Page 24 of The Withering Wood

She’d seen those fingers work in deliberate, delicate, and deadly ways. She could almost feel their strong warmth pressing into her tender, aching body already, soothing the deepest pains and relieving long-forgotten wants.

A terrible, hot yearning spread through veins. And in that rising tide, the burn of anger. No one ever flirted with her so boldly. She was not a great beauty, nor a kind spirit. The prince was lying to her. But why he’d do that, except to have another sexual encounter to add to his list, she didn’t know.

“Do these desperate attempts at seduction truly work on all your ladies in Tyrnoraen?”

The prince winced, brow pinching. “All ‘my’ ladies?”

“Yes, prince. Your reputation precedes you. The handsome younger brother to King Ulrich who never found purpose outside of chasing skirts, though none of the ladies loved him enough to stay. Or perhaps he didn’t love himself enough to convince anyone else he was worthy of their affection.”

“I didn’t realize I was such a cad,” he said, shoulders stiffening.

“Yes. Well.” The deepening, pained knot between his brows carved a nauseating, bitter guilt in Cerise’s stomach. “I refuse to be another one of your conquests. So get that out of your head right now.”

“I doubt anyone could diminish you to something as simple as a conquest.” The prince thought for a moment, then added in a whisper, “If anything, you’d be my conqueror.”

She scoffed and pushed herself to her feet with Beloved and let her hair curtain half her face. “It’s getting dark. I’m going to bed.”

“I suppose that means I am as well. I’m certainly not staying out here by myself.”

Cerise ignored him, letting him douse the flames, pack the site, and clean the bones. She strode to the tent, letting the brisk night air extinguish the fire that sparked within her.

She paused at the tent flaps. The bastard even created a ramp of compacted snow leading down to the entrance, making it easier for her to climb down.

Thanks to the absorber, the tent was warm. Cerise laid Beloved down in the center, marking their sides. She lay on her back, listening to the prince work and walk outside, the aches from the day still throbbing in her leg. Without Eirwen to pull out the cold, it remained stiff and sore.

The prince entered the tent, and his eyebrows arched briefly at the weapon in the center.

“Is there a problem, prince?”

He shrugged off his outermost layer, once again revealing the broadness of his body. He placed the pelt on the ground and laid on top of it, shifting until he was comfortable, with one muscular leg raised and a thick arm under his head.

He closed his eyes and said, “Not at all.”

Chapter Nine

Cerise’s eyes flew open, a heavy leg pressed against her own. In the dark moment before her vision adjusted, she felt the weight of undead bodies pinning her to the ground. She kicked the leg away, a surprised grunt coming from the body. In another blink, her mind caught up with her reflexes, remembering she was no longer trapped beneath the exploded corpses but hiding from the perpetual cold in a tent with an unfortunately handsome and charming prince.

Whose leg had crept against her own while she was asleep, taking advantage of her unconsciousness to touch her, despite Cerise telling him to never, ever do so.

The second before he could launch upward, could dare to encroach upon her space again or slither away and use his royal tongue to persuade her he hadn’t meant to touch her, Cerise snatched Beloved and pressed the axe blade to his throat. She leaned over him, forcing him to stay on his back.

“What are you playing at?” she growled, ignoring the aching bend in her stiff knee as she crouched over the prince, his face a mask of surprise. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she made out the sweep of his hair on the ground, the hazy tiredness in his light eyes.

“What?” he replied, voice husky with sleep.

“You were touching me.”

The prince blinked several times. “Not on purpose. I must’ve shifted in my sleep, trying to get closer to more warmth. I promise, I’d never purposefully touch you without permission.”

Their breaths mingled while they stared at one another, Cerise searching his face for a lie. Her hair draped down, brushing against his cheeks. Heat radiated from every part of him, relaxing the nighttime chill in her skin and bones, enticing her to remain near. Her pained leg wobbled, and a low grumble escaped the prince as Beloved nicked his flesh.

He raised a hand to his face, laying fingers over his nose and mouth in his bear’s promise that he meant no harm.

Cerise kept his gaze for several moments, waiting for him to break. To laugh. Tease. Fight. But he remained in that submissive position, staring right back at her, unflinching. With a sigh, she rolled back onto her bottom, stretching out her leg. She pushed the shaft of Beloved through the tent flaps, a light purple dawn breaking.

“We better get moving,” she said, using Beloved to push to her feet, knee crackling and popping.

“That sounded painful.”