Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The trip back to the keep was quiet and long. The wind had picked up, battering both of us. I’d begun to wonder if the gods had awakened, and this was their punishment. After all, if everything Casteel and the others had claimed was true, wasn’t I as counterfeit as the Queen and King of Solis? I’d done everything possible to handle how much the cold had begun to affect me, but it seemed impossible to hide anything from Casteel. Halfway through our journey, he ended up wrapping his arm around my shoulders, tucking me close to him as we forged forward, his body absorbing the brunt of the wind.

Gods help me, but I didn’t resist. I chalked it up to being far too tired and cold. It had nothing to do with his lush scent masking the stench of the Craven. It didn’t have anything to do with how…good it felt to lean on someone, for them to take the worst of the wind, to carry their weight and mine. Nor did it have anything to do with the simple luxury of being allowed this close to someone without fear of reprimand or being found unworthy.

Casteel was just…warm.

When we finally made it back to the keep, there was no telling what time it was. But despite my failure, I welcomed the warmth of the room. I was a walking ice cube, unable to feel my nose, and unsure if it was even still attached.

What I did not welcome was finding Kieran waiting inside the room, sitting in the corner chair by the fire.

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What took you two so long? I was actually beginning to wonder if she beat you.”

“You seem real concerned sitting there,” Casteel replied, ushering me toward the fireplace. I allowed it, as I was shivering so badly, I swore my bones were trembling.

Kieran grinned. “I was beside myself with worry.”

Casteel snorted. “We worked things out.”

“No, we didn’t,” I gritted out between chattering teeth.

Ignoring that, Casteel pried my clenched hands apart. “We ran into some Craven,” he told Kieran, tugging my damp gloves off. He dropped them onto the hearth. “A little over a dozen.”

Kieran tilted his head at me as Casteel moved to the side, slipping off my satchel. “Wonder how that would’ve worked out for you with your meat knife.”

“S-shut up,” I stammered, holding my fingers as close to the fire as I could without shoving them into the flames.

“She knows it wouldn’t have worked out all that well for her.” Casteel shoved a hand through his snow-kissed hair, dragging the thick strands back. “That’s why she’s cranky.”

“I doubt that’s the only reason,” Kieran remarked.

I shot him a look that would’ve withered him on the spot if he cared.

Apparently, he didn’t care, at least based on how his grin kicked up a notch. “I had a bath drawn. The water would be warmer if you had simply come back without too much trouble.”

I almost raced straight to the bathing chamber, but the way he said, “too much trouble” dripped with amusement. “Do you expect a thank you?”

“It would be nice,” he replied. “Doubt I will get one, though.”

Warmth crept back into my fingers in a prickly rush as I spared a quick, longing look toward the bathing chamber. “Your expectations would be correct, then.”

“They usually are.” He studied me for a moment and then rose from the chair. “I’ll wrangle up some men and go out and take care of the Craven.”

“I’ll come with you,” Casteel said, and I glanced over at him in surprise. He caught my stare before I could look away. “We don’t let them lay out there and rot. They were once mortal,” he explained. “We burn them.”

The same was done in Masadonia whenever the Craven reached the Rise, but it was the fact that he was volunteering to go back out there that shocked me. I would’ve expected that from Hawke, but this was the Prince. And it was freezing out. Then again, he didn’t appear even remotely fazed by the cold.

I bit down on my lip to stop myself from asking, but that didn’t work. Curiosity always got the best of me. “Does the cold not affect you?”

“I have thick skin,” he answered, and I frowned, not sure if that was true. “To go along with my thick skull.”

Now that was something I was sure of.

“I would ask that you hold off on any more attempts at escape tonight. Make use of the bath and rest,” Casteel said, and I gritted my teeth. “But in case you feel like testing out how much cold your body can withstand, just know that Delano will be standing guard outside this room.”

Poor Delano, I thought. The last time he played guard, things hadn’t exactly been easy for him—or me.

Casteel joined Kieran at the door. He was halfway out when I heard him say, “Behave, Princess.”

A thousand retorts rose to the tip of my tongue as my head whipped toward him, but he was already closing the door. I let out a rather filthy curse, and as the lock clicked into place, I heard him laugh.

