The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,54
role of her mate.
But that wasn’t the thought that filled Lyana’s mind as she nodded and slipped free of the hummingbird’s grasp, opting to stare into a mask of deep obsidian feathers rather than pearlescent indigo.
There wasn’t anything in her mind at all. Because as soon as the raven gripped her around the waist, her thoughts fled. His fingers brushed the exposed skin on her back, then moved away as though they had been scorched. He gently skimmed her flesh once more, tenderly enough to seem as if he were asking permission. Lyana placed one hand on his shoulder, using the other to take the arm still hanging by his side. As she moved, his grip tightened, boldly digging into her as he began to lead.
They didn’t speak, not at first.
Lyana studied the buttons on his jacket, the gold band and black stone hanging from his chest, the leather panels beneath her fingers, smooth to the touch.
He studied her.
She could feel his gaze skim her bare throat, then dip along the edge of her dress, over to the slits in her sleeves where every so often her skin would show. And then his eyes lifted to her face, burning and brazen as they roved over her lips and the feathered edge of her mask, then settled on her eyes, staying there, not looking away.
She swallowed.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Her throat grew tight.
Beneath the layers of her gown, her temperature rose, bringing a flash of heat to her cheeks and a light sweat to her palms. The longer she avoided his gaze, the more demanding it became, until she was sure the whole room could see the steam that must have been rising from her skin.
I have to say something.
Anything.
But what?
She didn’t want to apologize for surprising him because, well, she wasn’t sorry. And in a place this crowded, with so many eyes focused on her, any mention of what had transpired between them would be dangerous. Even if she wanted to have a serious conversation, she shouldn’t. And it wasn’t really her style, anyway.
In the end, she settled on a provocation.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to ask me to dance,” she prodded, her tone airy. Yet her eyes remained on his chest, still too afraid to look up.
Lysander didn’t answer.
“I was feeling rather rejected, to tell you the truth,” she continued, noticing his jaw clench as her own lips twitched into a smile. She seemed to have a certain effect on him. “All the other princes came over as soon as supper was done, but not the grumpy raven prince, determined not to even glance in my direction. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I’d hurt your feelings somehow, though for the life of me, I can’t imagine what I could have possibly done to earn your ire. Gratitude, maybe, but not anger.”
His throat bobbed, and before she could continue, he released his hold on her waist, spinning her in a wide circle, putting some much-needed breathing room between them for a few moments before returning her to his arms.
Lyana didn’t pause. As soon as his fingers settled on her back once more, she continued, unconcerned by his obvious desire to remain silent, “I’m starting to think you didn’t even mean to give me that diamond, though it will make a beautiful necklace, and an even finer story, you know, to tell the children.”
He groaned audibly. “Please stop talking.”
“Now, why would I do that when you’ve finally responded?” Lyana grinned and looked up, meeting his penetrating eyes at long last, no longer frightened by the depth of the emotion churning in them. Had he been unaffected—now that would have been cause for concern. But furious? Annoyed? Stubborn? Those were all one little shove away from elated, and Lyana was determined to give her prince a push in the right direction. “I really thought you’d be happy to see me, you know. Excited, even. Or dare I say, thrilled.”
He stumbled as she muttered those words, off balance enough to step on her toe. Lyana jumped back with a grimace, wings fluttering to lift the weight from her foot, drawing even more attention toward their spot in the center of the dance floor.
“You’re not a very good dancer, are you?” she teased lightly, retreating from any real conversation. They could have one of those later…in the privacy of their own castle…after they were mated.
He refused to apologize, instead offering a shrug. “I’m perfectly adequate.”