Thread of Frost

Ch. 32: Can't Escape It

"Stop it."

Ryne ran a calloused hand over his face. "What do you want from me, Cidarius? An apology?"

Anna looked away. Ryne's laugh was humourless.

"I'm sorry," Ryne said, his cheeks flushed, "that it's such a great inconvenience that I'm in love with you. I'm sorry you find it difficult. But it's even worse for me. So don't expect much sympathy."

He was breathing hard, his chest pumping up and down. Something sour curdled in her mouth. "You think it's worse for you?"

Ryne's eyes glittered. "I know it is."

Anna started forward. "Gods, you can be such a pain in the—"

Ryne kissed her.

Ryne's arm wrapped around her waist, long fingers threading in her hair. He tasted of honey tea and salt. She grabbed on to his shoulders; the muscles there felt stronger than she remembered. Both familiar and not.

"Tell me stop," Ryne murmured.

Anna shook her head.

She kissed him harder, enough to bruise his mouth. Ryne made a sound — a groan, or her name, or maybe both — and pulled at her hair. His hands roamed over her back, sliding over curves and hollows. Memorizing her. She felt like she was dissolving into his grip, like she was butter melting in a pan.

She didn't care. Didn't want to stop.

Anna stepped back, pulling her black jumper over her head. Ryne's eyes grew darker. His mouth was damp and swollen from kissing her.

"Cidarius."

The word was a plea. Anna stepped closer.

"I want you," she said.

It was true. The most truthful thing she was willing to admit to him, anyway. Ryne ran a hand over her pale shoulder.

"Turn around," he murmured.

Anna did.

Ryne pulled her on to his lap. She could feel the fluffy cotton of the towel pressing into her thighs, so much softness over hard muscle. His fingers traced her spine. She shivered as Ryne followed the words there: Vox es nuqum.

"I hate him." Ryne's warm breath tickled the shell of her ear. "Sometimes I think about punishing him. Exactly how I'd do it. And I..." She felt his throat bob. "I want to hurt him more than I've ever wanted to hurt someone before."

Anna closed her eyes. Blood thrummed in her ears. She felt like they were standing on the edge of a plank, one step from leaping into a black sea.

"Kiss me again," she whispered.

Ryne lowered his head.

His warm mouth brushed her back. Once. Twice. He kissed a path up her scars, his touch achingly gentle. Tears stung at her eyes, and Anna bit down on her tongue until they disappeared. She half-turned to face him.

"I want more," she said.

His mouth tightened. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Yes, I do."

Ryne blew out a breath. "Cidarius..."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Anna said.

She wondered if they were both thinking of the same thing: formalwear hitting the floor, the taste of burned sugar and wine, bare limbs sliding over each other in a frenzied rhythm. Ryne's breathing grew shallow.

"It would be the first time," Ryne said, his voice low and clear, "that I slept with you and it meant something. I'm not sure that I could go back."

Anna shifted on his lap. "Do you remember when I found out that you'd worked magic on me? That day that I tied you to a chair and threatened you with a knife?"

Ryne's mouth turned up. "Vividly."

"I thought I was going to kill you," Anna said. "But I couldn't do it. All those years of hating you, and I couldn't bring myself to do it." A pulse hammered at her throat. "There's already no going back, Delafort. I think we both know that."

Ryne leaned in.

His mouth was warm. She shifted closer, and his hands whispered over her hips, anchoring her in place. This kiss felt different, Anna thought; it was lazier, somehow. It reminded her of Sunday mornings at the bakery, of pistachio croissants in the sun.

She pushed aside his towel.

Ryne rose, half-carrying her to the bed. His hands worked at her trousers, and then Anna was sprawled naked on the sheets; the cool air prickled her skin. She could hear the evensong drifting through the window, a haunting melody of voices and silver chimes. Ryne stood at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes roaming over her body.

"Beautiful." His smile was warm. "But you know that already."

Anna seized his shoulder. "Come here."

They tangled in a blur of limbs, their breathing growing faster and faster. Anna dug her nails into his back. She felt like a tidal wave was building inside of her, like the water was swelling and surging; she cried out when it broke, raining down in shards of frozen glass. Ryne followed a moment later, his voice hoarse and strangled.

They lay in silence. Ryne's heart pounded against her chest. She could feel his warm breath on the sticky crook of her shoulder, the slick sensation of his skin. He rolled off, and Anna resisted the childish urge to cling to him. To keep him close.

Ryne exhaled. "That was..."

"I know." Anna closed her eyes. "I felt it, too."

The evensong had long since faded, dissolving into the crash of waves and the hum of midnight frogs. She rolled on to her side, pillowing her chin on her hand; her dark hair spilled around her like shadows. "Delafort?"

"Yeah?"

Anna plucked at a stray thread. "How would you have answered that question? The one in the Soul Pools?"

Anna didn't bother to specify which one; there was only one question that had gone unanswered. She pictured Kati's sharp grey eyes, the dirt caked under her nails. Who do you intend to sit on the throne in Stillwater Castle? Sheets rustled. When Ryne spoke, there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

"I think you know that already."

Anna slumped back on the pillow. She looked out at the stars, scattered like a fistful of gold coins tossed across the sky. This changes nothing, she thought.

But it changed everything.

Everything.