From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash Series Book 1)
From Blood and Ash: Chapter 2

Caught off guard, I looked up. A mistake that Vikter had taught me never to make. I should’ve gone for my dagger, but instead, I stood there as the arm around my waist tightened, and his hand settled at my hip.

“But it’s a welcome surprise,” he continued, sliding his arm away.

Snapping out of my stupor, I whirled to face him, the hood of the cloak remaining in place as my hand went for the dagger. I looked up…and then up some more.

Oh, my gods.

I froze, utter shock rippling through me, shorting out all common sense when I saw his face in the soft glow of the candlelight.

I knew who he was, even though I’d never spoken with him.

Hawke Flynn.

Everyone in Castle Teerman knew when the Rise Guard arrived from Carsodonia, the capital, a few months ago. I’d been no different.

 I wanted to lie to myself and say that it was due to his striking height, placing him nearly a foot taller than me. Or it was because he moved with the same inherent, predatory grace and fluidity that belonged to the large, gray cave cats that normally roamed the Wastelands but that I had seen once in the Queen’s palace as a child. The fearsome, wild animal had been caged, and the way it continuously prowled back and forth in the too-small enclosure had equally fascinated and horrified me. I’d seen Hawke pacing in the same manner on more than one occasion, as if he too were caged. It could’ve been the sense of authority that seemed to bleed from his pores even though he couldn’t be much older than I was—maybe the same age as my brother or a year or two older. Or perhaps it was his skill with the sword. One morning while I stood beside the Duchess on one of the many balconies at Castle Teerman, overlooking the training yard below, she’d told me Hawke had come from the capital with glowing recommendations and was well on his way to becoming one of the youngest Royal Guards. Her gaze had been fixed on Hawke’s sweat-slick arms.

So had mine.

Since his arrival, I’d found myself hidden in the shadowy alcoves more than a few times, watching him train with the other guards. Other than the weekly City Council sessions held in the Great Hall, it was the only time I saw him.

My interest could simply be because Hawke was…well, he was beautiful.

It wasn’t often that could be said about a male, but I could think of no better word to describe him. He had dark, thick hair that curled at the nape of his neck and often fell forward, brushing equally dark brows. The planes and angles of his face made me yearn for some talent with a brush or a pen. His cheekbones were high and wide, nose surprisingly straight for a guard. Many of them had suffered at least one broken nose. His square jaw was firm, and his mouth well formed. The few times I’d seen him smile, the right side of his lip curved up, and a deep dimple appeared. If he had a matching one in his left cheek, I didn’t know. But his eyes were by far his most captivating feature.

They reminded me of cool honey, a striking color I’d never seen before, and he had this way of looking at you that left you feeling stripped bare. I knew this because I felt his stare during the Councils held in the Great Hall, even though he’d never seen my face or even my eyes before. I was sure his regard was due to the fact that I was the first Maiden in centuries. People always stared when I was in public, whether they were guards, Lords and Ladies in Wait, or commoners.

His stare could also just be a product of my imagination, driven by my small, hidden desire that he was as curious about me as I was of him.

Perhaps it was all those reasons why he caught my interest, but there was another one that I was a little embarrassed to even acknowledge.

I’d purposely reached out with my senses when I saw him. I knew it was wrong to do when there was no good reason. Nothing to justify the invasion. And I had no excuse other than wondering what often made him pace like a caged cave cat.

Hawke was always in pain.

Not the physical kind. It was deeper than that, feeling like chips of sharp ice against my skin. It was raw and it felt never-ending. But the anguish that seemed to follow him like a shadow never overwhelmed him. If I hadn’t prodded, I never would have felt it. Somehow, he kept that kind of agony in check, and I knew of no one else who could do that.

Not even the Ascended.

Only because I never felt anything from them, although I knew they felt physical pain. The fact that I never had to worry about picking up residual pain from them should make me seek out their presence, but instead, it gave me the creeps.

“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” Hawke spoke. He was giving me that half-smile of his now, the one that showed no teeth, made the dimple in his right cheek appear, but never quite reached his eyes. “It’s only been a few days, sweetling.”

Sweetling?

I opened my mouth and then clamped it shut as realization rose. I blinked. He thought I was someone else! Someone he’d obviously met here before. I glanced down at my cloak—the borrowed garment. It was rather distinctive, a pale blue with an edging of white fur.

Britta.

Did he think I was Britta?

She and I were about the same height, a little under average, and the cloak hid the shape of my body, which was not nearly as thin as hers. No matter how active I was, I could not achieve the willowy frame of Duchess Teerman or some of the other Ladies.

Inexplicably, there was a little part of me, the same bit that was hidden, that was…disappointed, and maybe even a little envious of the pretty maid.

