Page 12 of The Faceless Queen

“Please,” I said. “Don’t do this. It’s nothing.”

His eyes moved across my shoulders, to my arms, to all the places Geoffrey had grabbed, and sank his claws into me. The nobleman’s intensity was startling, the fury inside him beginning to push its way out toward me. But it didn’t taste dark, nor was it unfulfilling in the way most emotions I consumed were. Anger was swallowed quickly by the Azete, but it left me hungry. So was lust. This was different. What he was feeling for me right now was something else entirely, something light and filling.

It was protective. I could see it in the way his head tilted up, the way his fingers flexed, his hands balling again into fists as he continued his perusal over me. He was scanning me carefully, looking for injuries.

He wouldn’t find any. The scratches smoothed out within seconds, the cuts stitched back together from his touch. Somehow I hadn’t noticed, because the stream had been so constant. But he was pouring even more energy into me since we’d been alone. Feeding me. Strengthening me.

He came closer, his eyes searching mine, asking, no pleading, for permission.

“Please. I just wanted to help you. Can I?” he gestured to my hair.

Heart thrumming, I nodded, holding my breath as his fingers grazed my bare skin, sweeping my curls behind my back. He moved slowly, carefully, his touch soft. Gentle. Too gentle. His energy poured continuously into me, slowly, carefully.

A shiver ran down my spine. My bared shoulder was on display, and he was so close I could scent the spices and musk that clung to him, the mint on his breath as he let out a sharp exhale. And I realized the mint was still fresh, still pure. He hadn’t taken a drink downstairs. He’d lied about needing courage. The only reason he’d come back to me was to help me.

My chest tightened, my stomach twisting. I couldn’t move as his hands swept the hair off my other shoulder, his fingers grazing down my back, his face moving even closer. Too close.

“See?” I whispered, barely daring to breathe. Terrified that if I moved even an inch, my glamour would fall. That I would lose control. “There’s nothing.”

His eyes widened, still searching. “But I saw. There was—How?” His mouth opened as he shook his head, speaking as if to himself. “No one’s injuries heal that quickly.”

My throat went dry.

No human injuries healed that quickly. But an Azete’s did. By fucking Batrir.

If he started to put the pieces together, I wasn’t going to need Geoffrey to betray me. I was already standing before my downfall. One word from him, and I’d be in prison.

I folded my arms across my chest, panic churning like the ocean in a storm through my body. I had to regain control. But my mind was whirring, and all I could manage was, “Why do you care so much about what happens to me?” More emotion coated my voice than I’d meant to express.

He frowned, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean why? Why wouldn't I?”

I scoffed. “Because most men wouldn’t.” Because no man ever had. Because the second I thought I loved Jaron, that he loved me, too, I learned it was all a farce. That I’d meant nothing to him. That I’d been just a body to control, a way for him to feed his own delusions of power and importance. That I was just a way for him to build up his own ego. A thing to fuck and use and humiliate and destroy, while all I wanted was to protect him.

The nobleman tilted his head back toward mine. “I thought we’d established that I don’t consider myself amongst most men.”

I searched his face. “Philosophical, kind, and gallant. You really do exhibit every quality a prince should have,” I said.

“You think I’m like a prince?” he asked.

I shrugged, not wanting to admit what I knew. That he looked just like him, that I didn’t know who he was, but knew they were related.

“Maybe.” I leaned in. “But unless you give me a name to distinguish you from the rest, I can’t help but continue to count you among them.”

“And here I thought my actions could speak for themselves.”

“Actions do speak louder than words. Sometimes. But not this time. This time I want more,” I said. “This time, I want to hear it.”

His chest heaved with a deep breath. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you need to know my name?” A flush rose up his neck.

“Because maybe if I knew your name, maybe I could call you by it. And maybe then you’d feel like what happens next between us would mean something.”

The flush on his skin deepened, rising to fill his cheeks.

“And besides, it’s only fair,” I met his eyes, “after all, you already have mine.”

His gaze smoldered. “I do. Samara.” Then he smiled, almost sadly, his green eyes searching mine. “But I already told you. Nothing is going to happen between us.”

“Are you so sure?” I asked.