Page 26 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Roremar considered. “She’s not tall, but not short either. Average, I suppose. Brown hair…” He paused, then continued quickly, “No, it’s chestnut. In waves that fall down her back, and she likes to braid it, I think. Full lips that she’s very expressive with when she’s frustrated with me. Hazel eyes with so many damn colors in them, and⁠—”

Nico and Desmond hid their smirks.

“What?” Roremar snapped.

“Nothing,” they chimed in unison.

“Out with it.”

“You’re noticing her eyes,” Desmond supplied, once again hiding his smirk behind his glass.

“And?”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “You clearly find her attractive.”

“I do not,” Roremar challenged, sinking back in his chair and trying not to remember how her cheeks had flushed pink earlier.

He hadn’t even mentioned how her magic was this innate impulse within her. Or the frustratingly perfect way she’d organized her bedchamber, flowers and herbs growing delicately like her own garden escape.

Nico nodded astutely. “Sure you don’t. But if you did, it could be part of why you’re so frustrated. A pretty woman behaved exactly like you and you didn’t like that.”

Roremar shot forward, elbows on his knees. “What do you mean exactly like me?”

“Stubborn, challenging, and unrelenting,” Desmond explained. “Sounds like someone we know well.”

“I’m not like her,” Roremar scoffed. They had even more differences than anyone could understand. Her affinity with her magic was the complete opposite of his. How she’d slipped so easily into it while he detested reading. The extent of her isolation according to the instructors he asked at the Academy, and the amount of people relying on him…

No. They were nothing alike.

“All we’re saying is maybe you have more in common than you think,” Nico said, trying to soothe over his brother’s attitude.

“And maybe, if you can appeal to some of those things, you actually would be able to work together.” Desmond shrugged. “I don’t like that she was insulting you, but you can’t deny you wouldn’t do the same. Just give it a chance.”

Roremar scowled at them as they pulled over a wooden chess set that belonged to the tavern and told him he wasn’t allowed to play since he always won too quickly. Perhaps they were right, and Emmeline had some qualities he could work with, like her magic being an asset.

But they didn’t have anything in common.

And there was certainly no attraction. He was observant because they were supposed to be partners, and surveillance had always been his strong suit.

Roremar took a long sip of his drink, relishing it unlike his brother. Perhaps Des had been right. Maybe all he needed was to get absolutely piss drunk and release all his inhibitions for one starsdamned night.

Actually, that sounded pretty fucking good.

Throwing back the rest of his whiskey, he let the warmth seep through him and grabbed another, telling himself to forget about it all. The disappearances, the Remembrance Revels, his overflowing responsibilities, and most importantly, Emmeline fucking DeLeoste and her senseless views of him.

Chapter Nine

Emmeline

Continuing down this path will send you both to endless ruin, igniting in a prophetic vision of crashing stars and bleeding worlds.

Emmeline didn’t know Roremar well, but that threatening line from her reading in Fortuna followed her all day.

Endless ruin.

It had driven her guard up so sharply that when Roremar pushed her—when he challenged her to read, hinted at all the research he’d done on her, and she recognized a kindred persistence in him—all she could see was the two of them succumbing to burning starfire.

Roremar was the type who would never stop trying to peel apart her secrets, devour the scars she buried so deeply. He was clearly a man who enjoyed puzzles, but Emmeline couldn’t be one.