Instead of running and kicking the door like I wanted to, which would serve no purpose but to bruise my frozen toes, I tore myself away from the fire. Unhooking the thigh sheath, I placed it near the flames so it would dry. I left the knife on the small wooden table by the bed and then quickly stripped out my nearly frozen clothing. Leaving them in a pile by the fire, I hurried to the bathing chamber. Several oil lamps had been lit, casting a soft glow over the tub and several pitchers still full of fresh water. Dipping my fingers into the water, I was relieved to find that it was still warm.

I probably should’ve thanked Kieran since it had been a considerate thing to do.

But he was also party to my captivity, so I shouldn’t be too grateful. I wouldn’t.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I stepped into the tub. As I sank into the warm water, wincing as it met my chilled skin and scraped knees, the reality of tonight set in like lead balls in my stomach. Neither Casteel nor Kieran had been anywhere near the room when I made my escape, and yet they’d still discovered my absence. Maybe I’d waited too long to leave, and one of them had already been on their way to my room.

I draped my braid over my shoulder as I grabbed the bar of lilac-scented soap and started scrubbing vigorously at my skin. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had left sooner. They still would’ve found me, either alive or…torn to pieces by the Craven.

My escape had been foolish and ill-planned, borne of my need to find my brother and…yes, panic. Not because of what Casteel had done in the banquet hall, but because of the soul-crushing sense of helplessness and…

Letting the soap slip through my fingers, I lifted my hand to the bite on my neck. An achy pulse coiled low in my stomach. That. That had a lot to do with why I ran.

I opened my eyes, fishing the bar of soap from the water. In the quiet stillness of the room, I recognized the truth of my situation. Escape would be nearly impossible, even with longer lead time, supplies including bloodstone, and more amicable weather.

Kieran would track me.

Casteel would come for me.

Sighing, I leaned back against the tub and stayed in the water until I almost forgot how cold I’d been. Finally, I climbed out. After drying off, I pulled the nightgown from my bag, relieved to find that it was dry. I slipped it on and then climbed into bed, slowly undoing my braid. The ends of my hair were wet, but they’d dry. I curled up on my side, facing the door.

The warmth of the blankets lulled me to sleep, despite my racing thoughts. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before a deep laugh from outside jolted me from my slumber.

Casteel.

He was here, outside the bedchamber. Why? My mind immediately went in several directions. One of those flashed images of him and I all twisted together—

I jumped from the bed as if the mattress had caught fire, grabbing the knife.

He couldn’t be here to make sure I was still inside, not with Delano standing guard outside. Why was he here instead of his quarters when he had to be exhausted from the night’s events?

My heart stammered.

He must have his own bedchamber…right? I looked around, my heart thumping. This was his bedchamber.

At the sound of the grinding of the lock, I turned.

The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold, damp air that ruffled the flames of the fireplace. And he…

Casteel prowled in as if he had every right to do so. He halted the moment he saw me and what I held, sighing heavily. Closing the door behind him, he was wise enough to not take his gaze off me.

“Poppy,” he started. “As you know, it’s been a long day and night. And while I’m relieved to see that you didn’t manage to evade Delano, and despite that I think you look rather adorable in that gown, holding that tiny, little knife—”

I threw the blade, aiming for his head just like he’d told me to do.

Stepping aside, Casteel snatched the weapon out of the air. I knew how fast he was, but it was still shocking to see how quick he could be. It stole my breath even as an infuriating voice whispered in the back of my mind that I had known he’d easily avoid the knife.

A curse hissed through his teeth as his fingers closed around the blade. Blood trickled between his fingers, and I didn’t feel even a kernel of guilt as he stared at his hand. Well, perhaps there was a tiny bit of remorse—no larger than the size of a gnat, though. He hadn’t done anything at the exact moment in time to truly earn a knife being thrown at his face, but I was sure he would be more than deserving in a few minutes.

Slowly, he opened his fingers, dropping the knife to the floor. The blood-soaked blade clanged off the wood. “That is the second time you’ve drawn blood tonight.” He looked over at me. A tense moment passed, and he then raised one dark brow. “You’re so incredibly violent.”

“Only around you,” I shot back.

His lips curled into a half-grin, revealing the dimple in his right cheek. “Now, you know that’s not true at all.” Walking toward the basin just inside the bathing chamber, he washed his hand. “But you know what is true?”

