Chapter 26

T he rest of the lesson was less than successful. Sir Magis tried to teach me how to unlock doors with magic but I seem to lack that particular gift. He did warn me that our lessons would be experimental in nature, intended only to test the boundaries of my power, but that doesn't make failure feel any less irksome. Each time my magic fails, it makes me question what my gods-given gift could be. I wonder if everyone else questions it, as well.

Desperate to release some of the crushing anxiety, I asked Gemma to bring me a bottle of red wine. Sitting on the balcony floor and staring at the ocean waves crashing beneath me does little to help, even with the wine. Endless intrusive thoughts plague me, no matter how hard I try to silence them, leaving me to suffer with an unshakable sense of dread.

Only two weeks remain until I must choose whether or not to accept the arrangement. That leaves two weeks to uncover the truth of my gift and the prophecy. Gemma will go to town tomorrow to meet with Guylita, and all I can do is hope for her to agree. If not… well, then I guess it's back to square one.

As the sun goes down and the colors of the sky shift from one brilliant hue to the next, I hear a knock on the door.

Oh, gods. With everything that's going on, all I crave is a few moments of silence. One night to be alone. One night where I don't have to try to be more than I am.

I take a sip of wine, squeezing my eyes shut and praying that whoever knocked on my door takes the hint and leaves. But a few moments later, another more determined knock squashes those hopes. I slowly rise from the cool tile floor, which sends Moose into a frenzy. He has taken a liking to palace life, especially when he gets to roam freely around the garden, chasing butterflies and gophers. He paws at my legs, begging for attention.

When the door opens, Moose catches sight of Olly and briefly growls before slipping out behind him to escape this bedroom.

"He never has liked me, has he?" Olly smirks, poorly hiding a glimmer of annoyance.

"He hasn't. What did you do to deserve that?" I ask, torn between amusement and actual concern. What if Moose is trying to tell me something?

"Nothing!" He protests with his hands held in the air, feigning offense.

"I'll have to ask him when he comes back." I try to offer a smile, but my face will not comply.

He laughs and bashfully shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Why are you here, Olly?" I'm too tired to dance around the point.

"I'm here to apologize for what happened earlier. I was enjoying our time together until… well, Landers is a dick. And I'm sorry for his behavior." There's a sincerity in his apology that makes me believe he truly regrets the interruption.

If I'm being honest, I hate that we were interrupted. That kiss, the feeling of his hands on my skin, the warmth of his bare chest pressing against me… a flutter erupts in my core and works its way through my nerves.

He makes me feel things that I'm embarrassed to admit.

"It's okay. It's not your fault." Again, I attempt to conjure a smile, but it refuses to stick. "But you should find better friends."

He laughs and brushes his fingers over his hair. "He's not so bad normally. It's just jealousy taking hold of him."

"What does he have to be jealous of?" Why would he be jealous of me? He's the one who fits in here and knows his place. I would give anything to have that confidence. Maybe if he gave me a chance, then we could be friends, too.

"It doesn't matter." He shifts back and forth between his toes and heels like he's dancing on a secret. "How are you feeling after our lessons?"

"Stronger," I lie. My entire body aches from my calves to my shoulders. These workouts are taking a toll on me, making me so sore that it's difficult to move. His smile spreads even wider as if he suspects as much. "I'm not going to invite you inside my bedroom."

"For once, I didn't ask." He flashes a taunting smirk. "But I enjoy knowing that you associate the sight of me with bedroom activities."

"I'm too tired for this." If he stays, then I might say something that I regret. My mind is too weary to stay guarded. I start to shut the door on him, ready to resume my evening of peace and solitude, but he sticks out his foot to prevent it from closing.

"Fine, I did have a reason for coming here," he says through the slender crack.

"I'm listening."

"I spoke to Liliana." Why did he say that like a question? "Do you like her?"

His eyes become narrow slits like he's assessing me critically, and the shift in his demeanor throws me off guard. It's so serious, so dark. Something about his energy feels threatening.