My gaze swept over Hawke. He wore the black tunic and breeches that all guards wore under their armor. Had he come straight here after his shift? I gave the room a quick once-over. There was a small table beside the settee, where two glasses sat. Hawke hadn’t been alone in here before I arrived. Could he have been with another? Behind Hawke, the bed was made and didn’t appear as if anyone had…slept in it.

What should I do? Turn and run? That would be odd. He’d be sure to ask Britta about it, but as long as I returned the cloak and mask without her knowing, I would be in the clear.

Except Vikter was most likely still downstairs, and the woman was, too—

My gods, she had to be a Seer. Instinct told me she had known this room was occupied. She’d sent me here on purpose. Had she known that Hawke was here and likely to mistake me for Britta?

It seemed too unreal to believe.

“Did Pence tell you I was here?” he asked.

My breath caught as my heart started pounding like a hammer against my ribs. I thought Pence was a guard on the Rise, one around Hawke’s age. A blond, if I remembered correctly, but I hadn’t seen him downstairs. I shook my head.

“Have you been watching for me, then? Following me?” he asked, tsking softly under his breath. “We’ll have to talk about that, won’t we?”

There was an odd threat to his voice, one that gave me the impression that he was not all that pleased by the idea of Britta following him.

“But not tonight, it seems. You’re strangely quiet,” he observed. From what I knew of Britta, she was rarely ever demure.

But the moment I spoke, he’d know I wasn’t the maid, and I…I wasn’t ready for him to discover that. I wasn’t sure what I was ready for. My hand was no longer on the dagger, and I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew was that my heart was still racing.

“We don’t have to talk.” He reached for the hem of his tunic, and before I could take another breath, he pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.

My lips parted and my eyes widened. I’d seen a man’s chest before, but I’d never seen his. The muscles that flexed and bunched under the thinner shirts the guards trained in were now on display. He was broad of shoulder and chest, all lean muscles defined by years of intense training. There was a fine dusting of hair under his navel that disappeared behind his breeches. My gaze dipped even lower, and heat returned, a different kind that didn’t just flush my skin but also invaded my blood.

Even in the candlelight, I could see how tight his breeches were, how they gloved his body, leaving very little to the imagination.

And I had a vast imagination thanks to the Ladies’ frequent tendency to overshare, and my frequent tendency to listen in on conversations.

A strange curling sensation hit my lower stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all. It was warm and tingling, reminding me of my first sip of bubbly champagne.

Hawke stepped toward me, and my muscles tensed to run, but I held myself still by sheer will. I knew I should’ve stepped away. I should’ve spoken and revealed that I wasn’t Britta. I should’ve left immediately. The way he prowled toward me, his long legs eating up the distance between us, told me his intent, even if he hadn’t removed his tunic. And while I had little—all right, absolutely no experience—I inherently knew that if he reached me, he would touch me. He may do even more. He might kiss me.

And that was forbidden.

I was the Maiden, the Chosen. Not to mention, he thought I was another woman, and he’d obviously been in this room with someone else before I got here. That didn’t mean he’d been with someone, but he could’ve.

I still didn’t move or speak.

I waited, my heart beating so fast I felt faint. Tiny tremors racked my hands and legs.

And I never trembled.

What are you doing? whispered the reasonable, sane voice in my head.

Living, I whispered back.

And being incredibly stupid, the voice countered.

I was, but again, I stood there.

Senses hyperaware, I watched as Hawke stopped in front of me and lifted his hands, gripping the back of the hood with one. For a moment, I thought he might pull it back, and the charade would be over, but that wasn’t what he did. The hood only slipped back a couple of inches.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re about tonight.” His deep voice was husky. “But I’m willing to find out.”

His other arm came around my waist. A gasp left me as he hauled me to his chest. This was nothing like the brief embraces I’d received from Vikter. I’d never been held by a man like this. There wasn’t an inch between his chest and mine. The contact was a jolt to my senses.

He lifted me up onto the tips of my toes, then clear off my feet. His strength was staggering since I wasn’t exactly light. Stunned, my hands landed on his shoulders. The heat of his hard skin seemed to burn through my gloves and the cloak and thin white gown I usually slept in.

His head slanted, and I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips. A tight tremor of anticipation coiled its way down my spine at the same moment my stomach dipped with uncertainty. There was no time for the two warring emotions to battle. He pivoted and strode forward with the same kind of feline grace I’d seen from him before. In a matter of a few stuttering heartbeats, he was guiding us down, his grip strong but careful, as if he were aware of his strength. He came down over me, his hand still behind my head, his weight a shock as he pressed me into the bed, and then his mouth was on mine.

Hawke kissed me.