My jaw ached from how tightly I was clenching it as I told myself not to ask. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away. Highly unlikely, but one could always hope.

Casteel looked over his shoulder at me, waiting.

Frustration burned through me. “What?” I demanded. “What’s true?”

He smiled then, a real one. Both dimples were on full display, and they weren’t the only thing. No longer needing to hide what he was behind a tight-lipped smile, there was a hint of fangs. My breath hitched in my throat. I didn’t know if it was the fangs or the dimples. Or the genuine warmth in his smile—and I’d seen all his smiles to know which ones were real: The half-curl of his lips that said he was amused. The predatory one that reminded me of a large cat whose prey had made a foolish mistake. The cold curve to his mouth that never reached his eyes. The twist of a grin full of barely banked violence that was a promise of bloodshed. Those smiles may not have been directed at me, not even tonight when we squared off in the woods. But I’d seen them all.

But this was the kind of expression that softened the striking lines of his face and turned his eyes from cool amber to warm honey. And to me, it was the most dangerous of all his smiles. He wasn’t mad I’d thrown a knife at him and made him bleed, but warning bells went off nonetheless. These kinds of smiles begged for me to forget reality and all the lies and blood that had been shed.

They made me think of him as Hawke.

Instinct triggered self-preservation even as his smile tugged at my foolish heart, and the sensation slid lower, spiraling tight.

Casteel turned to me, his hand open. There was no blood. No wound except for a faint pink line across the center of his palm. “It still turns me on, Princess.”

I exhaled a shrill breath. “I feel like I’ve said this a hundred times, but it needs to be said again. There’s something wrong with you.”

He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Some believe there’s something wrong with all of us, and I tend to believe that.”

“I didn’t realize you were so philosophical.” I glanced at the knife on the floor while he emptied the basin into a bucket. There was no way he’d forgotten that I had it, or that it lay there now. Was he waiting to see what I would do?

“There’s a lot you don’t realize about me,” he replied, returning to the bedchamber to retrieve the pitcher of water warmed by the fireplace. “I cannot wait to return home, to the land where all you need to do for hot water is turn a faucet handle.”

“I—what?” I turned to him. “What do you mean?”

The half-grin was back. “In Atlantia, all homes have running hot water that goes straight to their tubs and sinks.”

“You lie.”

He sent me a look as he placed the pitcher on the stand beside the basin. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

“Because you’re a liar?” I reasoned.

Loosening the collar of his tunic, he tsked softly. “Poppy, you wound me. In my heart,” he said, placing his hand over his chest. “Again.”

“Don’t whine. You’ll heal. Again,” I snapped. “Unfortunately.”

He chuckled. “I’m not the only one who is a liar, it appears.” Reaching down, he gripped the hem of his tunic. “You’d be very sad if I didn’t heal.”

“I wouldn’t care—” My eyes widened as he pulled the tunic over his head. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He gestured at the tub. “I just had my hands all over what are basically rotten corpses. I’m washing up.”

For a moment, I couldn’t find any words as he turned, pouring the warm water into the tub. Partly due to disbelief, though also because he was…damn, his body was a work of art, even with numerous nicks and thin slices I could barely see in the soft lamplight. “Why are you doing that in here?”

“Because this was my room. And for what is left of tonight, which isn’t very much, it’s our room.” He bent over the tub, picking up the pitchers of water I hadn’t used. The muscles along his shoulders and back moved under the taut skin in interesting ways.

My heart clamored. “I used the water in the tub—”

“The water is clean enough,” he interrupted. “And I’ve shared far dirtier water with far less intriguing people.”

“Couldn’t you go to another room and have a bath all to yourself? With fresh water?” I suggested. “I’m sure many here would be eager to serve their Prince.”

“There are many here who would be glad to serve me.” He looked at me, brows raised. “But leave you alone? When you could take all kinds of reckless, albeit exciting action? I don’t think so. I can’t have someone standing outside your room all night. They need their rest. I need to rest.”

“Why? Because we’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Not with the storm blowing in. It will make travel far too difficult,” he told me. “You know, the same storm you would’ve gotten caught in if you did manage to escape.” His hands lowered to the flap of buttons on his breeches—

I quickly looked away. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Casteel chuckled. “Not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

“That doesn’t mean I need to see it all again,” I shot back as I heard the soft rustle of fabric hitting the stone floor.

