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She sneers the last two words, barely flinching when I close the distance between us and cage her against the wall.
“It would be unwise to forget you are a trespasser in my realm. And your punishment is in my hands.” I brace them both on the wall beside her head.
“I’m a prisoner here, not a trespasser.”
“You crossed my border uninvited.”
Her chin lifts, breath warm against my cheek. “And have remained locked in this tower for six days. It would appear I am already being punished.”
I drop my head, my lips brushing the shell of her ear and raising goosebumps along her cheek and down her neck. “Believe me, little one. When I punish you, you’ll know.”
Taking a few steps back, I give her a minute to regain her composure before I ask the one question that’s been hovering at the back of my mind for days. “Did someone send you across the veil?”
Of all the reactions I might have expected, her laughter isn’t one of them. It rolls out of her, low and deceptively sweet. It’s a stark contrast to her sharp tongue and quick wit. The sound of it has me moving closer again.
“Is that really what you think? That I’m a spy? A spy for who, exactly?”
“The high court has been—”
She laughs again, her cheeks going pink with it as she clutches her stomach and doubles over. Irritation prickles over my skin.
“You think I’m a spy for the high court?” she asks, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Stranger things have been known to happen,” I say through gritted teeth.
She dismisses my words with a wave of her hand. “I have no interest in helping the gods do anything. Not them, and definitely not you. The closest I’ve ever been to a high court god was when…”
The words die on her tongue, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. But I desperately want her to finish that story.
“Go on.”
“Let’s just say I had a little run-in with a high priest.”
The priest who tried to bargain for his fate swims across my vision. I scanned through his deeds only briefly, but I don’t recall seeing her face among his victims. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would get on her knees for a favor from a god. But I’ve been wrong about women and their motives before.
“Interesting.”
Her eyes narrow, and she cocks her head. “What’s interesting?”
I shrug. “That you would seek a favor from a god. And that you would spread your legs for it.”
She springs forward, gripping my arm and spinning us both until my back is pressed against the wall. I could overpower her if I had a mind to, but I’m intrigued by this turn of events, so I let her have the upper hand. For now.
Anger lights her eyes, and she presses the blade of the knife against my throat.
“I do not seek favors from gods,” she snarls. “Or the rapists they choose to represent them.”
“No?”
I smirk down at her, and she increases the pressure on the blade until she breaks my skin. Her eyes drop to my throat and follow the trail of blood dripping from where the knife point makes contact.
This close, her scent assails me. A hint of lavender, no doubt from one of Kaia’s soaps, but something else. Something uniquely her. It’s intoxicating in the worst way.
“So your encounter with the priest was what?” I ask, drawing her bright green eyes to mine again. “A friendly chat?”
“I’m the one who killed him.”
I can tell by the look on her face that she expects her confession to surprise me. But imagining her with a blade in her hand in a similar position to the one we’re in now makes far more sense than picturing her on her knees begging for mercy.
