by Shari Cross
He drops his foot from the wall, the first movement he’s made since I walked in. Progress, perhaps. I take one step toward him.
“How did he take it?” he asks, as he studies my face. If I lie to him about Charles’s reaction, there’s a good chance he’ll see right through it. But if I tell him the truth about how Charles made me feel, he’ll overreact, and if he so much as says one wrong word to Charles, a man who’s considered to be royalty in Faygrene, he could be severely punished. Protecting him is more important than him wondering if I’m lying. I pull myself out of my thoughts and realize that Drake is now standing directly in front of me.
“I know you, Addy. I know when you’re worried, and you’ve bitten your lip so badly it’s bleeding.” He reaches up and extracts my lip from my teeth. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What happened?”
“Nothing. It was fine. He wished me well.”
He drops his hand to his side. “You’re lying to me.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes, Addalynne, you are.” He turns away from me and walks toward the window. His hands run aggressively through his hair, balling it in his fists, while he stares outside. “We can’t keep lying to each other. It only ends up hurting us more in the end.” He’s right, but I know how protective he is. Besides Charles didn’t really do anything—it was more the feeling he gave me, like the strong wind before a storm. And I’ve always had a wild imagination. I could be the one overreacting.
I watch Drake stare out the window, his hands still fisted in his hair, the muscles in his arms tight with tension. He’s angry and hurt, and all I want is for things to go back to the way they were this morning.
“I’m sorry if my actions hurt you. But I’m not lying to you.”
“Then why do you seem so anxious?”
“Because I hurt him and I feel bad about it,” I lie, hoping this will be a good enough reason to justify my silence, but his body stiffens in response to my words.
“Do you have feelings for him?” he murmurs, pain cutting through his voice.
I move to his side. His eyes are closed, his eyebrows scrunched together. I gently reach my hand up and rub my thumb over the crease in his brows, trying to erase the concern and doubt I see there.
“No. Of course not.”
He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head toward me.
I wrap my hands around his fists. With the contact, he automatically loosens his grip, allowing me to place my fingers in his.
“Now can we please move on from this? I love you, Drake. You know that.”
He lowers our clasped hands and leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he begins, “and every time I came close to having you, you would slip away.”
“I won’t slip away this time. But you have to promise you won’t either.”
His nose brushes against mine. “Never,” he says, his breath warm and intoxicating on my mouth. His lips touch mine and everything else fades away, leaving nothing apart from this moment and this promise.
Chapter 17
HER
“Addy, we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We can go to the market instead.” Drake pulls us to a stop, interpreting my silence as hesitation. His gaze is on my face, mine lingers on the trees. The wind is blowing through the newly grown leaves and the sun is glistening off the tall branches. It’s a perfect day to be in the woods.
For the past six months, I desperately wanted to go into the woods again, to return to my place of escape. But every time I looked toward the trees, any shred of bravery I had would cower inside me. Now that Drake is here with me, I finally have the confidence to try.
“No, I want to. I need this.” I place more conviction in my voice than I actually feel and swallow back my fear.
Drake nods. “We won’t go anywhere near the river,” he promises and offers my hand a light squeeze as we continue to make our way toward the tree line.
With one last deep breath, we step into the shadows of the trees. The scent of dirt and sap invades my nostrils, and the sound of leaves and sticks crunching under my feet creates the perfect melody. Everything is at once familiar and comforting. There’s no fear. A smile breaks across my face as I take it all in, relishing the feel of the woods around me.
I look at Drake. He’s smiling down at me with amusement. I reach up and kiss one of his dimples before wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Thank you,” I say, and lean my head against his chest.
He returns the embrace and runs his hands down the length of my back. “For what?”
“For being here. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against the top of my head.
I have two things back in my life that I was sure I had lost forever. I can’t imagine wanting anything more than I have now.