“Interesting word choices.”

Telling myself I shouldn’t and somehow being unable to resist, I peeked at the bathing chamber—

I caught sight of bronzed skin dusted with dark hair, strong thighs, and the sleek, muscled curve of his backside. His body truly was a work of art, all the nicks oddly adding to the perfection.

“You could’ve said you didn’t want to see everything,” Casteel continued, startling me enough that I looked away, cheeks flaming. Water sloshed against the sides of the tub as he climbed in. “You can look now. I’m…somewhat proper.”

I folded my arms across my chest.

“Although, not nearly proper enough for your barely ex-Maiden eyes,” he continued. This time I spun toward the bathing chamber. All I could see was the back of his head and the breadth of his shoulders, which was more than enough. “But I imagine your issue has nothing to do with what is proper or expected of you, is it? You’ve never been one to follow the rules.”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see as he reached for the soap, lathering the bar between his hands. He was right. I didn’t care about what was proper or expected, and that was long before he swept into my life like a fierce storm. But there was no way he was staying in this room with me. Tearing my gaze from him, I turned—

“Go for the knife.” Casteel’s voice stopped me.

My head snapped back in his direction as water splashed. How had he known?

“That’s what you want, right? If it makes you feel safer, I don’t have a problem with it.” He splashed his face. Water ran down his neck and over the delineated lines of his shoulders. “Take it, Poppy.”

My mouth dried. “You’re not afraid I’ll use it against you while you take your time bathing?”

“I’m counting on you to use it again. If you didn’t, I’d be shocked. That’s why I didn’t bring my swords into the room. Figured you’d probably grab one of them.”

I would if they were near. My hands opened and closed at my sides. He was offering me some level of protection, a sense of safety, and to some, that would be seen as a positive. Not to me. It was kind of offensive and pointless. He and I both knew the knife would only make him bleed temporarily.

I still hurried over to where the knife lay and picked it up, my rising irritation halting when I saw the blood on the blade. His blood. My stomach twisted as I rose.

“Do you want to know about the land of hot water that awaits with just the turn of a knob?” he asked amidst the trickling of water.

Yes, I did, even though I wasn’t sure I believed that such a thing existed. Yet I said nothing as I picked up the towel I’d used earlier. I wiped the knife clean.

“It’s broilers and pipes,” he went ahead and explained. “The piping runs from the broilers that are usually in a room off the kitchen. From there, they carry the hot water to wherever it’s needed.”

Reluctantly, my interest had been piqued and was now stroked. “What do you mean by broilers?”

“They’re like…large ovens where combustible material heats a storage tank of water.” He rose without warning, and all that water sluicing down the gleaming skin of his back, between—

Heart pounding, I whirled away from the bathing chamber. A handful of seconds passed, and I looked over my shoulder just as he walked out of the smaller room, a towel tucked around his waist. He was… I had no words to describe his level of indecency. Or maybe I had too many words in my head—

Casteel smiled at me as he strode across the room, opening a narrow cabinet in the wall that I hadn’t investigated. He pulled out what appeared to be black pants. “Electricity aids the broilers, and yes, in Atlantia, all homes and businesses, no matter who resides inside them, have power.”

Fixing my gaze on the fire, I thought about what he’d said. If only what he claimed was true. That would probably be the first of many things that set the kingdom apart from the one I’d grown up in. Only the extremely wealthy or the well-connected had access to electricity in Solis. “How is that possible?”

“It may be a finite source here, but it doesn’t need to be that way. The Ascended make it that way,” he said, and a quick glance told me that he’d ditched the towel in favor of the pants he’d retrieved. They were looser than breeches, hanging indecently low on his hips, held up by some sort of drawstring that seemed to defy gravity. He gathered up our clothing, placing it all in a laundry hamper that he then placed outside the door. Closing the door, he said, “A crucial part of their all-encompassing control is creating a rift between mortals who have and mortals who have not.”

He sat in the chair in the corner and leaned back, propping one ankle on top of his knee. In just those strange, loose pants, I’d never seen a more arrogantly at-ease male. His fingers slowly tapped the arm of the chair. “So, those who barely have enough to survive, turn their anger towards those who have more than they could ever need. And never towards the Ascended.”

