Page 15 of Fate's Wicked Oath

My previous run-ins with him were no better. His eagerness to prove his worth to his worthless Order usually resulted in him acting impulsively. Not to mention that every time he opened his mouth, it was to spout the convictions of our corrupt Lord. I had no interest in listening to what a hard-on Faren had for the sniveling, vile excuse for a man he served—nor did I wish to look after him as he bumbled through a monster-infested wood.

Best to set expectations early.

The cloudy sky was just beginning to pale in the east when I strode through the barbican gate at Castle Might. My Oath tattoo granted me access into most parts of the castle—but not the Mighty barracks. Thankfully, they were easy to infiltrate. The guards hadn’t changed the pattern of their rounds foryears, and the locks were simple enough to pick. It took me barely fifteen minutes to locate and jimmy my way into Faren’s quarters; he was, apparently, valued enough in his Order to earn some privacy.

The space was small, but neat. Two beds, one empty. He was asleep on his back, breathing softly through parted lips. A thin quilt was draped over him, his bare, tan shoulders exposed to the night air, arms resting at his sides. As I crept closer, I took in his features: the boyish flush of his cheeks, the lock of light brown hair across his forehead, his noble bone structure andthe masculine width of his jaw. The sum of these qualities was pleasant—attractive, even.

Too bad about his personality.

Swiftly, I swung my leg over him, sitting astride his chest with my thighs pinning his arms at his sides. By the time his eyelashes fluttered, the tip of my dagger was already wedged beneath his pretty chin.

A smile came to my lips as his eyes widened with recognition. “Rise and shine, Buttercup.”

7

Hungry

Faren

In his sleep-addled mind, the first thing Faren noticed was the deliciousness of her weight: the pressure on his chest, the firmness of her strong thighs around his torso, the heat of her body through the thin blanket. The scent of rosemary and the compelling musk of her skin filled his nose. It’d been a long time since a woman sat astride him, and the sensation stirred up a craving he hadn’t felt in months, a hunger he’d been ignoring. Even when he opened his eyes, there was a split second—before the recognition—where he saw the wild dark tangle of her hair and the guarded cunning in her expression, and he felt momentarily…ravenous.

Then she opened her mouth.

“Buttercup?” he asked.

She sat forward slightly, putting firmer pressure on his sternum. Her shins dug into his forearms, and though he was strong enough to throw her off him, the blade she had against his neck didn’t bode well for sudden movements.

“Golden and fragile, like all Mighty Knights,” she clarified sweetly.

“And here I thought you were calling me a pretty flower.”

Her smile was wicked. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I know I’m pretty,” Faren said. “But I think it’s best to get this rejection out of the way now: when you inevitably fall in love with me on the road, don’t bother mentioning it out loud.”

Mariana shifted, her knees digging harder into his arms; his fingers were beginning to tingle from a lack of circulation. “You seem to think highly of yourself,”

“You seem to enjoy sitting on me.”

Her blade skimmed his jugular. “Threateningyou,” she corrected tightly.

He let out a quick, silent laugh, his breath gusting over her wrist. Goosebumps prickled along her skin, unmistakable, even in the dim morning light. Was she a touch magician like him? This wasn’t the time to wonder.

“Consider me threatened,” he drawled.

The faintest headache was prodding his temples, and it reminded him of the night before. His opinion of Mariana had once been drawn in charcoal, but Shae’s warning had added new shading and color, like one of his sister Kate’s watercolor paintings. The picture he saw now…it was not frightening, exactly. Just morecomplicated. The new details didn’t clarify his opinion of her—they muddled it.

And—fine—maybe she was a bit frightening, considering that she had a dagger against his neck. Forfun, it seemed. His throat worked, causing the sharp edge to scrape against the stubble under his chin. One false move on either of their parts, and it would cut.

He felt as if a wildcat were sitting on his chest. She was feral, unpredictable, and it occurred to him that she might not be kidding. How many monsters had she killed? How many men?He couldn’t imagine her ending him in cold blood—as Oderin had pointed out, her Oath would at least discourage it—but that was the thing about Mariana. He didn’t know what she valued. Faren was secure in the way he saw the world, but Mariana was a blind spot. Her power was her volatility.

His heart rate kicked up, thudding in his jugular. His calming inhale wavered a little, and he hoped she didn’t notice. In service of his Order and his pride, Faren was determined not to let her get under his skin.

Besides, he reminded himself, her tactics weren’t novel. His sisters had wielded chaos against him for the entirety of his upbringing. He knew how to end this standoff—and it wasn’t with the bridge-and-roll wrestling maneuver he practiced every week in training. It was with a move he’d learned much earlier, from being a brother.

Faren licked the inside of Mariana’s wrist, right along the edge of her vambrace. She let out a surprised, rather girlish squeal, and shoved off from him.

Faren sat up. Without her weight on his chest, his laugh was hearty and full.