“Are you ready to practice?” he asks, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. It’s now that I remember the bow and arrows he has strapped across his back. My answering grin tells him, 'Yes,' and he leads me further into the woods, being sure to keep a safe distance from the river.
After several minutes, we arrive at our old practice space, bringing with it a flood of memories—The many days Drake spent teaching me to shoot the bow; sitting among the wildflowers as we ate pie with our fingers, our laughter cutting through the air around us; laying on the trunk of the upturned tree and finding pictures in the clouds—These memories used to take the air from me, but now they’re another thing I can have back: untainted and mine.
I smile and watch Drake remove a vial of red paint from his bag and pour some onto his fingers. The way the paint falls, slow and thick, makes it appear as though blood is dripping from his hands. I want to push the thought away, hating the memory it evokes, but I can’t.
We still haven’t spoken about that day since I told him the truth. Part of me wants to mention it and ask what he was able to learn about Incarnadine from King Theoderic, but I don’t know how he’ll react. Regardless, it needs to be discussed. As much as I want to, we can no longer pretend his past doesn’t exist.
“Were you able to learn anything in Synereal?”
Drake stops walking, and the question hangs between us.
“No.” He looks down at his hands and watches the paint drip from his fingers. “I wasn’t able to ask many questions. Between the prisoner and the capital’s knowledge of what had happened in Faygrene—with the attack on you and the disappearance of Samuel Hunt—the suspicions were too high. I tried to learn about the prisoner, but all the other Schilds told me was that he seemed crazed and that he kept rambling about experiments. How he didn’t want to be the King’s next experiment. The Schilds tried to question him more about it, and King Theoderic was going to send me in to see him, but then they found him dead. He bit off and swallowed his own tongue.”
“But in your letters you said some people, including you, didn’t think he killed himself.”
He shrugs and walks to one of the trees. His fingers drag along the bark in a circular motion, creating red targets.
“I don’t know anymore,” he says as he moves toward the next tree. “I don’t think King Theoderic would have a hand in killing a man whose only crime was being from Incarnadine.” His words are wiped of emotion, leaving no trace of how he feels about what happened. But I can guess.
“Being from Incarnadine is not a crime.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But people have their superstitions regardless.”
“So you think someone else could have had a hand in it?”
He finishes marking a third tree, then he wipes the rest of the paint off on some leaves, leaving them bleeding in the sun. “It’s possible,” he says and turns to face me. “There’s a lot of distrust, Addy. More than I would have thought. So I figured that asking too many questions wouldn’t do me any favors.”
“So you didn’t learn anything then?”
He looks away, his gaze on the South.
“I learned about the history of the kingdoms, which was basically everything that’s in The Divided Kingdom book that we have here. I learned that the current King of Incarnadine is King Gareth. I listened to the rumors about the different hellions people think exist in Incarnadine. I saw the fear people have about King Gareth challenging our borders, though there’s no proof that he’s tried or ever will.” He takes in a breath and blows it out as he runs his hands through his hair. “It was interesting,” he continues. “But nothing helped me. Nothing triggered a memory or spoke of a missing boy.”
I walk toward him and place my hand on his cheek, turning him to face me. His eyes meet mine and though he’s trying to hide the hurt, I see it, and it breaks my heart.
“I’m so sorry, Drake.”
He traces the tips of his fingers along my cheekbone and a small smile pulls on his lips.
“I’m fine. Really, I am. I don’t need my past anymore. If it decides to find me, we’ll deal with it, but I’m not going to seek it out. This is my home. You are my home.”
“If you ever change your mind, I’ll help you. We’ll search together,” I say as I slide my hand to the back of his head and pull him down to me. Our kiss is brief: an unspoken vow.
After several seconds we step apart and Drake nods toward the trees. “First one to hit the center of the circle on the farthest tree wins. The closer ones are for practice.”