There was nothing sweet or soft, like I’d imagined a kiss to be. It was hard and overwhelming, claiming, and when I sucked in a sharp breath, he took advantage, deepening the kiss. His tongue touched mine, startling me. Panic flared in the pit of my stomach, but so did something else, something far more powerful, a pleasure I hadn’t experienced before. He tasted of the golden liquor I’d once snuck, and I felt that stroke of his tongue in every part of me. It was in the shivers that erupted all over my skin, in the inexplicable heaviness in my chest, in that curling, tightening sensation below my navel and even lower still where there was a sudden, throbbing pulse between my legs. I shuddered, my fingers digging into his flesh, and I suddenly wished I hadn’t worn gloves because I wanted to feel his skin, and I doubted I’d be in any shape to concentrate on what he was feeling. His head tilted, and I felt the brush of his oddly sharp—

Without warning, he broke the kiss and lifted his head. “Who are you?”

Thoughts oddly slow and skin humming, I blinked open my eyes. Dark hair fell forward onto his forehead. His features were shadowed in the soft, flickering light, but I thought his lips looked as swollen as mine felt.

Hawke acted too fast for me to track the movement, tugging my hood back, exposing my masked face. His brows lifted as the haze cleared from my thoughts. My heart jumped around in my chest for a whole different reason, even though my lips still tingled from the kiss.

My first kiss.

Hawke’s golden-eyed gaze rose to my head, and he shifted his hand out from behind my neck. I tensed as he picked up a strand of my hair, drawing it out so it shone a deep auburn in the candlelight. His head tilted to the left.

“You are most definitely not who I thought you were,” he murmured.

“How did you know?” I blurted out.

“Because the last time I kissed the owner of this cloak, she damn near sucked my tongue down her throat.”

“Oh,” I whispered. Was I supposed to have done that? It didn’t sound like it would be something enjoyable.

He stared down at me, gaze assessing as he remained with half his body atop mine. One of his legs was thrust between mine, and I had no idea exactly when that had happened. “Have you been kissed before?”

My face caught fire. Oh, gods, was it that obvious? “I have!”

One side of his lips kicked up. “Do you always lie?”

“No!” I immediately lied.

“Liar,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing.

Embarrassment flooded my system, suffocating the shivery pleasure as if I’d been doused in cold, winter sleet. I pushed at his bare chest. “You should get off.”

“I was planning to.”

 The way he said it made my eyes narrow.

Hawke laughed, and it was…it was the first time I’d heard him do so. When I saw him in the Hall, he was quiet and stoic like most guards, and I’d only seen that half-grin of his while he trained. But never a laugh. And with the anguish I knew lingered below the surface, I wasn’t quite sure that he ever laughed.

But he had now, and it sounded real, deep, and nice, and it rumbled through me, all the way to the tips of my toes. I was slow to realize that this was the most I’d heard him speak. He had a slight accent, an almost musical lilt to his tone. I couldn’t quite place it, but I’d only ever been to the capital and here, and it was not often that many spoke to me or around me if they knew I was present. The accent could be quite common for all I knew.

“You really should move,” I told him, even though I liked the weight of him.

“I’m quite comfortable where I am,” he added.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Will you tell me who you are, Princess?”

“Princess?” I repeated. There were no Princesses or Princes in the entire kingdom beyond the Dark One, who called himself such. Not since Atlantia had ruled.

“You are quite demanding.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I imagine a Princess to be demanding.”

“I am not demanding,” I stated. “Get off me.”

He arched a brow. “Really?”

“Telling you to move is not being demanding.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that.” He paused. “Princess.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My lips twitched in wry humor, but I managed to stifle the smile. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

“Then what should I call you? A name, perhaps?”

“I’m…I’m no one,” I told him.

“No One? What a strange name. Do girls with a name like that often make a habit of wearing other people’s clothing?”

“I’m not a girl,” I snapped.

“I would sure hope not.” He paused, lips curling down at the corners. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to be in here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“In other words, old enough to be masquerading as someone else, allowing others to believe you’re another person and then allowing them to kiss—”

“I get what you’re saying,” I cut him off. “Yes, I’m old enough for all those things.”

One eyebrow rose. “I’ll tell you who I am, although I have a feeling you already know. I’m Hawke Flynn.”

“Hi,” I said, feeling foolish for doing so.

The dimple in his right cheek deepened. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

My lips nor my tongue moved.

“Then I’ll have to keep calling you Princess.” His eyes were much warmer now, and I wanted to see if the pain had eased but managed to resist. I thought that perhaps his pain had gone away. If so…

“The least you can do is tell me why you didn’t stop me,” he said before I could give in to the curiosity and reach out with my senses.

I had no idea how I could answer that when I didn’t fully understand it myself.

One side of his lips quirked up. “I’m sure it’s more than my disarming good looks.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Of course.”

Another short, surprised-sounding laugh left him. “I think you just insulted me.”

Chagrined, I winced. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You’ve wounded me, Princess.”

“I highly doubt that. You have to be more than well aware of your appearance.”

“I am. It has led to quite a few people making questionable life choices.”

