Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

“’s fine,” I reply, wishing I hadn’t just slurred my words. “Ley line’s heat. Heat melts ice, right?”

“Dammit, Smith—”

A crack rends the wall. I lose my balance from surprise and my control wavers. A pulse of power crackles up through the ice, gold glittering through it like Tinkerbell sneezed everywhere.

“Oops,” I mumble, pulling my hand away. And, after consideration, I close myself off to the ley line with a mental apology for not explaining myself well.

Too late. The damage is done. The entire ice castle lights up, illuminating Roark’s full-body frown.

“Move.”

Can you get frostbite from someone’s voice?

Apparently I’m not moving fast enough for him, since he bodily resituates me to the side. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and flicks a wrist toward the half door I’ve melted. The ice stalagmite he creates slams into the crack, busting open a hole in the side of the castle. He points. “Out.”

“Grumpy much?”

I cough w

hen the outside temperature and humidity return to my lungs. It doesn’t matter that I’m slightly taller, Roark clamps a hand around the back of my neck and drags my face down until it’s almost even with his.

“What the fuck goes on in that tiny brain of yours?” he asks. It’d be funny if he were yelling. But he’s not. He’s viciously controlled. “Have I been wasting my breath lecturing you about control and not burning yourself out because you get complacent?”

“That wasn’t me being complacent. That was me trying to protect someone I...don’t want hurt.”

His eyes narrow, but it’s the soft caress of his thumb against my jawline that leaves me dumbstruck. “Smith, before acting in the future, please remember that there may be people who don’t want you to get hurt either.”

I manage a shuddery nod.

“Now, let’s go home.”

Roark

Smith grins the entire way back to the apartment. I should have let the monster eat him.

I’m not sure what happened back there. We talked. Which was bad, because something I said made Smith giddy. Now he keeps sneaking glances at me. His smile lights up his entire face.

His joy almost makes up for the fishy stench clinging to my clothes. Almost. By the time we get home, it’s all I can smell, and my mood is even fouler.

Smith doesn’t seem to care. “Since you’re back early, are we going to be able to train a little tomorrow?”

“Only if you don’t drain yourself like you did tonight,” I snap.

“I didn’t mean to do that. And even if I’m tired, I really do need to practice.”

“Why the rush?”

The briefest hesitation before he admits, “I’d like to figure it out so I can help my parents around the farm.” The way he says it whispers there’s more to that statement.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all that matters.”

“Unlimited power at your disposal and you want to be a farmer,” I gripe, swinging open our door. I turn to him, waiting for an actual answer, when we’re greeted by a blast of subzero air.

My mother stands in our living room, the light reflecting off the pale skin exposed by her black dress. She’s carved from ivory and dressed in shadows. She wears her worry like a weighted cloak.

When she sees me, those lines vanish from her face. And then she spots Smith behind me.