This is his way of ending our conversation, which is fine with me. There’s already enough strain on the day from Charles’s visit. Drake walks toward the bow. “Do you want the first turn, or do you want me to go first?” he asks, while picking up the bow from the forest floor. His fingers move meticulously over the bow, checking the string and the sturdiness of the wood. I watch his fingers, thinking of how they feel when they’re on me, before trailing my gaze up the length of his arms, where the thin white sleeves of his fitted tunic are rolled up to his elbows. My gaze travels farther, to where his tunic ties low on his chest, exposing the curve of his muscles below his collar bones. I watch those curves disappear into his shirt, and wonder what they look like underneath.
“Addy, are you listening . . . ?” His eyes are on me, a curious smirk playing on his mouth, “. . . or is my presence too distracting for you?”
I look away, blushing furiously. He begins to laugh.
“No. Your presence is not distracting me. I was just thinking about your question.”
“And?” he asks, while continuing to laugh softly.
“I want to go first.” I march over to him and, without looking him in the eye, take the bow from his hands and turn away.
“How are you going to shoot without an arrow?” he asks, humor thick in his voice. He’s enjoying this way too much. I hesitantly let myself turn to face him and see that the quiver of arrows is still slung over his back.
“Give me one.”
“No.”
“Drake. Give me an arrow now,” I reply, my last word coming out as more of a growl. This makes him laugh harder. I’m glad he finds me so entertaining.
“Nope. If you want one, you’re going to have to get it yourself.” His sideways grin pulls up the corner of his mouth.
Fine. Two can play at this game. I look around and see a boulder that’s about as tall as my knees, only a few feet away. I walk toward it and place the bow carefully on top. Now that my hands are free, I place them on my hips and stare intently at him. He’s still smirking, eager to see my next move. I slowly saunter over to him, my eyes never leaving his. I don’t stop walking until I’m directly in front of him, leaving merely a fingernail’s length of space between us.
I reach up and place my hand on top of his shoulder. Then, I slowly drag my hand down the length of his right arm, feeling it flex beneath my touch. When my hand reaches his elbow, I slide it under his arm and trace my fingers across his ribs. He inhales slightly, and I allow myself to press firmly against him. Our eyes remain locked, and his uneven breath blows across my face. I struggle to keep my composure while my hand makes its way to the quiver of arrows, feeling the softness of the feathers brush against my fingertips. I wrap my hand around one of the arrows and pull it from the quiver. Then, I slide my arm out from under his and take several steps back.
“Thank you,” I say with a wink, before turning around and walking back to the bow, leaving him completely silent. My heart is in my throat, but I can’t help but smile at my momentary victory.
I pick up the bow and fit the notch of my arrow into the taut string. I look up and find a tree with a target about twenty feet away; a good starting point. With a deep breath, I raise the bow, take aim, and feel Drake’s chest press against my back. His hands slowly make their way from the tops of my shoulders, down along my arms and to my hands, stopping only when his arms are completely draped over mine.
“You’re not holding it right,” he whispers in my ear as he holds my hands in place, keeping them from releasing the arrow.
“Yes I am,” I reply with a traitorous tremble in my voice.
“No, you’re not, but I can show you.” He nips the bottom of my ear with his teeth, as one of his hands releases the ribbon from the bottom of my braid, allowing my hair to spill around me. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind and body from the intoxication of him. But it’s not working.
“I’m perfectly capable of shooting this arrow on my own. Let go of me and move away.”
“Are you sure?” He traces the tips of his fingers along the inside of my arm, the sensation travels from my skin to somewhere deep inside of me. I take a steadying breath.
“I’m sure that if you don’t let go right now, I’m going to tell my mother that you’re interested in taking up knitting. She would love to spend hours teaching you.”
“Sounds fascinating,” he replies with a laugh. But he removes his arms from mine and backs away from my body.
I focus on the target, pull the arrow back and release it. The arrow soars toward the tree and hits right outside the center of the target.
“Not bad, but you would have done better if you hadn’t let yourself become so distracted.”
I spin around to face him. “I was not distracted!”
