Page 157 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

I hate it, too, she didn’t admit aloud, but she gripped him tighter. Pretended they were anyone else, in any other realm, and not who they really were.

Pretended she couldn’t get him killed by telling him the truth.

“Are you okay?” Roremar asked after a minute. He pulled back, and it almost looked painful to break that connection. Like the ache of longing in her chest had its claws deep in him, too.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I told Rocarri and his council you’re innocent, but he insists otherwise. They won’t listen to me.”

Aggravation burned her throat, the words ash on her tongue.

“Stop trying to convince him,” Roremar begged. “Please, Emmeline. We have bigger issues with Dryvius and them forcing you to bond to someone.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? My bonding?” He was slated to die, and still, he prioritized her.

“Of course.” His eyes flashed molten, and he pressed closer, tipping her chin up. “I’ve lost so much, Emmeline. My family, my sanity—but you are the one thing I don’t feel like is truly gone, no matter how far you drift. No matter how much you tell me we aren’t good together or how much time passes. I’m torn in pieces every day because I know it would be better for you—for everyone—if I walked away. If I let myself die in this tournament. But I can’t get myself to do that if it means you’re in another man’s arms. It’s…it’s unnatural. It makes me sick to think about, and I’m so twisted up between those two realities.”

They were both on the brink of insanity when it came to one another.

Emmeline had been so controlled all her life. With her magic, her secrets. And this—this desire coursing through her—was another thing she had to control.

Last time she’d slipped up, when he’d made her come in the tunnels beneath the city and they’d stolen that moment alone, he’d gotten stabbed and poisoned immediately after. It was her lesson.

If she gave in now, she’d only doom him again.

Her breath shuddered out of her, silver irises burning to her soul.

“We only ruin each other,” she exhaled, so close her lips nearly brushed his.

Those words froze him. Had one infuriating corner of his mouth hooking up. Her heart pounded traitorously as Roremar shook his head, dark waves drooping into his eyes. “You see the problem with that, Huntress, don’t you?”

She licked her lips. “Problem?”

“All these days since I arrived in the capital, you’ve been saying we aren’t good, we can’t do this, we ruin one another. But not once have you told me you don’t want this.”

It was a challenge, sparring with their words as they had when they first met, only now there was so much more at stake. She’d nearly lost him a few nights ago. She couldn’t get distracted again. Not by how his body pressed against hers or how his breath warmed her cheeks. Not by the thrumming in her chest or the way the silver in his eyes weakened her knees.

Forcing derision into her voice, she whispered, “I don’t want this.”

He heard the lie. She knew he always would.

Roremar pressed closer to her, pushing up the layers of her dress so his hands landed on her thighs. She gasped, legs closing around his hips reflexively, and his grip tightened. His mouth skimmed up her neck, stopping beside her ear. Without thinking, she tipped her head to give him access.

“Your lips say that, Huntress, but your body says otherwise.” His thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin on her inner thighs, dusting over the crescent scars peppered there.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Tell me to stop, Emmeline, and I will.” His words were rough. “Convince me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave you alone no matter how fucking wrong it is.”

There was no coercion in his voice, only brutal honesty. At least one of them was being honest.

“I—”

She couldn’t get the words off her tongue; they lodged in her throat, her magic screaming.

Long, deft fingers stroked up her thighs, gently teasing the lace against her center. Her hips rolled, seeking. She was balanced precariously on the edge of the well, but she didn’t care. All she could think of was how it would feel if Roremar pushed aside her panties, how labored his breath would become as he parted her and watched his fingers bring her to ruin.

She ached for him, more with each teasing stroke.

“What do you want, Emmeline?” he asked, still not looking away from her eyes. Still not truly touching her until she said so.