I can see why Zander is facing backlash for even suggesting such a thing, why those like Adley would oppose it so vehemently. They feel like their right to survive is being taken away.
“You should build a village for the mortals,” I say.
“Melt down a few more gold pillars?” I hear the humor in his voice.
“Sure. And pay them more, so they can support themselves. And stop bidding on forced tributaries. If they want to be one, let them apply for the position. Start in Cirilea and show other cities how it can work.”
“You’re brimming with ideas tonight,” he teases.
“What about the keepers of those servants in there? Don’t they care that their servants are selling their blood?”
“Those who would care don’t hear of it. The marks don’t last long, and the servants ensure to use less noticeable spots.”
“Like where?”
I stifle my gasp as Zander seizes the backs of my thighs.
“The guards,” he whispers, lifting and pinning me against the wall with his body, our cowls joining to create a cocoon. They must have stopped at the entrance to check for any lurkers or crimes within the shadows. It’s dark down here, but I know their immortal eyes allow them excellent sight. Two cloaked figures prowling in an alleyway is suspicious.
Unless they’re looking for privacy.
I slip my arms around Zander’s head to play the part of the willing partner, which, with his waist nestled between my thighs and his hands gripping me tightly, I can’t deny that I am.
Tension cords his muscles.
“You know, it would be a lot easier if you didn’t make your captain hunt for you,” I whisper, heat swelling deep in my core.
Zander’s exhale skates across my lips. “It would be a lot easier if you didn’t react the way you do to me.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Neither can I anymore, it would seem.”
The headiness that was building in the tiny nook before Bexley and Kaders arrived slams into us like a thick fog that I can’t see past.
I’m unsure who moves first, but our mouths find each other within the inky shield of our cowls. Zander’s lips are supple as they explore, at first with a hint of hesitancy, but then with the eagerness of a long-anticipated kiss, deepening as his torso presses against mine.
It’s nearly as shocking as the first time this happened, though so much has changed between us since. He is no longer a stranger to me, and it would seem he doesn’t wish me dead.
But I haven’t forgotten what he is.
Curiosity overwhelms me and I slip my tongue into his mouth to drag across his top teeth, looking for the evidence. What would it feel like to have him unleash those on me?
“Do not tempt me,” he growls, shifting my body down so his hips fit squarely between my thighs. The heat of his hands clutching my backside burns as he grinds against me. I may not be able to read his lust through his racing pulse, but I can feel the proof of his arousal. He is as affected by me as I am by him.
I vaguely hear a whistle, but I ignore it, deepening our kiss, sliding my hand into his cloak to gather a fistful of silky hair. A second, more urgent whistle follows.
Zander breaks free and releases his grip, settling me onto the ground. Several long moments hang between us, his breathing ragged as he appears to be collecting himself. As am I, I realize, my own breath coming in short, heady pants.
“We have to go.” As quickly as that moment between us came, it is over.
I let him lead me out by the hand, my head swirling in a cloud of exhilaration and confusion.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My bedchamber is eerily quiet and dark when Zander and I step through the passage. The bell tower doesn’t toll through the night, but it must be well after two as stone grinds against stone, sealing my escape route shut. The lone flame flickers in the lantern within my grasp, but it’s enough to feed Zander’s ability. Candles all around my room suddenly erupt, casting my bed in a warm glow.
He bends to adjust the small area rug at the foot of the bed, the only evidence of my room’s secret and of our recent excursion.
Besides this new unsurmountable tension in the air, of course.
The ride back to the castle was silent and riddled with my unspoken thoughts, and I found myself leaning back against his chest for most of it, to which he didn’t seem opposed. But now we’re here, alone, and I’m unsure of what to expect. Unsure of what I want to happen.
That’s a lie. As I study his tall, broad frame and his handsome face, as I think of that devilish smile and those intent eyes and the feel of his hands on my hips and his mouth on mine, and how his willing body ground into me, I know exactly what I want.
And I’m likely a fool for it.
There is that voice in my mind, the one that seeks out angles as readily as Zander does. It sings of victory, reminding me of my purpose here and how much closer I am to achieving it now that he doesn’t despise me. But with that knowledge comes an unsettling stir of guilt. I don’t want to use him like that.
Zander wanders to the threshold of my sitting room and pauses a moment to scan the shadows before he shuts my bedroom door.
My heart pounds with potent anticipation that I know he can feel.
Are his thoughts as conflicted as mine?
The silence is overwhelming, the need to fill it urgent. “What are you going to do about Ianca?” I ask.
He smooths a hand over the back of his neck. “Give Boaz a description and have the royal guard keep an eye out. There’s not much else we can do until she makes herself known. I’m hoping she’ll find her way to Wendeline.”
Or she’ll hear through the castle’s grapevine—which surely has tendrils weaving through the city—that I’m looking for her.
“Tomorrow will be a long day.” His hard swallow carries in my quiet room. After another moment’s pause, he offers, “Good night, Romeria,” and strolls toward the terrace door.
Disappointment sparks but I push it aside. “Especially with my trip down to the market with Dagny.”
His feet slow and his laugh—a beautiful, melodic music—carries through my bedchamber. “Tonight did not satisfy your curiosity?”
“No, actually. I’ve been left completely unsatisfied,” I counter, and watch my challenge sink in.
His jaw tenses as he meets my stare.
My stomach flips as he takes several steps toward me.
But then he stops. He inhales deeply. “Whatever this is between us, it is not real. It is the result of a summoning, of Aoife’s intervention, and while I was sure that spell was broken after my parents’ murder, that may not be the case.”
“That’s what you think this is? A spell?” What if it is? What if the only reason Zander is attracted to me is because Aoife made it that way, in some sort of cruel trick?
The discontent that comes with that thought is unexpected and staggering.
His jaw tenses. “I will not be a victim to Neilina’s plans. I will not be a bewitched king.”
“I don’t want you to be.” I hope he can read the sincerity in my voice.
“And yet every time I see you, this pull grows stronger, harder for me to ignore.” His eyes drift over me. “You make me believe that I can accomplish everything I’ve ever wanted for Islor. Is that a fool’s wish too? Is it also part of Aoife’s plan?”