“If you say so. My turn.” He reaches his hand out to me, smiling innocently. I shove the bow into his arms and take several steps back. He pulls an arrow from his quiver and loads it into the bow. “Now watch carefully. I’m going to show you how to hit the center of a target.” He looks over and winks at me.
No. He’s not going to win this one.
As he raises his arms to aim the bow, I raise my left leg and place my foot on top of the boulder. I reach down to the bottom of my dress, hook my fingers underneath the hem, and slowly pull it up, exposing my brown boot and then my white stocking. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s watching me. I can feel his eyes on me as certainly as I can feel the sun on my skin. A smile pulls at my lips and I continue to lift the dress higher, coming to a stop where my white stocking ends on the middle of my thigh. I adjust the top of my stocking, being sure to keep several inches of my bare thigh visible as I say, “Aren’t you going to take your shot?” I hear him blow out a sharp breath seconds before I hear the release of his arrow. The arrow sails toward its target, the same practice tree I aimed for, and lands about five feet to the left, stabbing firmly into the dirt. I drop my foot back on the ground and let my skirt fall around me.
“Not bad, but you would have done better if you hadn’t let yourself become so distracted.” I say his words back to him as I turn and face him. He has one hand grasped around the bow and his other hand is moving unsteadily through his hair. His eyes are dark, his gaze penetrating.
“You don’t play fair.”
“I never said I did.” I move toward him. “My turn.”
He places the bow in my hands, then reaches behind himself and grabs an arrow. When he hands it to me, I notice his hands are slightly shaking. Confidence
burns through me as I realize just how much of an effect I’ve had on him.
As I load my bow, I use that confidence and aim for the farthest tree. I release the arrow and watch it sail beautifully toward its mark, striking directly in the center of the circle.
“I won!” I exclaim excitedly, and begin to spin around in circles as I laugh. I’ve never beaten him before. After a few more seconds, I stop spinning and plop to the ground, feeling dizzy but ecstatic.
Drake crouches in front of me. Before I can say anything, he leans in and presses his lips against mine. He deepens the kiss while he simultaneously takes the bow from my hands and gently pushes me down until I’m lying on my back. He pulls away to look at me, his face hovering inches above mine. His knees are placed on either side of my hips, his hands on either side of my head, holding himself over me. A sly grin spreads across his face.
“I won,” he says. And then he kisses me again, and this time it is tender and sweet, but I don’t want tender and sweet. I part my lips, and drag my tongue across his lower lip, savoring the taste of his mouth on mine. His body tenses and he inhales sharply, but he responds by pulling my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth lightly nipping on it. His lips travel from my mouth, making their way to my jaw. His warm breath blows across me, sending chills through my body as his lips trace across my throat. My back arches off the ground, desperate to be closer to him.
He moves from his knees to his feet, elongating himself, and then carefully lowers the full length of his body on top of mine. He returns his lips to my own, and between his kiss and the weight and feel of him pressing against me, I become completely consumed by him. Even with my eyes closed, the only thing I see is his face. The taste of his lips fills my mouth. The scent of him—smoke, mint and leather—invades my nostrils. The only thing I feel is his body and his hands, and every breath, grunt and moan fills my ears.
One of his hands presses roughly into the dirt next to my head while he continues to kiss me. I can smell the earthy scent of the ground as he pushes his fingers through it, but it’s his other hand that has my attention now. It’s caressing its way across my chest and down my waist. It lingers for a moment on my hip, clenching the material of my dress, but it soon descends farther, stopping midway down my leg. Suddenly, his hand begins gathering up my dress, pulling it higher. Cool air hits the top of my thigh seconds before his warm hand reaches it. His hand grips firmly onto the skin of my thigh, and we both simultaneously moan. My hands fist into his shirt. He lowers his head and gently kisses my chest, his fingertips grazing the inside of my thigh. A shudder rips through me and I close my eyes in anticipation. And then he’s gone.