Page 69 of Ruin of Revenants

A drop of golden liquid shivered on Archer’s bottom lip. “He’s alive, in the dungeons, as I requested.” His tongue darted out, licking the drop of wine, his eyes tracking my gaze all the while. “I ensured it was done myself and used my power when I ordered the guards to keep him alive.”

A twinge of remorse struck me. He’d done all that, without me compelling him?

But I needed so much more from the prince, things this potion would secure without a doubt. I couldn’t trust Archer and whatever benevolence had entered his heart for some strange reason tonight.

The moment he’d brushed away my tear flashed through my mind. I shoved it away.

I wanted to press him for how far his plans went, but I didn’t want to rouse his suspicion. The potion’s instructions had made it clear that Archer needed to consume every drop willingly. They’d said they’d be more effective if the consumer was full of pleasant feelings and trust when they did so. Vague enough instructions to make me uncertain if he had to drink the entire potion and for the conditions to be just right for it to work.

Tonight, I needed to act like I was charmed, absolutely smitten after our kiss.

Anything to make Archer feel like he’d won our strange tug-of-war battle earlier and let down his guard enough to trust I wasn’t here to harm or use him.

I scooted closer to him until I could feel the heat of his body. My breath sounded strangled in my own ears, my nerves tangling like snakes in my belly.

Resuming his falsely carefree attitude from before, Archer propped his arms behind his head, and with a jolt, I realized he was shirtless.

It wasn’t as if I couldn’t handle seeing Archer shirtless. But I didn’t like the way my eyes roved over the planes of Archer’s chest before I’d had a second to process and tell myself it was for the sake of my act. Traitors.

Archer took another gulp of his wine. Over halfway gone. “Like what you see? Ready to admit those kisses did something to you?” The victory rolling off him was helping counteract his despair.

My hands shook. “You’re right,” I whispered. “But you feel miserable. I could heal you? Clearly the drink isn’t enough.”

The prince ducked his head, like he could scarcely believe he was making himself vulnerable as he murmured, “Another kiss would help more.”

My nails bit into my palm, and I stared down at my glass, swirling the golden liquid inside. I took another sip to buy myself time. If I kissed Archer, would I ingest some of the potion too? “Not sure I’ve drunk enough yet,” I jested, tipping back my wine and taking a long gulp, hoping Archer would follow suit.

He stared at me, his eyes consuming the column of my throat and then my lips as I licked the wine away. Please take another drink.

“Am I really that disgusting to you?” His hurt shredded the hope I’d sensed earlier.

Solea’s flames. I needed him to be hopeful and happy, not sinking into misery. I leaned forward, heart pounding in my throat, and, ever so lightly, brushed my lips against Archer’s. They were warm, soft, and pliable.

This wasn’t the same as an angry kiss or one for show. This felt deliberate and dangerous.

Still shaking, I pulled back, but the prince’s arms snaked around my waist. Dimly, I thought I heard the dull thud of my wine glass dropping from my hand.

The heat of him was everywhere—deliciously comforting and secure. It was terrifying how safe and right his embrace felt. How, in the moment, the emotions swirling through me, through our bond, didn’t feel like disgust or mere desire, but something much stronger. My chest ached with it as he trailed featherlight kisses along my jaw and down my neck. He tangled his fingers in my hair and breathed me in like he couldn’t get enough, kissed me with such reverence it felt real. He cradled my face in his hands and kissed my mouth again, slowly and carefully, like he was memorizing me.

My stomach twisted. No. This accursed bond was confusing me, making me mistake the way we experienced one another’s emotions for a true connection. Archer didn’t care for me. He never would. Attraction was one thing, and it was not surprising he was willing to kiss me to distract himself from the pain of the despair and sorrow he was often consumed by.

But he would never love me. That was madness.

I pulled away, breathless and frustrated, a bitter taste coating the back of my throat and tears burning my eyes. That, more than anything, made me feel defeated and embarrassed. When had I started to want him to care? Why did this hurt?

Archer’s eyes were dark, his golden hair tousled from where my fingers had brushed through it. His own breathing was ragged. Confusion pinched his brow, and then a flash of what looked like hurt.

My stomach dropped when my gaze landed on the wine glasses we’d both dropped, their contents splashed across his coverlet, staining the red material gold. Had he consumed enough of the potion? What if it didn’t work?

Desperation clawing up my throat, I turned back to Archer, determined to try. The instructions had offered no way of knowing if the potion worked or not—one was simply supposed to command, and if the potion worked, Archer would obey.

I spoke the words with all the confidence and authority I could muster. “You will free Brenton and bring him safely back home with me. Swear it on Solea’s flames.”

The prince studied me in a daze, blinking slowly. “I swear on Solea’s flames to free Brenton and take him safely back home with you.” His tone sounded mechanical.

A moment later, Archer’s eyes sharpened, widening in shock. He shook his head like he was shaking off a spell or haze. “H-how did you do that?”

I pulled back, victory simmering through me so hot it reminded me of my own sparks when preparing to ignite.