Dearest Reader,
By the seventh dawn, every forge, every hearth, every breath within the city burned with devotion. And yet, our northern guest, the Emperor of Nevareth, burned most curiously of all... not with flame, but with something perilously close to longing.
---
After that night, Soren had not seen the Queen of Solmire for two days.
Two long, punishingly bright days.
He had pretended otherwise, of course. The Emperor of Ice could not very well be caught mooning after a woman who was believed to be destruction herself. Not when Caelen's warning still stayed like poison.
Perhaps she would devour him. Ruin him. Perhaps that was precisely why he could not stop thinking of her, the way the torchlight had reflected in her eyes, the weight of her quiet near the observatory dome, the sadness in her eyes as she answered honestly about Caelen and that single, devastating thought he'd barely swallowed: how badly he had wanted to taste her lips.