I nod as a jolt of nerves works its way through my bones. Did she tell him about the market? Does he know about the prophecy? How would he react if he knew that I was actively seeking out answers? Would he tell his parents? Or, maybe he would help me…

"That's good. You can trust her. You know that, right?"

I nod again. I want to trust both of them… I do. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind says that this particular endeavor should remain a secret. If not for my sake, then for Gemma's. If he let slip her involvement, then she could end up like Paul or the woman from the market.

"She told me about your adventure." His words are slippery and frigid. That darkness continues to grow around him, encapsulating him in it like a fog. It makes me unsteady on my feet.

"Did she?" I try to still myself, to keep from betraying my nerves, as I ask, "Do you know what happened to the woman from the market?" It's a simple question, a fair one.

"She's back in that smelly old market selling her cheap jewelry," he says.

I take a couple of steps back, trying to add distance between myself and that wicked glare. Olly mistakes the action as an invitation and steps inside the bedroom, just far enough for the door to click shut behind us.

"I'm glad to hear that she's okay," I say.

He doesn't miss a beat. "What exactly did she say to you?"

The last thing I want is for this innocent woman to bear the same fate as Paul. So instead, I try to play it off as trivial nonsense, as if my thoughts haven't been filled with the memory of that interaction. "Just some nonsense."

"Humor me. What kind of nonsense?" Why is he pressing so hard on this? Maybe the king asked him to. If that's the case, then I just learned where Olly's allegiances lie.

Some small part of me – the same part that ignites like a flurry in my chest every time he smiles – wants to believe that isn't the case. If he could just drop it and let the whole thing blow over, then maybe we stand a chance.

"Who knows? The woman didn't appear to be of sound mind." The lie contains enough truth to make it believable, or so I hope.

Please, drop it.

"And you have no recollection of what that nonsense consisted of?"

"The sort of nonsense that doesn't need to be repeated." I turn back to the balcony, hoping that he will take the movement as a dismissal, but he follows me. Outside, with the golden hour highlighting the peaks of his caramel skin, I consider if I'm being overly cautious once again. Maybe I should believe the best in him. Has he given me any reason to believe that he's nothing more than an agent of his father's will?

No, no he hasn't.

He takes one step closer to me. And then another. Until the gap between us narrows to only a couple of inches. So close that I have to tilt to look up at him.

His gaze catches on the opened bottle of wine left on the balcony. He bends to pick it up and examines the label. "Do you prefer red or white wine?"

With his body so close to mine, his eyes burning into my soul, and his teeth gently biting his bottom lip, all coherent thoughts slip away into the ether. My focus is entirely dedicated to imagining his hands on my waist, in my hair, on my skin…

I grab the bottle from him and take a swig, hoping it washes through me like a cold bath. "Red, obviously."

"You know, that bottle is at least fifty years old. It came from my family's vineyard on the northern coast. I'll have to take you there one day." He takes the bottle back and sips from it. "Good, isn't it?"

"I've had better," I lie. It's better than anything I've ever tasted. Better than any wine in Carcera, better even than the wine from the banquet. It's lush with flavor, full and decadent.

He leans closer to me. The warmth of his breath heats my neck as he says, "Have you, now?"

"I…" can't seem to summon any words.

"Will you go to that vineyard with me?" He moves his fingers to lightly graze my arm, running them lazily up and down between my shoulders and elbows. The touch is torturously soft and sends tingles shooting up the back of my neck. That familiar need is back again, rearing its head in full force.

"Yes," I whisper, barely audible.

"What else can we do at that vineyard?" His sultry voice dances in the air as his fingers skim across my shoulder. Every second that they linger on my skin sends ripples through me.

"Stomp grapes, maybe?" I say, though the litany of activities running through my mind involves no grapes at all.

His hand runs up to the back of my neck, sending those tingles to my head, until he grips a fistful of my hair, and gently pulls until my face is angled to meet his. He lowers his head slowly, forbidding me from escaping by tightening his grip on my hair. The bottle digs into my chest as he presses his body closer. Flames erupt, bursting in sparks of lust and want inside of me. When his lips meet mine, they are light as air, teasing.