I couldn’t exactly argue that point. The rift in Masadonia was clear and as wide as it was in the capital. While Radiant Row, where some Ascended and the wealthy lived, was only a few blocks long, it was an entire city within Carsodonia. And everything else was like the homes near the Rise in Masadonia, squat and stacked upon one another.

“But Atlantia is ruled differently?” I challenged, holding the knife against my chest.

“It is.”

I thought of what Landell had said. “Sounded to me like there are problems in Atlantia.”

His fingers stilled. “There are problems everywhere, Poppy.”

“And what kind of problems is Atlantia having with limited space and useless land?”

His head tilted to the side. “Atlantia was once this entire landmass from the Stroud Sea to far beyond the Skotos Mountains. My people built cities and cultivated the lands that the Ascended now rule over. When my people retreated at the end of the War of Two Kings, they lost all of that land. We are simply running out of space now.”

“And what happens if you run out of space?”

“I won’t allow that to happen,” he replied, straightening his head. “I thought you’d be asleep when I came back. You’ve probably had a far more tiring day than most of us.”

“I was sleeping, but…” My gaze dropped to his chest, to the tightly coiled muscles of his stomach. The glow from the fireplace left very little to the imagination.

“I woke you? I’m sorry about that,” he said, and the apology sounded genuine enough. “There’s a lot we need to talk about, Poppy.”

“There is.” Namely, the whole marriage nonsense. “But talking doesn’t require you to be shirtless.”

“Talking doesn’t require any clothes at all.” That smoky grin of his returned. “I can promise you that some of the most interesting conversations take place with no clothes to speak of.”

Heat blasted my cheeks. “I’m sure you’ve had a ton of experience with those types of conversations.”

“Jealous?” Propping his elbow on the arm of the chair, he rested his chin in his palm.

“Hardly.”

The grin increased, and even though I couldn’t see the dimple beyond the fingers splayed across his jaw and cheek, I knew it had to be there. “Then…distracted?”

“No,” I lied, and then lied some more. “Not even remotely.”

“Ah, I understand. You’re dazzled.”

“Dazzled?” A surprised laugh almost broke free. And there it was again, the slight widening of his eyes, the parting of his lips, and the absence of arrogance. It was like watching him slip off a mask, but I had no idea if what was revealed was just another mask, especially when the look disappeared as his features became unreadable again.

I exhaled slowly. “We don’t need to talk about your over-inflated ego. That has been long since established. We need to talk about this whole marriage stuff. There is no way I’m—”

“We do need to talk about that, about our future. But not right now. It’s late. I’m tired. And if I’m tired, you have to be exhausted,” he said, and my eyes narrowed. “That’s the kind of conversation we both need to be fully energized for.”

“That conversation will take just enough time for me to say I’m not marrying you. Therefore, there is no future to speak of. Now the conversation is over and done with. See how simple that was?”

“But it’s not that simple,” he replied softly. “Why did you run tonight?”

Frustration began to burn a hole through me. “Could it possibly be because you’re trying to force me to marry you? Did that never cross your mind?”

“Possibly.” There was a stretch of silence as he stared at me. “Do you know why I chose the name Hawke?”

My heart kicked at my chest at the unexpected change of subject. “I figured it was a name that belonged to whatever poor soul you most likely killed.”

He laughed, but there was no humor. Suddenly, I realized that his laughs, like his expressions and even his smiles, were also like masks—each representing a different Casteel, a different truth or falsehood. “There was no poor soul who owned that name. Or at least not that I’m aware of. If there is or was, that would be a pure coincidence. But I chose Hawke for a reason.”

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t care, but I did. Oh gods, I wanted to know.

He lowered his hand. “In Atlantia, it is tradition to be given a second name, a middle one, so to speak. It's given in honor of a cherished family member or friend, usually picked by the mother, and it is a well-guarded secret only shared outside of the family with the closest of friends and with those who hold a special place in one’s life. My mother chose my middle name in honor of her brother. His name was Hawkethrone. My full name is Casteel Hawkethrone Da’Neer. When I was a small child, my mother took to calling me an abbreviated form of that name. And so did my brother. They, and only they had ever known me as Hawke,” he said. “Until you.”

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