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Sorin rubbed a thumb gently along her cheekbone. Her shadows trailed it. “She told me to return home weeks ago. That day you saw us in the woods.”
“You defied her?”
“I told you. Talwyn and I do not always…agree on matters. My allegiance, Scarlett Monrhoe, is to you, as it was to your mother. I told you I would not leave you alone, so I did not return without you. If you do not want to rule or be queen, that is fine. The choice is always yours, but I will always stand in your court. Always.”
“What if I do not want a court? What if I do not want to stay here?”
“Then it will be just you and me.”
“You and me? There is no you and me. There’s you and there’s me,” Scarlett replied.
“You know that’s not true, Scarlett,” he said, his voice low. “That hasn’t been true for quite some time now.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. His hand still stroked her hair and his other arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him. “You’re touching me,” she said from where her head rested against his chest.
“If I could lie to you, I’d tell you it was a necessity, but it’s not. I just wanted to hold you,” he answered.
“And if I told you I wanted you to touch me more?” she whispered. She started tracing one of those tattoos on his chest with her finger, slowly following the swirls and whorls of it.
His hand stilled on her hair. After an extended silence, he pushed out a long breath. “I would kick myself for it, but I would gently remind you that you hate me.”
Scarlett lifted her head from his chest. His eyes were on her, a mixture of agony and desire glimmering in them. She shifted slightly, and his hand skimmed over the bare skin on the small of her back. She tilted her head to the side so that her mouth was perfectly lined up with his, and he sucked in a breath.
“Scarlett, what are you doing?” She could hear the restraint in his voice.
“I’m going to kiss you,” she breathed as she slowly brought her lips closer. “Are you going to stop me?”
“I should.”
But when her lips met his, he didn’t. No, when her lips met his, that hand that had been stroking her hair slipped into it, fisting and tilting her head back to where he wanted it so he could deepen that kiss. The hand on her lower back slid to her hip where his thumb began making small circles. When Scarlettopened her mouth to him, he groaned, and the sound rumbled through her as his tongue swept in, and she tasted his cloves and honey flavor. Again, that lush smokey smell mixed with his ash and cedar scent.
She pulled back, breathless. “You said Fae can scent emotions and other things.”
“I did.” His voice was gruff, and he was breathing as fast as she was.
Then the scent that sometimes mixed with his was…arousal. A slow grin formed on her mouth. “That could be a useful tool, Prince,” she crooned.
Sorin closed his eyes, sighing in relief. “Gods, I never thought I would be so glad to hear your wicked tongue.”
Scarlett pushed herself from his lap. “So do I have shoes here or am I required to walk around barefoot in such a fine palace?”
“I have more clothing and options coming for you, but for now, I believe Camilla left a pair of silk slippers by the main door for you,” Sorin answered, getting to his own feet. “What would you like to do, Princess?”
Scarlett scowled at him. “I was going to say I wanted you to show me around a little, but now I want to learn how to control this damn magic so that I can knock you on your ass on purpose when you call me such things.”
“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, an amused twinkle entering his eyes.
“Yes,” she answered, turning to walk to the sitting room.
“If that is what it takes to get you to start acknowledging and wanting to master your magic, I will call you Princess all day long,” he taunted, striding past her to open the door. When he reached for the handle, though, she spotted the tattoo on his left hand again. It snaked down his thumb and forefinger, and it seemed incomplete somehow, like he’d had to leave in the middle of it.
“You never told me the story of this,” she said, reaching out and running her fingers along the dark lines etched into his skin.
Sorin stilled, watching her trace them. “It is a Fae Marking, a tradition of ours.”
“It seems unfinished,” she replied, leaning forward to study it more.
“I suppose it does.”
