Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 44: Comfort Scones

She rested her chin on the pillow. "Must have been a real letdown for you."

"No more pretending, Cidarius," Ryne said, his voice very clear. "I'm in love with you. I'm not ashamed to say it."

Anna stilled.

She was suddenly very aware of the pounding of her heart, of the soft pillow tickling her chin. A bird sung outside, and the fireplace spit and hissed, but it all felt very distant. Removed, somehow. Ryne's eyes were spring chlorophyll, framed by dark lashes. A long scratch split his upper lip.

He'd said it once before, Anna thought, her mouth dry. The night before the battle. But they'd been about to die then, and now...

Well.

They weren't about to die. Not imminently, at least.

"So," Ryne said. "This is the part where one typically says it back."

Anna shook her head. "This is so messed up."

His smile was wry. "Or not."

She hugged the pillow tighter. "There's only one throne."

Ryne raised an eyebrow. "I'm aware that maths isn't my strong point, Cidarius, but fortunately, I am able to count."

Anna stared down at her hands. Her fingernails were caked with dirt. "Are you telling me that you're willing to give up your claim to the throne? Because if not, there's no point in having this conversation. It changes nothing."

Ryne shook his head. "It changes everything."

"How?"

"Because it changes us," Ryne said. "Because it could change the world." He moved closer. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me, Cidarius."

Shock lanced through her. "What?"

"Say it to me," Ryne said. "If you don't feel the same, then I'll leave you alone. We can pretend this conversation never happened."

He drew closer. She could see the purple shadows under his eyes, the patch of stubble under his chin that he'd missed when shaving. He smelled of peppercorn and something musky. Something that reminded her of the woods after it rained.

"Say it, Cidarius," Ryne murmured. "Tell me you don't love me." He leaned forward, and her heart pounded wildly as his mouth brushed her ear. "I dare you."

A shiver went down her spine. Anna closed her eyes.

"Damn you," she whispered.

She felt Ryne's smug smile against her ear. "I thought so."

Anna grabbed the back of his neck, slanting his mouth to her own. They came together fiercely, just as they always did. It was a battle for control. A war of tongues and lips and hands. She sat on his lap, and Ryne gripped her hips, rocking her body against him. He tasted of tea and the sting of blood where his lip had split.

There were so many men, Anna thought, that had kissed her as if she were made of glass. As if she would break under the weight of them. But Ryne kissed her as if he knew the strength of her. Even now — her arm throbbing, riddled with cuts and bruises — he wasn't gentle. He knew how much she could take.

Minutes passed. Or maybe it was hours. She could never be sure, with Ryne. Anna could feel her body sagging, giving up the fight, and Ryne's hands turned gentle.

Ryne pulled back. "You must be exhausted. You should rest."

His green eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. Heat burned in his cheeks. His mouth was swollen with kissing, and it made her want to sink her teeth into it. To taste him again. "I'm not tired."