Page 63 of The Faceless Queen

I heard his mind. I felt his lust. He wants you.

Geoffrey’s words ran through my mind.

Brennan was far more noble and gallant than any other man I’d ever known. He had his own code of honor that he fought to abide by. And he did so remarkably. But, at the end of the day, he was still a man. And it would be no different when our lips, when our bodies came together. When we married, or when I took all of him inside of me. When he thrust until he found his pleasure.

Gods. I felt nauseated at the thought, even as my core heated.

Brennan leaned in toward me, pulling me closer, his hands on my waist, our faces inches apart. The shouts from the crowd intensified, louder than anything I’d ever heard. But they weren’t producing anything I could feed from. This kind of emotional excitement was less about me, and more about the situation. No one was imagining me in their arms or writhing beneath them the way they did at Geoffrey’s. They wanted to see me in the prince’s arms. They wanted a show.

Brennan’s cheeks flushed pink, and his jaw tensed as if he could sense it, too. There was mint on his breath again. His eyes searched mine, so earnest and green. He didn’t want to be here either. But his gallantry was stronger than his own wants. He didn’t just hold the title of prince. He was a prince in the truest sense of the word. It was clear that all of his feelings were on hold, squashed to the back of his mind. Whatever discomfort and unwillingness brewed within him, it was no match for his innate desire to fulfill his duty.

But first, he was going to make sure Olivay was comfortable. He was going to ensure she felt safe.

His face softened as he moved even closer to me, his throat bobbing. My heart could only thunder in response, remembering how near we’d been in my bedroom. How close we’d been to kissing, and just how intensely my body had responded. Was still responding to his presence, his scent.

“Is this alright?” he asked, his breath against my lips.

They tingled in anticipation. Hungry. Wanting. Needing more, needing him, his kiss, his mouth, his touch.

“I know you said you were okay with this,” he added quickly. “A kiss before the wedding. But if you’ve changed your mind … or you’re uncomfortable now, we don’t—we don’t have to do this.” His eyes flicked nervously to the crowd, then his jaw set in defiance as he looked back to me. “Not yet.”

I pulled back, just the slightest bit. And my wrist burned. A warning.

The blood oath.

Right there was my answer. I had to kiss him. The oath I’d sworn compelled me to do so. But more than that, Olivay had already agreed to this, and I had to convince everyone I was her. Especially Brennan. I’d already let him see too much as Samara. As Olivay, I couldn’t make the same mistake. I couldn’t go back on her word. Not now. Not when the entire situation was this delicate, this new.

Swallowing roughly, I laughed and pressed a hand to his armor, right over his heart. Gazing up at him, I said, “I still want to. I’m just … more nervous than I thought I’d be.”

“Is it selfish to admit I’m relieved?” he admitted. “For I am, too.” Then he took a deep breath, his armored chest slowly rising and falling beneath my hand. “At least, we’re in this together. You and me.” His eyes darkened as they searched mine, and he stilled. His voice was hushed, his fingers resting against the curve of my hips, pressing in just slightly. “Tell me when,” he whispered, “and I’ll kiss you.”

My chest heaved in response. I had to go through with it. Before too many suspicions began to form. Before I could stop pretending that I didn’t want to.

“Brennan,” I whispered, lifting onto my toes until I was barely a breath away from his face.

His cheeks flushed. “Yes?”

“When.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth just as his lips swept up against mine, offering the barest touch. And then … a second later, Brennan was kissing me, soft and sweet in a way that was almost chaste as his lips moved against mine. The kiss was pure and innocent. And yet, my knees weakened, heat pooling below my belly.

He pulled back, just enough to catch my gaze, to hold it—to hold me. To ask once more if this was okay, to ask for permission to do it again. To do more.

I bit my lip. It was done. It was over. He had kissed me. Our contract was fulfilled, and we were well within our rights to stop. To walk off the field hand in hand and not share another intimate touch until the wedding.

My mind was shouting at me to step back. Screaming for me to pull away, to end this before anything else could happen. Before Brennan’s lifeforce began flowing into me more than it already had. Before he fell from a sudden loss of energy like Olivay’s mother had.

My heart was pounding, and the crowd was roaring. But I couldn’t pull my gaze back from Brennan’s. I couldn’t look away. Even when I tried.

And then, I didn’t have to fight it anymore. I didn't have a choice in the matter, because the deciding factor had made itself known.

“Come on, son,” King Tirian’s voice rose above the din. “Show them a man! Kiss her! Kiss her hard.”

“By Kavrir, I’m sorry,” Brennan said, his neck reddening, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “We don’t—we don’t have to⁠—”

But I grasped his chin and kissed the corner of his mouth before he could finish. My tongue swept against the seam of his lips, licking and tasting until he gasped into my mouth.

I whispered, “When.”