He is wrong for me in every way, but gods, I want more.

He pulls back to assess my reaction. We stand there with our eyes locked, and I consider shoving him against the wall and stealing the kiss that I deserve. But I remain still, waiting for him to move, to prove that he wants this, too.

My stomach flips in delight when his lips meet mine. His tongue tickles my lower lip, and it echoes through my blood. All reservations, all fears and doubts seem to vanish as I return his kiss, parting my lips to accept him. My body holds no bars against his until, without warning, he stops and whispers in my ear, "Drink with me."

I expel a deflating breath like a punch landed in my gut. This feels like the fiasco on the roof all over again. It's hot and cold, give and pull back. "Drink?"I spit the word back at him, astounded that he could even suggest it.

How could he be thinking about drinking while my blood is boiling?

"Wine." He wags the bottle at me and slumps down to the balcony floor.

Is this all a game to him? Test how far I'll allow him to go until he pulls away and drives me mad? "You're going to kiss me and then pull away again. Is that it?"

"Always so serious," he drawls. "Just yesterday you said that you wanted to get to know each other. As friends."

The heat flooding my face surely is marked in red. He may be right, but his words and his actions don't align. It makes me question everything that I know and feel all at once in the worst possible way, but I can't turn away. I am putty in his hands, and he knows it. "You're right," I try to say, but it comes out so quiet that I'm not sure he hears it over the sounds of the sea.

A moment goes by without either of us saying a word. Our yes lock in a silent plea until he breaks the silence. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to kiss you tonight, but I got caught up in the moment. Why don't we finish our conversation ?"

I slump down next to him and grab a swig from the bottle, all of the warmth fading from my body in an instant.

"What did the woman in the market say to you?" His question is so formal, so business-like. How can he shift from the moment that just passed between us back into this cold, distant person? It's like dealing with an angel and a demon all at once, never knowing which will emerge next.

"So, we're back to that? As I told you before, I don't remember. After all of the commotion, I fainted, making my memories from that day too hazy to recall." He eyes me with that same assessing look, like he doesn't see me, Radya, but instead sees a challenge. A code that he's eager to crack.

"Fascinating."

"Why are you so interested in the musings of a crazy woman?"

"I want to know everything about you." He pauses, transforming into something sinister, to which my body reacts with a cold shiver. "For instance, Viola told me about your nightmares. What do you dream about that causes so much distress?"

A tinge of betrayal rings in my ears at the mention of Viola's name. What did she tell him? I thought that I could trust her, but now I'm not so sure. Does Gemma also share the intimate details of my life with him?

I swallow that emotion and disguise it with sarcasm, anything to make all of this mind-rattling confusion come to an end. "I dream of a land where young kings know when to mind their own business."

"You dream of other kings, then?" His thick eyebrow quirks up, curving with intrigue.

"Did you not hear the second part of that sentence?" I scoff.

"I heard it. But, as I said, I want to know everything." His fingers cross into a folded steeple that presses to his lips.

"You really want to know everything?"

"Everything."

"Okay, for starters, I go to bed soon after the sun goes down every night without exception. And, as you can see, we're reaching that time. I wouldn't want you interrupting my dreams of handsome foreign kings." There's very little chance of my being able to sleep tonight, as I'll likely be dissecting every single word exchanged between us, but he doesn't need to know that.

He theatrically slams his hand into his chest in mock agony. "You're too cruel."

"And you're overstaying your welcome." I stand and twist my hair into a knot, but it seems to be willfully rejecting my attempts, coming undone and bouncing down my back in golden waves. Olly stands next to me and runs his fingers over the loosened mess, brushing closer to me. His gaze catches on something behind me. I turn to see what it is and notice a vase of black roses next to my bed.

His hand is still twirling a piece of my hair, even as his eyes darken in focus. "Where did you get those?"

"I didn't know they were there until now. Somebody must have left them." Gemma never mentioned them, and I surely didn't notice. I'm not sure who left them or when they would have had the chance to do so.

His face twists into a devilish grin. "Goodnight, Radya." Without another word, he swiftly turns on his heels and exits the room, leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened.