Conclusion: the decision to wed her is sound.

He recalled that Feveris comment she’d made earlier. Thronos had been startled by his reaction. He’d imagined them bespelled with lust, and he’d longed for it.

In Feveris, he would be incapable of denying her, unable to follow the Vrekener law of marriage before touching, kissing, or claiming. They’d have no urge to leave that place, content just to mate . . . and mate . . . and mate . . .

He barely stopped himself from stroking his aching member. He knew better than to entertain these imaginings—because Vrekener law left him no recourse for his condition.

Not yet allowed to touch her body, or ever to pleasure his own.

Despite this, he wondered what would happen if he woke her with another forbidden kiss.

At the thought of her opening up to him—her red lips and smooth thighs parting—his shaft began to throb for relief.

Though inexperienced, he believed he could move her past any hesitations—because so many males had done so before him. And more, she’d admitted to a year of celibacy. For the duration of her imprisonment, he doubted she’d enjoyed any release whatsoever, just as he hadn’t.

She’d likely melt for him.

Plus, if he wasn’t mistaken, his mate was in season. At his earlier mention of children, he thought her eyes had briefly softened. Might his mate truly yearn for her own brood?

And thus his seed?

The idea of planting himself deep inside her sheath and breaking his seal put him into a lather. Especially now when she was fertile and needing. He had to bite back a groan.

Must get her to a Bed of Troth.

He turned from her to ram his horns against the wall. He grunted in pain; when had they become so sensitive? His vision briefly blurred, and he could swear he’d read words among the incomprehensible glyphs:

SACRIFICE THE PURE, WORSHIP THE MIGHTY, BEHOLD A TEMPLE UNEQUALED.

He jerked back. No, that wasn’t possible. Though Thronos knew several languages, Demonish—especially primitive Demonish—was not among them.

There must be something in the air, making his vision play tricks on him. This place is getting to me. Even now the reasons he couldn’t touch his mate grew dimmer.

He shook his head hard, attention easily returning to her. Her eyes darted behind her lids, her shoulders twitching. Was she always this fitful a sleeper? His first impulse was to take her into his wings. His second impulse was to take her into his arms, into his hands.

But he wouldn’t. Though he now believed she was innocent of the worst of the crimes at Castle Tornin, she was still a liar and a thief who’d bedded scores of men. Already she had him doubting his own knights, who were epitomes of honor and forthrightness.

How could Thronos desire someone he’d long detested? He’d be damned if he valued her when she didn’t value herself. He knew one thing that would cool his need like an ice storm, a memory that made his hatred seethe.

He’d been eighteen, closer to finding her than he’d been since the fall. Accompanied by his brother, Aristo, the new king of the Territories, Thronos had followed her sorcery to a hamlet, one sitting low between mountains, nearly hidden from the skies.

Though that night was centuries distant, he remembered each detail as if they’d been branded into his mind.

FIFTEEN

Lanthe woke, going from deep sleep to instant awareness.

How long had she been out? She tested her tongue . . . almost healed.

Even as weary as she’d been, she was surprised she’d slept. The siren call of gold still plagued her. Not to mention that a Vrekener hovered nearby.

He was presently limping/pacing. Had he rested at all?

Feigning sleep, she cracked her lids like the sneaky sorceress that she was.

His gaze was distant, eyes flickering silver. What was he thinking about? Perhaps he had lowered some of his blocks, and she could probe his thoughts.

Delving, delving—

In. His blocks were down!

Thronos was recollecting some distant memory from when he was a teenager. He’d been walking with another Vrekener, one around the same age who resembled him somewhat.

Oh, yes, she’d seen that male before, had a long and storied history with him.

She swallowed, spying as Thronos’s memory played on. . . .

Anticipation burned inside him. After years of searching, he’d scented his mate the minute he and Aristo had arrived in this valley. Hastening down a winding lane, he glanced up at every window.

“I still don’t understand your eagerness to reunite with her,” Aristo said, following him. “Every limping step I took and every league flown in agony would fill me with rage. How can you forgive her?”

Because Thronos had put himself in her shoes to understand that night. “She was only a little girl. Her parents had just been decapitated, her beloved sister killed.”

“As they should have been. The parents threatened Lore secrecy with their palpable sorcery outlays, and the sister murdered our father the king!”

Aristo thinks exactly like him.

“Why do you believe your mate will forgive you?”

“If I tell her how Father truly found out about the abbey, she’ll know I was blameless.” When they passed a tavern with a large window, Thronos spied his reflection, scowling at the scars.

Aristo caught his reaction. “She’d promised to be a little beauty, hadn’t she?”

“Yes. So?” Thronos knew she would be the most comely female he’d ever seen. She had already been. He’d spent endless hours imagining what she would look like now.