Page 65 of The Faceless Queen

Me.

Brennan’s eyes met mine. Olivay’s. Not Samara’s.

The connection between us severed. He ran his fingers through his mussed hair, still looking halfway torn between guilt and desire as my heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it despite the thunderous roar of the crowd. Then he took my hand, bringing it to his lips for one soft, final kiss.

Every nerve in my body lit up as he stared at me through his dark lashes, his lips feather-light against my skin. The kiss may have been on my palm, but I felt it everywhere, felt it dancing across my skin, bringing every nerve to life. The Azete stirred, knowing a source of food was near. But even with his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, and his chest heaving, Brennan still offered me nothing. Not even as his lips dragged across my sensitive skin. Nor as his green eyes lifted once more to meet mine.

At Geoffrey’s Tavern, one minute into our meeting, he had whispered in my ear like we’d shared a dozen secrets between us. Like we’d known each other for lifetimes. But standing there with him on the field, after what had been the most intense and passionate kiss of my entire life, he was acting like a stranger.

He cleared his throat, offering me a kind, yet formal smile. One that was still so Godsdamned beautiful, I wanted to cry. I wanted to wrap my arms around him so I could shake him and tell him the truth—tell him it was me. Tell him to kiss me again. Tell him we could run away together, tell him we could forget duty and honor.

But even that wouldn’t save him. Only bring about his ruin faster. And mine.

My wrist already burned, just from the mere fantasy of it, from the memory of what we’d just done—and the Azete was rioting inside, demanding more. I felt crazed and split apart. I’d become so addled with lust, so turned on that my own hunger had sparked, and while my body wanted him and my mind rebelled, the Azete raged.

And there was nothing I could do about any of it.

The Hermit’s prophecy was already unfolding. The crown prince was betrothed to a princess. Soon our baby would be conceived. The reign of his bloodline would end. So would his life.

And it was going to come to be from my hands, my lips, and my touch.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Brennan threaded our fingers together, lifting our hands into the air in triumph. The crowd roared and clapped, their shouts reaching a frenzied fever pitch. I felt like I was in a daze, my heart thudding in my ears. My lips hummed, hungry with unfulfilled desire, still drenched in the taste of Brennan. I could still feel the perfect, soft fullness of his lips, the way his mouth had moved so expertly against mine. And the scent of him. Gods. The mint on his breath lingered on mine, on my lips, my cheeks. It was making my skin tingle. Making lower parts of me react the same. I could sense it now. What it would be like between us. How our bodies would come together.

We had kissed. We had kissed …

Our hands remained joined, our palms pressed together, but his energy remained empty. Not a single emotion trickled into me. There was no lust coming from him. No further desire for me, or for more to happen between us.

The roars continued as we walked hand in hand. I could feel the weight of his sigil ring against my fingers. The noise of the crowd was growing along with the applause. Several of the men sitting at the top of the raised bench seats released bawdy comments as we waved to their section. But Brennan tightened his hold on my hand and hurried me past them, veering straight toward his father’s pavilion, to the king’s dais.

I could barely focus on the red and blue flags billowing above my head. Or on the presentation of House Lafir’s sigil everywhere I looked.

The blue moonstag, the red flames behind its wings. The symbol that led to the death of my mother.

“You should be comfortable here,” Brennan said quickly as he helped me step up onto the stairs. Carefully, he joined me at the top and turned to lead me to his family’s seats.

I started to shake then, not wanting to leave Brennan’s side. Not wanting to leave the sense of safety I felt with him. Nor did I want to be alone with the king—with my enemy.

But as Brennan squeezed my hand atop the platform, a man rushed over to us, and I was greeted by none other than the fucking Hermit himself. His eyes flashed indigo, and his mouth quirked into a self-satisfied grin that I wanted to smack off his face.

“Congratulations, Your Highnesses.” He bowed before us. “Princess Olivay. Prince … Jaron.”

“I thank you, Lord Brandon,” Brennan replied. He looked between the two of us, releasing my hand.

Instantly, I felt cold without his warmth, the skin of my palm tingling in remembrance of his touch.

“I do apologize, Princess,” Brennan said. “I do not wish to leave you so soon.” A small blush crept across his cheeks, and yet still no emotion emanated toward me. “But the presentation portion of the tourney awaits, and my squire is eager to saddle me.” Brennan nodded at the Hermit. “I trust now you are safe and in good company here with my family—your family, too, now,” he said nervously, “as well as with your esteemed ambassador. Surely there are many who will seek out your attention for conversation while I step away.”

The Hermit waved him off. Then, in his most affected Lord Brandon voice, he said, “Have not a care as you present yourself to the tourney, my Prince. Princess Olivay will be well cared for by me and your family—her new family. I am sure of it.”

I could barely keep myself from snarling.

“I certainly know that I am eager to watch you on the field,” the Hermit continued. “As is your betrothed.”

Brennan bit his lip. “I shall endeavor in all my trials to bring honor to you, Princess,” Brennan said. “And,” there was an almost flirtatious gleam in his eyes as he puffed out his chest, “I shall do my best to defend you as our Lady of Beauty.” He paused then, like he’d just seen something unexpected, his eyes looking into mine. No. Not into mine.

Through mine.