Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, I remove my right foot from the stirrup, preparing to jump off my horse. But just as I swing my leg over, Rip is there, hands gripping my waist.
A surprised gasp slips through my lips, and my gaze snaps to his face. He’s so stern, so intense. His black eyes carry a thousand words, but without any light for me to read them.
There’s a sound of hissed shock that comes from Midas’s soldiers, but I don’t look away. I’m too busy letting my eyes run over Rip’s face, like I’m trying to memorize him.
“Commander, I must insist that you don’t touch King Midas’s favored.”
“I must insist that you shut the fuck up,” Osrik drawls.
Rip doesn’t look away from me, doesn’t pay them any attention at all. He simply lifts me off the horse as if I weigh nothing and helps me down.
Awareness surges through my body with every dragged inch as he slowly lowers me to the ground in front of him. My heart is pounding so hard that I know he can hear it. I can feel the firmness of his grasp and the heat of his palms. Even through the layers of his gloves and my clothes, it makes me warm all over.
But when he brings me down far enough that our faces only have an inch of separation, I lean away from him on instinct.
The instant I do that, Rip’s expression snaps.
Face hard again, the intensity in his eyes goes shuttered. A shadow falls over his features like a fast approaching dusk, darkening the scales of his cheeks until he regards me with nothing more than cold apathy.
The second my feet hit the ground, he releases his hold on me like I’ve burned him. All the warmth I’d felt from his touch is gone, leaving me bereft. He turns without a word, already walking away, while guilt freezes in my gut.
I watch him go, one foot poised to walk after him, the other foot firmly on the ground. My mouth is dry, but my eyes are wet. I want to say everything, yet I say nothing.
And so, the pendulum swings again, ticking with my choices. Somehow, it sounds like the hooves of Rip’s horse as he rides away from me.
Chapter 35
QUEEN MALINA
I’ve never liked taking the ride down the mountain.
It’s winding and steep, dangerous even on clear days, the road always icy and littered with slick divots and rock. But when there’s a winter storm—and there usually is—the road becomes even more treacherous.
I keep the curtain drawn tightly closed against the window, my teeth clenching every time the carriage jolts.
I suppose I’m lucky that it’s only slightly windy and snowy right now. I refuse to return to the castle tonight if there’s a storm, so all I can do is hope that the weather holds.
Jeo reaches forward,
squeezing my thigh. “It’s alright, my queen. Nearly there.”
I give a terse nod, saying nothing, a hand pressed to my miserable stomach.
“Why take this trip into the city when you’re so frightened of the carriage ride?” Jeo asks.
My eyes slice over to him where he sits beside me. “I’m not frightened. The route is frightening,” I argue sharply. “There’s a difference.”
Jeo flashes a stunning smile. “Of course.”
I narrow my gaze on him, unamused, but he just smiles wider. He’s as relaxed as can be in my golden carriage, legs spread out as much as the space allows, head resting against the wall, a quiet whistle on his lips.
The fact that he’s so unworried, worries me.
It seems like a weakness, if I’m honest. The intelligent are always considering the what-ifs, the could-happens. Our minds a constant spin of possibilities and outcomes.
If you don’t worry, you’re either a fool or you’ve been fooled.
I watch him from my peripheral. At least he’s a pretty fool who knows how to use his cock.