When first he heard the soft whisper of sound, he
thought perhaps it was Das again, come to check on him
once more. But when he turned his head, it wasn’t Das
that stood before him.
It was Nae.
Winds. She was lovely. Her hair, gilt-tipped and thick,
falling down her back, spilling over her shoulders. The
ends curled around her breasts and Tyan had a hard time
tearing his eyes from those sweet curves and making
himself look at her heart-shaped face.
“You should rest more, my lady,” he said, forcing the
words out in elvish as his mouth went dry.
“You grieve.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She
lifted a hand and covered her heart. Her lashes drooped
low over her eyes and then she looked at him once more.
“You grieve—I can feel it. It pulls at me.”
He frowned, studying her pale face, the odd strain in
her eyes. Something occurred to him—she’d said she knew
something of healing. “Are you a healer?”
Nae shook her head. “No, though I’ve a gift for guiding
the body to heal itself. I…” she licked her lips, her
gaze falling away from his, “…I see the soul, Ty. I see
within the heart and soul—yours is so heavy with grief.”
He looked away. “I am sorry that I woke you.”
She touched him. Tyan stiffened as that soft, cool hand
slid up and down his arm, stroking him. As though she
comforted a child. He slanted a look at her. “If my
presence makes it difficult for you to rest, I shall go.
But I’m no mood for stroking, soothing and clucking.”
“You need to grieve.” She shifted around, standing
before him when he tried to turn away.
She now stood between him and the roaring fire.
And blast it, the golden glow of the fire made the thin
nightgown she wore seem like little more than gossamer.
He could see the outline of her breasts, her torso, the
sweet curve of her hips, the long, lean lines of her
legs.
Something dark, desperate moved through him. Turning
aside, he focused on the stone wall across the room.
Yes…he needed to grieve. He needed to destroy something,
tear into something and let the rage and misery inside
him take control.
But not now. Not with her near. Not when the safety of
his people, his throne were at stake. What of her
safety… Yes. Her safety, too. The thought of letting
Guldric place his cruel hands on her was enough to have
his gut twist with fury.
She took another step closer and he sensed what she was
going to do before she even laid one of those lovely
hands on his arm.
“Grief shouldn’t be kept trapped inside,” she said
quietly.
“It can destroy you.”
“And if I give in to it now, it could do far worse.” He
slanted a look her way and made no attempt to hide the
bitter anger storming through him. “Return to your bed,
my lady. You don’t need to catch the foul edge of my
fury this night.”
She cocked a brow at him. “You wouldn’t battle this fury
if you hadn’t come for me. Your friend would live still.
Does some small part of you not blame me?”
“No.”
“I blame me,” she said, her voice low, throbbing with
intensity. “A man I know nothing about gave his life to
protect me. He was your friend. How can you not blame
me?”
“Perhaps because I’m too busy blaming myself for not
seeing this possibility. Perhaps because I’m too busy
blaming the greedy, cruel bastard who sired you and the
deviousness of the Oonkaen.”
“I blame them as well…save for you. You cannot plan for
everything. You cannot be responsible for all the ills
in the world.”
Can I not? What manner of king am I, that I did not see
this coming? What manner of ruler am I, if I cannot
protect my men better than this? But he said none of
that to her. “I am responsible for my men, Lady Corba.
They placed their safety, their lives in my hands.”
“To fetch me.”
She stood at his side now, staring into the fire.
Although he refused to look away from the stone to study
her, he knew she was there, could feel the warmth of her
body just a breath from his own. “Aye,” he murmured. “To
fetch you.”
“So I’m to be delivered to the goblin king.”
Ty inclined his head. Silently, he struggled with the
fear he heard in her voice. She feared him—this lovely,
winsome creature feared him. It didn’t sit well with
him.
He couldn’t say that he’d never lifted a hand against a
woman—he had. Many times, in battle. He’d fought too
many battles and women were as likely to go to war as
men. His own mother had been a warrior. He’d fought
women and men alike, had slain women and men alike.
In war, he’d had to do many a thing he hadn’t cared for.
But he wasn’t at war with this woman. Delicate thing,
she looked as though she’d never handled a weapon in her
life. Those soft hands had surely never hefted a blade
or bow. Outside of battle, he’d never harmed a
female. But she didn’t know that. He took a slow, deep
breath, scented the wild tang of fear she tried to
control.
