Remembering the hardened feel of him behind her, it seemed no wonder that he did not armor his chest. His heavy pectorals were already like steel.
She was looking upon those thick muscles when he glanced over. His dark gaze caught hers as surely as his fingers had caught her tongue, and the ravenous fire in his eyes burned as hot as she had burned against him last eve.
His apology for pulling at her tongue had been as sincere as it had been unexpected. But she had trusted his touch once and been hurt by it. Willingly would she lie beneath him on her moon night and every night after—but renewed trust would not come as easily as the flames he stoked within her.
Steadily she returned his look. Her tongue and her mind were her greatest weapons, but they were not as effective as her eyes. Even her father and brothers faltered beneath her moonstone gaze. Now she silently regarded Maddek, wanting him to back down, wishing that he would just once falter, too. But not for a moment did he glance away.
Despite her wish, it spoke so well of him that he held her gaze. That he could withstand what so many others could not. That he was not cowed by the goddess Vela looking through her eyes. Such a fine king he would be.
Even if he would never love or respect his queen.
It was she who averted her face then, as the raw ache in her throat built into a stinging burn behind her eyes.
This rage and pain would ease, she knew. Perhaps not this day. But Yvenne had spoken truth earlier—to be queen of Syssia and Parsathe, she did not require his affection.
Nor should she give any in return. If Maddek would never believe her word, he deserved no portion of her heart. Which ought to suit them both, as he wanted no portion of it.
But Parsatheans were raiders and thieves, so he’d already stolen some of it, anyway.
By Temra’s fist, she would protect what was left—and to do it, she would heed his lessons well. Not only by using her dagger if he threatened her tongue again, but by wasting no time on wishes and regrets.
She would not even regret the pain his words had brought. With them, he’d taught her a more valuable lesson.
He’d taught her how vulnerable her heart was.
It was not the first time she’d been given that lesson. Her mother had before, but Yvenne had not truly learned it then.
Queen Vyssen had told her that love was not something to avoid. For when love was given freely or genuinely returned, everyone it touched was strengthened by it. Yet love could also blind, just as anger and hatred and fear did. It could be wielded as a weapon. It could hurt, when it was rejected or betrayed or lost. It could be confused with lust, or with pleasure, or with gratitude—for it often entwined with other emotions and was not so easily separated from them.
Her mother had tried to teach her how to recognize the difference. She’d served as Yvenne’s eyes beyond the tower, had discussed the character of everyone she’d seen, and had warned her of all the ways people might attempt to take advantage of her heart. In that, she’d prepared Yvenne as best she could.
It was not the manipulations of others that had worried Queen Vyssen most, however, because Yvenne’s father and older brothers had schooled her well. Instead she feared that Yvenne had been starved for love, just as they’d been often starved for food—and that, once released from their tower, Yvenne would grasp for any affection, no matter how slight, simply to feel full.
But Yvenne had not believed herself in so much danger. All of her life, she’d known love that was strong and unwavering. First her mother’s, then her younger brother’s—and, for a short time, Ran Ashev’s. True, she’d been piercingly lonely following her mother’s death, but the memory of Queen Vyssen’s love had sustained her then, as had Yvenne’s love for her people. Love had strengthened her, just as her mother had claimed it would. Love, and the hope that her father’s rule would soon find its end.
And knowing love, Yvenne had never imagined that she would be so hungry for Maddek’s heart, or as dazzled by his touch as she was dazzled by the expanse of the sky and the warmth of the sun.
Perhaps that was why her mother had feared so much. Because after knowing love all her life, Yvenne hadn’t truly conceived of a future without it—especially not from her chosen husband. Not from the warrior she’d spent so many years admiring from afar.
Yet that future was what she faced now. And Maddek had not only denied all possibility of love between them, he’d also destroyed a hope that was so great a part of her that she’d not even realized how much of her heart it had filled. The emotions churning within her were not just pain and anger . . . but also grief, for the hope her warrior had killed.
This grief would pass. When it did, then she would do as he’d suggested, and find the love she longed for with their children and their people. And she would be all the stronger for it.
But that would not be today.
Today, she would begin the painstaking process of disentangling her emotions. For when they stopped at midday, Maddek was at her mount’s side before she had even swung her leg over the saddle. He gripped her waist, easing her from the horse’s back. Unbidden pleasure flared at his touch, her entire body responding to his proximity—and her heart responding to the care he took with her.
That desire, she would allow to grow. Yvenne would accept no less than pleasure from him in their bed, and arousal could be separated from love. She had seen it herself. Ardyl and Kelir had no deep feelings for the barmaid, yet pleasure was had by each of them.
But within Yvenne, desire’s roots were entwined with futile hope—and with the sweet emotion that had been nurtured by years of Queen Vyssen telling her what sort of man Maddek was, by the short time his mother had told her the same, and by the even shorter time Yvenne had known him. So she had to let that sweeter emotion wither. She had to starve it. Until only physical arousal remained, and until she never mistook the gentleness in his touch for affection.
Because although Maddek helped her dismount, assistance was not caring. He helped her down because her knee might collapse under her weight, and an injury might slow their journey. Because she was a vessel, and of no use to him broken.
Yet even as that knowledge dug painfully into her heart, where the roots of hope were still so deeply embedded, happiness bloomed when Maddek did not immediately set her down. Instead he held her above the ground with his hands clasped around her waist and his eyes locked upon her own. And the warmth that spread through her was not only physical but so sweet again. This love within her was a tenacious weed that kept reaching for Maddek as if he were the sun.
Strong, just as her mother had said. Love—and hope—would not wither in a day. Perhaps not even within a sevennight.
But she had to starve them to the roots. So if his touch nurtured those emotions, then to protect herself it was best that she avoid his touch. At least until her moon night, when she could avoid it no longer.