Page 129 of Spar of Hearts

“It’s him,” she whispered, digging her claws into his shoulder.

“Who?”

“The Winter Prince.”

Roderick peered over his shoulder, keeping his arms tightly wound around his mate.

The statue in Traansa was hardly an exaggeration of the Prince’s form. Admittedly, he was a handsome Were. He wore a midnight tunic with silver embroidery around the hem, with a matching cape clasped at his collarbone. A mane of golden-brown hair fell loosely around his square jaw, framed by a clean-cut beard. A gold-feathered eagle perched on the rear of the horse atop a thick wooden roost. Its harrowing eyes locked on Anya.

The market crowds evaporated like dew. There was little reverence or excitement for the Prince’s presence. Only fear.

With a harsh kick to the flank, the Prince goaded his white steed forward. He trotted the square, surveying the crowds with his head on a slow swivel. The knights followed, silent and obedient.

“I know you’re watching…Princess Anya of Valeria,” the Prince said, his voice hauntingly calm. Roderick averted his gaze. His hold on Anya tightened. She’d insisted on signing the letter in earnest, that any kind of deception would only turn the Winter Prince against them. Hopefully the Prince was simply being cautious now.

The steady clop of hooves grew louder as he drew closer and closer. “I admire your candor. I simply wish to meet face to face.”

Panic surged in Roderick’s chest. Anya’s heart raced against his, matching his own.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“No,” he protested. But when he looked into her eyes, gold and glinting with determination and love for her people, he knew it was inevitable. And so did she.

He adored her for it.

And he despised the world for it.

He kissed her, indulging his delusion in the soft caress of her lips and the rise and fall of her breath for just a moment longer.

Then duty called.

The Prince rounded the flower cart, towering over them. The knights drew their swords in tandem as Roderick and Anya rose to their feet and lowered their hoods. Anya’s fingers twined with his. He gave them a reassuring squeeze, praying it wouldn’t be the last one.

“I am Princess Anya of Valeria.” There wasn’t any waver to her tone. She was every bit the diplomat she was raised to be. Raised. Not born to be. She was born to chart the stars, to spar until her lungs gave out, to dance and sing in the moonlight. Not this.

Anything but this.

Anya Delemond

After nearly a decade of navigating politically-charged social situations, Anya liked to think she could tell between faux friendliness and a genuine gem from a mile away. But the cryptic way the Winter Prince appraised her as he approached made her stomach twist. The quirk of his lips, the knowing rise to his brows…it was like he’d been presented with a most pleasing gift.

Once the Prince was upon her, he bowed, kissing the back of her free hand with practiced gentility. She was used to the gesture in high society, but not from anyone of a higher status than her. Still, she played the part of the perfect Princess, responding with a polite smile and tip of the head. Roderick, on the other hand, stayed rigid as a board beside her.

“I never knew the glacial wall hid such beauty,” the Prince said, releasing her fingers with a lingering touch.

A smart remark about who exactly put that wall there fizzled on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. Better to get off on the right foot.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, gritting her teeth.

The Prince’s cape dragged along the polished floor as he turned to Roderick. His eyes trailed from Roderick’s mouth to Anya’s neck. An oddly satisfying blush rose to her cheeks when his eyes landed on Roderick’s fang marks. She wanted the Prince to see them. She wanted the whole world to see the bite that freed her heart from its chains.

Without a word to Roderick, the Prince mounted his horse and extended a hand to Anya. “Come. We can discuss trade over dinner like civilized folk.”

The steed huffed, scraping a hoof against the cobblestone. She could already tell this horse was nowhere as gentle as Cyan had been. And if there was anyone she dared to ride with, it was Roderick.

“I would prefer to walk, Your Highness.”

That surprised the Prince. He blinked pointedly, then retreated his hand. “If you insist.” Instructing four knights to escort them, the Prince rode ahead.