Not here, he decided. He wouldn’t tell her who he was,
not here. Not yet. Once they were safe within the walls
of Provais, he would tell her there.
She shot him a look from under her lashes. “Will you not
answer me? Are you taking me to the goblin king? Into
the capitol city?”
“That is our destination, yes,” he said, edging around a
direct answer. He couldn’t lie—she was no warrior, but
she was still a Sidhe and Sidhe could taste a lie as
easily as a goblin. More, something about the way she
looked at him made him wonder just what her gifts
were—that penetrating stare saw far too deeply.
Her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “From one prison
into another.” Her voice was bitter.
Unable to stop himself, he reached out, slipping his
hand under her long, wildly curling hair. Cupping her
neck, he dared to take one step closer. Her eyes lifted
to his and he found himself gazing into that warm,
golden gaze and getting lost. Completely and utterly
lost.
“No harm will come to you, Lady Corba. I can promise you
that.”
“I know you believe that,” Nae said quietly, refusing to
look up at him.
The hand on her neck tightened, then eased. But he
didn’t let go. No, what Ty did was move closer, pressing
his warm, long body against hers. She looked up at him,
startled. So few had ever thought to offer her comfort.
And none had ever been anything like Ty. His wings
curled forward as he slid his arms around her. She
felt…safe. Sheltered. Protected—protected by this man
who’d risked his life, lost a friend, over her.
Protected by a man who was to deliver her unto his king.
From one prison to another…
Her mind spun in dizzying circles as she tried to
imagine whatever future awaited her at the hands of the
goblin king—would he lock her away as he had her
brother? Marry her off to one of his nobles to keep her
from Guldric? Or perhaps marry her himself?
It seemed the most likely. The daughter of a king,
wedded by force to the enemy king.
Just like she would have been forced into wedding
Guldric.
Force, all of it. None of it her choice.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. In the span of
heartbeats she went from thinking about her unappealing
future to the man in front of her. The strong man who
had stared death in the eye as he fought poisonous
wyvern. The man who had stared into the fires, his soul
so full of grief and anguish it had pulled her from her
sleep. And the man who even now held her and offered
comfort when his grief still threatened to tear him in
two.
She sighed, a shaky, uneven sound, and rested her brow
on his chest. Catching her lower lip between her teeth,
she tugged nervously and lifted her hands. She rested
them on his sides. Under her hands, she felt smooth,
warm skin, stretched over muscle.
From one prison to another.
Lifting her head, she stared up at Ty, studying his
face.
Altogether too lovely, that face—ethereal and perfect,
just like so many of the elvish men she knew. A warmth
radiated from him, something strong and true…noble.
He reached up with his free hand and smoothed her hair
back from her face. “Take your rest now, Lady Corba.
You’ve had a trying day…and it will not get any better
tomorrow.”
She caught his wrist and brought it back to her face.
Turning her lips into his palm, she murmured, “Nae. Call
me Nae.”
Did she imagine it or was his breathing just the
slightest bit ragged? “Nae, then. You had best take your
rest.”
“I’ve rested enough.” She closed the distance between
them and pressed her body to his.
His brows shot down over his eyes. The body pressed to
hers tensed as she slid her arms around his waist. “What
are you about, Lady Corba?”
“Nae,” she corrected. Then she leaned in and pressed a
kiss to his chest. “I could claim that I selflessly wish
to offer you comfort. Or that I seek it myself.”
Feathering her lips across his chest, she breathed in
his scent. Pine trees, cold air, and man…that was his
scent and it was one she could quickly get addicted to.
“And is that what you seek? To comfort and be
comforted?” he asked. The hand cupping her cheek slid
back to curl around the back of her neck. He did nothing
to stop her, nothing to encourage her. He just…waited.
“Perhaps,” she murmured. “You grieve…and it makes me
ache. I feel the echo of it within me. I’ve lived with
too much grief for too long, and would do much for
comfort.”
She slid her hands over the muscled wall of his chest,
dipping inside the leather vest that had been designed
to fit around his torso without interfering with his
wings.
Goosebumps broke out under her hands and she lifted her
head, studying him. Under her gaze, his flat nipples
drew tight and hard.
Her mouth started to water as she felt her own do the
same. Throbbed—they throbbed, she realized, ached.
Watching him from under her lashes, she dipped her head
and licked one flat nipple.
“This isn’t called comforting, Lady Corba, not in goblin
and not in elvish.”
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