The Frozen Prince (The Beast Charmer #2) - Maxym M. Martineau Page 0,37

read like an open invitation? In the dim lighting of the library, surrounded by books and the low crackle and pop of a dying fire, he was picturesque. Soft brown hair curled at the ends, skating just above his shoulders. Thin lips pulled into a wry smile. He belonged in one of the oil paintings clinging to the walls. Not here before me, tangible, real, and very, very dangerous.

“Someone I don’t know, then,” Gaige said, voice low. Soft. He tilted his chin ever so slightly toward me. “I’m still curious. About you.”

Stock-still, I barely breathed. He was close enough that every inhale brought with it the scent of cedar and pears. He swallowed, and my attention dropped to the hollow of his throat.

For the first time in years, I failed to find words. Failed to think of an appropriate response. Why couldn’t I think? Or rather, why could I only think of him? All thoughts of Noc, of Jude, simply dispersed. There was only Gaige, waiting with a crooked grin. I forced myself to focus on that quirked lip. It was the perfect reminder of the threat he posed. Of the emotions he could stir up, the vulnerability. I had no use for those feelings. They would only result in pain, and I needed my mind clear in order to help Noc and my family as we dealt with Cruor’s Oath. I folded my arms, and my body practically screamed with indignation. He was so close. And yet I’d buried my hands and scooted away, putting distance between us without leaving my chair.

“We should get back to work.” Calm. Cool. Uninterested. The tone I set was far from the churning swell of emotions I refused to acknowledge within me. His lure was too strong. Too much. It was the only acceptable explanation.

Gaige’s smile faltered. Slowly, he pulled back. “Of course.”

There was no mistaking the disappointment in his slackened frame, but I resisted the urge to engage him further. It would’ve been cruel to make him think that there was a chance, that there was something here. There wasn’t. There couldn’t be. Sinking into his chair, Gaige once again reached for Zane and the Fallen Leaders.

“If you change your mind and want to chat, you know where to find me.”

Despite how tired I was—both physically and mentally—I returned to the pile of tomes before me without giving him a response. It was easier—safer—to get lost in a world of words than in a conversation with Gaige. Especially when there was no telling what kind of story he’d attempt to dredge up.

Eight

Noc

When Leena and I returned to the library the next morning, we were shocked to find Kost and Gaige still manning one of the tables. Cheek pressed to a book and glasses askew, Kost slumbered with his arms folded beneath him. An unfamiliar double-breasted, wine-colored coat was tossed over his shoulders like a makeshift blanket. Gaige was passed out beside him, face planted directly into an open book, as if he’d fallen asleep while reading. A stack of parchment paper towered near his hand, cramped handwriting filling the pages from top to bottom.

The only other person in the room was Quintus. He was peering over Gaige’s shoulder with a perplexed expression that immediately cleared to one of indifference when he locked eyes with me. After a curt nod, he slipped out of the library without a word.

“Who was that?” Leena asked.

“Quintus.” My eyes narrowed. All assassins were permitted to use the library, but why was he here reading over their shoulders? He’d done little but complain since being raised, according to Ozias. Nothing overtly out of line, but he didn’t exactly inspire trust, either. “He’s new.”

My voice startled Gaige, who bolted upright from his chair. His brown locks stood on end, as if he’d dug his fingers into his scalp too many times before falling asleep. Blinking, he took in the room and paused when he saw us.

“Morning.” Leena rolled her lips together, fighting a smile. “How did you sleep?”

“What?” He looked down at himself and rubbed his bare arms, his gaze momentarily flickering to Kost. “Oh. I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off.”

Hope sparked in me, and I asked, “Did you find something?” The call of the oath was getting worse by the minute. Not to mention my physical inability to truly explain what was happening to me. My throat still felt scorched raw from the night before when I’d tried to tell Leena of my visions. But an invisible hand