The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,52

under his eye as he extended one hand in a silent command. Take it or else.

I was tired, hungry, and sore. Why fight him on this? And okay, yes. Maybe part of me wanted to hold his hand. I could pretend he was seeing me home after a long day of metal work.

I linked my hand with his. He peered at our tangled fingers for a long while, silent, before tugging me close. I gasped, my chest now pressed against his, softness to hardness, clean gown to bloody skin. Every point of contact tingled.

He wasn’t emotionless anymore. With a voice as hard as iron, he commanded, “Wrap your arms around me.”

I obeyed without hesitation, and maybe, just maybe, a little eagerness, cupping his nape. I didn’t have to like him to enjoy the feel of his incredible body. All those muscles, all that unbridled strength... Wait. Was that...?

I patted the cold, hard band anchored around his neck. Metal? He wore one of my pieces?

“Ophelia made it with magic,” he grumbled, winding one arm across my back and the other under my knees to sweep me up. Then he jumped, spread and flapped his wings, and took us into the air.

I squealed with delight, even as concern for his injuries rose. “You’re hurt. You should put me down.”

“I’ll heal.”

Well. If he wasn’t worried, I wouldn’t worry. “Still. We can consider this flight payment for my design.”

“My design, you mean.” He flew me up the mountain, whisking us over treetops. Wind danced with my hair, several strands whipping across my cheek. “I hadn’t planned to fly you anywhere ever again,” he admitted with his lips just over my ear.

Shivers rushed down my spine at the first breathy caress. “Why? Because I like it?”

“Exactly.” Another unabashed admission.

“So, why are you flying me?” I asked, exasperated.

A pause. Tone gruff, he said, “You outwitted me and deserve a reward.”

“You mean the dress?” I asked, and he nodded. I almost preened. “I don’t want to tell you how to deal with your enemies or anything, but shouldn’t you discourage my victories?”

His husky chuckle drifted between us, sending a cascade of heat through me, as slow as a drop of molasses. “If I were wiser, yes, but we both know you make me foolish.” Just like that, his good humor fled. “Are you disappointed that I survived the battle, Princess?”

“I should be.”

“Hmm.” He said no more.

We reached camp, but he didn’t descend. Instead, he flew smooth circles above his tent, opening and closing his mouth.

Nerves got the better of me. “Just say whatever you have to say, Saxon. As much as I’m enjoying the ride, the company is lacking.”

“Eve told me about the spat between you and Adriel.” He’d modulated his tone, giving me no clues about his thoughts on the matter.

Ohhh. Was that why he and Eve had fought? “I didn’t touch your precious soldier, I swear!”

Saxon sighed, baffling me. “I wasn’t blaming you, Asha. I just wanted you to know that he’ll be punished for his actions. All of my people were warned. They were not to harm you in any way, for any reason.”

Saxon had taken measures to protect me? “Why would you do such a thing?” It was so anti-Craven, and now I caught myself softening against him, hoping against hope that a good man was buried underneath all his rage and hatred.

The muscle started pulsing beneath his eye again. “Because,” he grated.

“Because why?” I insisted.

“Because...the honor is mine.”

Well. No more needed to be said on the subject. My hope burned to ash. “Is Asha a shortened version of my name or does it mean something like ‘evil slag’? Just curious.”

He tensed and cursed, as if I’d just admitted to drowning his best friend, and I didn’t have to wonder why. Having studied people from the sidelines for most of my life, I had a pretty good understanding of how they operated. I suspected he’d just directed his fury at himself. Because Asha was indeed a shortening of my name. A means of showing affection. Because, for a moment, he had felt something kind toward me.

Withering roses! Weeds! Dandelions! This made his disdain so much harder to bear. “Saxon,” I said.

“Not another word,” he answered, pushing the words through clenched teeth. He rolled around a cloud.

I refused to stay silent. “How am I to be punished for my crime this time?” Better to know, so that I could prepare.

A moment passed. In lieu of an answer, he said, “Enough chatter. Later tonight, there’s