The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

I threw aside the curtain of the tent entrance. Two guards stepped forward to block my path, crossing their halberds in front of me.

“Please, Your Highness, step back inside,” one of them asked. A wrinkle curled across his brow. He looked genuinely frightened. “I really don’t want to—” He was unwilling to finish his thought.

“Drag me back to my quarters as the king ordered?”

He nodded. The other guard fretted with the shaft of his halberd, refusing to meet my gaze. Surely they’d never had to guard a prisoner like me before, one who had been a guest of the king only hours before. For their sakes alone, I stepped back and snatched the curtain closed, growling as I did.

I snuffed the chandelier lights, and the room glowed dimly with the embers from the stove. I seethed that he hadn’t already come in here begging on bended knee. I flopped onto my bed taking off one boot, then another, then threw them across the room. Both smacked the tent wall, each small thud pathetically unsatisfying.

Anger stabbed in my throat like a painful bone I couldn’t swallow. I didn’t want to go to sleep this way. I brushed at my wet lashes, blinking away tears. Maybe I should have explained it to him in private. Could I have made him understand? But I thought of all our miles traveling from the Sanctum to here, all the times he had skillfully t

urned the conversation away from Morrighan. We just have to reach the outpost for now. He had done it time and time again, so smoothly I hadn’t even noticed.

Tonight he hadn’t bothered to be smooth. All I got from him was a curt, arrogant dismissal. No. No chance for discussion—

“Lia?”

I jumped up from my bed, sucking in a startled breath.

It was his voice. Just on the other side of the curtain. Low and quiet. Contrite. I knew he’d come to work this out.

I walked to the end of the bed, quickly wiping my face with my palms. I pressed my back against the wide bedpost column and took a deep cleansing breath. “Come in,” I said softly.

The curtain parted, and he stepped inside.

My stomach twisted. Only two hours had separated us, but it had felt as long as my trek across the entire Cam Lanteux. The dark crystal pools of his eyes warmed my blood in a way that made me feel lost to everything else in the world but him. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been out for a brisk ride to work off his pent-up frustrations. His face was calm now, his eyes soft, and I was sure a well-practiced apology waited on his lips.

He searched my face, his gaze tender. “I just wanted to check on you,” he said quietly. “Make sure you had everything you needed.”

“Now that I’m a prisoner.”

Hurt flashed in his expression. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re free to move about the camp.”

“As long as I don’t leave.”

He stepped closer, stopping only inches away. The heat of his body surrounded me, filled the tent, filled my head.

“I don’t want it to be this way between us,” he whispered. He reached out and touched my hand. His fingers slowly slid up my arm to my shoulder, and his thumb traced a slow, lazy circle over my collarbone. Hot embers burned in my chest. He knew I wanted him, that I wanted nothing more than to reach out and close the hurtful space between us.

Almost nothing more. “Are you here to apologize?” I asked.

His hand slipped behind my back, drawing me closer, his hips meeting mine, and his lips brushed my earlobe. “I have to do what I think is best. I can’t let you go, Lia, not in good conscience. Not when I know the danger you’d be heading into.” He loosened the laces of my dress. My breaths skipped through my chest, uneven, singeing my thoughts.

His lips skimmed a burning line from my temple to my mouth and then he kissed me, hard and deep, and I wanted to melt into the feel and taste and scent of him, the wind in his hair, the salt on his brow, but another need—a greater one—flamed brighter, blazing and persistent.

I wedged my hands between us, gently nudging him away.

“Rafe, haven’t you ever felt something deep in your gut? Or heard a whisper you had to listen to against all reason?”

The tenderness receded from his eyes. “I am not going to change my decision, Lia,” he said. “I need you to trust me. You’re not going back for now. Maybe later when it’s safer.”

I stared into his eyes, praying he’d see the urgency in mine. “It will never be safer, Rafe. It’s only going to get worse.”

He stepped back, sighing, everything about his stance conveying impatience. “And you think you know this because of an ancient text?”

“It is true, Rafe. Every word is true.”

“How do you know? You’re not a scholar. You may not have even translated it properly.” His boorish skepticism snapped the last of my patience. There would be no more explaining or groveling.