Page 69 of Burn Her They Said
My arms fly out as I pitch to the side, losing my balance from raising my boot over the first stair when we have many more than this to climb before we reach the catacombs.
Heat sluices up my skin, rolling up my legs to aid me in forging forward, doing my best to keep pace within the Emperor’s procession until it is safe for me to spare a glance at Varic.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know.” His small smile shows how he wants to do this for me.
Yet tears prick my eyes at the fact he needs to. That I have become so weak he must project his magic over my legs just to ensure I can walk back through the mountain.
His magic helps to stabilize me like it did when we were dancing, and yet I nearly slam into his side when I lose my balance taking the next step.
Additional warmth envelops my arm over Varic’s shield as he takes hold of me while carefully snaking its opposite behind my back until his fingertips press into my hip and I give in, aligning my body with his.
I turn back and ensure the Guards behind us aren’t looking at just how closely we walk up the stairwell. Because the way Varic stared at me all morning was torturous enough, but this—this is unbearable. And the last thing I need are more witnesses to report untoward contact between us.
I straighten my spine, trying to make any space possible between our bodies as we take the next step. Lars stares down at us with an amused expression—one that makes my palms tingle with the urge to smack it from his face.
“I’m fine.”
Varic scoffs, and I growl when his hand rises to fit within the dip of my waist, curving his fingers beneath my ribs where a tingling sensation spreads. He glances over and that smirk I know too well creases his cheek.
“What is it, Varic?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Simply amused with how you still flush in that pattern whenever I’m around you.”
The breath I release draws the attention of the rest of my Guards, who all seem to assess me with a lightness I am unused to detecting within them.
“What is it?” Varic teases, repeating my line of inquiry.
“Just your continued efforts in earning the title of ‘the great distractor’,” I say, then flush hotter at the admission while he simply grins wider.
Varic’s touch elicits an increasingly stronger response from me—one I cannot chance growing—as he is already quite adept at diverting me from my purpose, and His Majesty has already mentioned my failure to properly attend to my duties. While Varic’s presence has always conjured a different reaction in me than any other witch or sorcerer is capable of producing, it is as if years spent apart have only served to intensify this spark sizzling between us.
I could swear it wasn’t like this before?—
“Do you always do that?” Varic asks, sitting cross-legged opposite me on the bed, pointing in the center of my chest.
I make no move to look down while he stares back, content to wear nothing but his black underwear in this searing heat—to which I have also conceded, stripping down to my black silk slip hours earlier.
“Do what?” I ask, though I’m a terrible actor when it comes to interacting with him.
“Flush in that pattern,” he says, before popping a berry in his mouth, agitating me further with his ability to maintain his smirk while chewing.
“Oh,” I say, allowing my gaze to drop, though I know exactly what it looks like, having seen it dozens of times. “No. I don’t know what this is. I haven’t ever blushed like this before.”
I shouldn’t have said the last part. It will only encourage this affection he seems to be developing for me. Which is only natural, since I am providing him the type of support he needs. My affirmation of his suspicion only deepens his smirk until it crinkles the skin by his eyes while his brows rise above his twinkling irises, reflecting the flames dancing in the gas lamps on the bedside tables.
“So, I’m special then.”
“How so?”
“If you mean it, that you only experience this lacy red flush which starts there”—he points at the space between my breasts—“in the center of your chest”—he traces his finger up the side of my neck—“up your neck, then under your cheeks”—his hand resting for a brief moment before he drops it beside him to brace against the bed. “Burning rose red only when you’re near me—if all of that is true, then that means I am special.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, unwilling to acknowledge this. Not yet.
“You don’t think it’s special for me to be able to make your body react in this unique way?” he asks, popping another berry into his mouth, leaving me wondering how it’s possible for someone to become even more attractive while chewing? The way his jaw muscles flex and release with every depression of his teeth?—
I shake my head and readjust myself on the bed. Anything to break our eye contact.
