns appeared a few days after the curse began,” Keldarion says, looking away from me. “I tore every one of them from the castle. But twice as many appeared the next day and removing them increased the decay of Castletree. Somehow, he’s tied his foul magic to our home.”
“Cunning bastard,” I say, pushing myself up and pulling my top back over my thighs.
“Don’t you mean hot bastard?” A pair of pants hits me straight in the face.
“I mean…” My words trail off as I slip the pants on.
Keldarion grips me under the armpits and lifts me to my feet. “You need to go to bed.”
I don’t complain this time as he carries me across the room. Instead, I bask in the feeling of his closeness, letting my head drop to his shoulder. “I’m sorry I ruined more of your wall.”