Dark Prince Rising

Fourteen

Zael lay on his bedroll, gazing up at the stars. He had a tent, but he preferred to be outside.

The sky was beautiful. He hadn't been able to really see the stars in long time, due to the trees of the forest and the light pollution of the City. But now they had climbed halfway up the mountain, and the trees had gradually become more and more sparse on the rocky, infertile ground. The grass was tall, though, and they made sure to camp beneath an overhang of boulders to keep from being spotted.

He sighed heavily, watching as a comet shot across the sky. He missed the broad, open skies of his homeland. Lythores was mostly flat farmland, so the sky was visible from nearly everywhere. But the land on this side of the mountains was covered in dense forests and sharp cliffs and mountains until you went far to the south.

Samara, the kingdom furthest to the south, was all beaches and deserts and heat. Zael had only been there once, for a very short period. That's where Azra had come from. But he didn't like sand very much.

Suddenly, a soft cry sounded from the camp. Zael froze, straining his ears. Had his mind been playing tricks on him?

No. The sound came again, a small cry of fear from a tent near the cliff.

Zael got to his feet, stretching his arms over his head before starting towards the tent. Someone must be having a nightmare. He lifted up the tent flap, and his heart skipped a beat. It was Cira.

She was lying on her back, half-out of the bedroll. Her fingers were gripping the blankets so tightly that her knuckles were white, and her face was twisted into a grimace. "No," she said, still asleep. "No, no, no..."

Zael ducked into the tent, kneeling beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder, then hesitated. What should I do? Would she be upset if I wake her up?

He finally decided on waking her. He gently shook her shoulder and whispered, "Wake up, Cira. It's just a dream."

"I'm not a liar!" Her eyes flew open and she sat up straight, fist swinging. Zael recoiled as her fist connected with his face, pain blossoming across his cheekbone. That was going to be black in the morning.

"Oh gods," Cira gasped, her eyes widening as she realized what she'd done. "I'm so sorry, Zael. I didn't know it was you..."

I should be angry, he thought. Why am I not angry? Strangely, all he felt was mild amusement. She'd punched him in the face, but his chest was too airy and light to be angry at her. "It's fine," he said, smiling reassuringly. What the hell am I doing?

Cira bit her lower lip, placing her fingers on his face to examine the wound. Her touch awakened a familiar heat in Zael's core.

"It's going to bruise," she whispered, lightly running her fingers over his cheekbone. "I'm so sorry."

He reached up and grasped her fingers, drawing them away from his face. "I said it's fine," he said, looking into her eyes confidently. He still hadn't released her hand. "I'm a warrior. A bruise is nothing to me."

Cira froze, her eyes widening as she caught the smoky undertone in his voice. A blush slowly crept into her cheeks as she glanced at their hands, and Zael chuckled inwardly. He had her now.

He slowly lifted her hand again, this time placing a kiss softly onto the back of her hand. She gave a quiet little gasp, and Zael's pants grew a bit tighter. Gods, he had been waiting so long for an opportunity like this. She was so bloody beautiful. And she obviously thought the same of him.

He let his gaze fall to her lips. They were so perfectly shaped, like they had been sculpted by a gifted artist. He leaned in slowly, offhandedly wondering what she would taste like. Cinnamon, he decided. Like the cinnamon that Samaran vendors sell.