Cinda Chima - The Crimson Crown

Han leaned forward, reading upside down, his head nearly touching hers. When Raisa had finished, she slid it toward him. “Will this suffice?”

Han tapped his fingers on the page. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll let you know what happens.”

I hope I’m doing the right thing, Raisa thought. Please, please, please don’t let anything happen to him.

They sat in awkward silence. Finally, Han stood. “So. If there’s nothing else …”

Raisa stood also, suddenly desperate to make him stay a little longer.

“I hope you’ll be careful,” she said, her husky voice betraying her. “Because you’re really … very important to me and—”

And before she knew what she was doing, she’d slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him.

At first he stiffened, resisting, then surrendered, and his arms enfolded her, pulling her in. She tilted her head up, and his lips came down on hers. Her mouth opened against his, and she breathed him in, a complicated mixture of sweat, wood smoke, blue ruin, and fresh air. A thousand unspoken words flowed between them.

Complicated. Complicated. And yet—simple. They were like two pieces of a failed star, drawn together by a shared history and a memory of illicit kisses.

He slid his hands under her shirt, and his fingers hissed against her skin, tracing her backbone down, cupping her backside. She kissed the hollow in his throat where the pulse beat strongest, and then his collarbone, feeling his heart thrumming under the coarsely woven fabric.

He lifted her, hands supporting her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her hands explored, found openings in his clothing, caressed bare skin. He shivered, and she felt his body shaping itself to hers, as desire drove everything else from her mind.

Finally, with a shuddering sigh, he closed his hands around her waist and straightened his arms, breaking the embrace. They stood staring at each other, both of them breathing hard.

Raisa took Han’s hand, tugging him gently toward the bedchamber. For a moment, she thought he would come, but he set his heels, resisting, shaking his head no.

“Please,” she said, pulling with both hands now, beyond having any pride at all.

His expression was a mingle of frustration, desire, and that familiar obstinacy. “I told you before the coronation,” he said. “I won’t be your backdoor lover. I’m not a thief anymore. I’m not going to steal scraps from somebody else’s table.”

“I know you told me that,” Raisa said, wanting to add, But I didn’t think you really meant it. “But if this—if this is all we can have, and—and if you want it, and I want it, then—”

“You don’t get it,” Han said softly. “If I give in, then it’s too easy to settle for living on the down-low. I need this—” He extended his empty hands toward her, then closed them into fists. “I need this if I’m going to do the hard thing.”

“This is the hard thing!” Raisa shouted, then pressed her hands over her mouth.

Cradling her chin with his battered hands, he turned her face up and kissed her again, gently this time, and sweetly, as if storing up for later. Resting his forehead against hers, he breathed deep. Then took a step back, pulling free.

“Tell me what you want from me,” Raisa whispered.

“Good night, Your Majesty.” Han’s voice shook. Scooping up Raisa’s writ, he padded catlike to the connecting door, slipped through, and closed it behind him.

Averill and Raisa walked through the ground-level gardens inside the castle close—one of their rare opportunities to be together these days. Though she’d given him a suite of rooms in the palace, he was rarely there. But today he’d come down from Demonai Camp because he had trader business with the steward.

“I wonder if the day will ever come that I can walk around the castle close, at least, without an entourage,” Raisa grumbled, glancing over her shoulder at her guard. “Nobody told me that being queen would be so … crowded.” It was just one symptom of the troubles that beset her.

“I had hoped tensions would ease after the coronation,” Averill said. “But the threat of war with Arden and Tamron keeps the pot boiling. And these street murders of wizards don’t help. I can’t seem to convince Lord Bayar that the Demonai have nothing to do with it.”

“Are you sure that they don’t?” Raisa asked. “There are hotheads on both sides.”

Averill winced, as if taking a blow. “Do you really think Elena Cennestre and I would sanction something that puts you in danger, Briar Rose?”

Raisa slid her arm through his. “No. I don’t.”

“Could it be Hunts Alone?” Averill asked. “Have you thought of that?”

Raisa resisted the temptation to withdraw her arm. “He’s a wizard himself,” she pointed out. “Why would he go out killing wizards, apparently at random?”

“He may see it as a way to get back at the clans, knowing we’ll be blamed,” Averill said. “The killings have taken place in areas he has frequented in the past.”

“You’re being unfair,” Raisa said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “First you ask for his help against the Wizard Council. Then you accuse him of conspiring with wizards. Now you accuse him of murdering them.” She searched his eyes. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“This is hard for me.” Averill shifted his eyes away, his jaw tightening. “Wizards are not like us, Briar Rose. They prey on each other as well as their more traditional enemies. You cannot assume that because we would not do a thing, that—”

“He says it’s not him,” Raisa broke in. “And I believe him. Why is it that when anything bad happens, Han Alister gets the blame?” She struggled to hide the feelings that threatened to bubble to the surface.

“He’s a killer,” Averill said. “And a thief. And a wizard.” He ticked off each fault on his fingers.

“And yet you made a deal with him,” Raisa said.

“Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Why? What has he done?” Raisa’s face heated, and she turned away so her father wouldn’t see.

“That’s just it—we never know what he’ll do next,” Averill growled. “Somehow, he persuaded you to appoint him your bodyguard, then moved in next door to you. Now you’ve appointed him to the Wizard Council.” Averill paused for a heartbeat, then added, “He’s ambitious .” The word was loaded with meaning.

My father is no fool, Raisa thought. On some level, he knows there’s something between me and Han. That’s what’s driving this enmity. When he looks at Han, is he recalling Gavan Bayar’s seduction of Marianna? If so, I might as well paint a target on Han’s back.

“He’s a man,” Raisa said. “He’s not just a weapon you can aim and fire. You’ve given him a job to do; you should trust him to do it.”

Averill shook his head. “That’s just it—we don’t trust him. Temporarily, our interests coincide. But we’re not naive. We’ve made sure he won’t betray us.”

Raisa wheeled around to face her father. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What have you done? What are you planning to do?”

“It’s Demonai business, daughter,” Averill said.

“What. Have. You. Done?” Raisa glared up at her father, fists clenched, knowing she was giving too much away, but unable to help herself.

“Briar Rose,” Averill said, taking her hands, trying to soothe her. “Please. I’m just saying that we are keeping a close eye on him. As long as he does as he’s told, he has nothing to worry about.”