“Then why did you say you were insulted—?” Realizing he was teasing me and feeling foolish for not seeing that right away, I pushed at his chest once more. “You’re still lying on me.”

“I know.”

I took a breath. “It’s quite rude of you to continue doing so when I’ve made it clear that I would like for you to move.”

“It’s quite rude of you to barge into my room dressed as—”

“Your lover?”

He raised a brow. “I wouldn’t call her that.”

“What would you call her?”

Hawke appeared to mull that over while still sprawled halfway across me. “A…good friend.”

Part of me was relieved that he hadn’t referred to her as something derogatory like I’d overheard other men do before when speaking of women they’d been intimate with, but a good friend? “I didn’t know friends behaved this way.”

“I’m willing to wager you don’t know much about these sorts of things.”

The truth in his statement was hard to ignore. “And you wager all of this on just one kiss?”

“Just one kiss? Princess, you can learn a wealth of things from just one kiss.”

Staring at him, I couldn’t help but feel…very inexperienced. The only thing I could tell from his kiss was what it had made me feel. Like he was seeking to possess me.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” His gaze swept over the mask and then lower, to where I realized the cloak had parted, exposing the too-thin gown and its rather daring neckline. Honestly, I didn’t know what I’d been thinking when I slipped on the garment. It was almost like I’d subconsciously been preparing myself for…something. My stomach tumbled. More likely, the gown was false bravado.

Hawke’s gaze found mine. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

“Does that mean you’re going to get up so I can move?”

Why haven’t you made him get up? whispered that stupid, very reasonable, and very logical voice. That was a great question. I knew how to use a man’s weight against them. More importantly, I had my dagger and access to it. But I hadn’t gone for it, nor had I truly made an attempt to put space between us. What did that mean? I…I supposed I felt safe. At least, at the moment. I may know very little about Hawke, but he wasn’t a stranger, at least he didn’t feel that way to me, and I wasn’t afraid of him.

Hawke shook his head. “I have a theory.”

“I’m waiting with bated breath for this.”

That dimple in his right cheek appeared once more. “I think you came to this very room with a purpose in mind.”

He was right about that, but I doubted he would be right about the actual reason.

“It’s why you didn’t speak or attempt to correct my assumption of who you were. Perhaps the cloak you borrowed was also a very calculated decision,” he continued. “You came here because you want something from me.”

I started to deny what he suggested, but no words rose to the tip of my tongue. Silence wasn’t a denial or agreement, but my stomach dipped again.

He shifted ever so slightly, his hand coming to rest against my right cheek, his fingers splayed out. “I’m right, aren’t I, Princess?”

Heart skipping all over the place, I tried to swallow, but my throat had dried. “Maybe…maybe I came here for…for conversation.”

“To talk?” His brows rose. “About what?”

“Lots of things,” I said.

His expression smoothed out. “Like?”

My mind was uselessly empty for several seconds, and then I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why did you choose to work on the Rise?”

“You came here tonight to ask that?”

Not a single thing about his tone or his look said he believed me, but I nodded while I added that this was yet another example of how I was really bad at making conversation with people.

He was quiet and then said, “I joined the Rise for the same reason most do.”

“And what is that?” I asked, even though I knew most of the reasons.

“My father was a farmer, and that was not the life for me. There aren’t many other opportunities offered than joining the Royal Army and protecting the Rise, Princess.”

“You’re right.”

His eyes narrowed as surprise flickered across his features. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, there aren’t many chances for children to become something other than what their parents were.”

“You mean there aren’t many chances for children to improve their stations in life, to do better than those who came before them?”

I nodded as best I could. “The…the natural order of things doesn’t exactly allow that. A farmer’s son is a farmer or they—”

“They choose to become a guard, where they risk their lives for stable pay that they most likely won’t live long enough to enjoy?” he finished. “Doesn’t sound much like an option, does it?”

“No,” I admitted, but I had already thought that. There were jobs Hawke could’ve strived for. Trader and hunter, but they too were hazardous, as they required going outside the Rise frequently. It just wasn’t as dangerous as joining the Royal Army and going to the Rise. Was the source of his anguish due to what he’d seen as a guard? “There may not be many choices, but I still think—no, I know—that joining the guard requires a certain level of innate strength and courage.”

“You think that of all the guards? That they are courageous?”

“I do.”

“Not all guards are good men, Princess.”

My eyes narrowed. “I know that. Bravery and strength do not equal goodness.”

“We can agree on that.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, and my chest felt inexplicably tight.

“You said your father was a farmer. Is he…has he gone to the gods?”

Something crept across his face, gone too quickly for me to decipher. “No. He is alive and well. Yours?”

I gave a small shake of my head. “My father—both of my parents are gone.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and it sounded genuine. “The loss of a parent or a family member lingers long after they’re gone, the pain lessening but never fading. Years later, you’ll still find yourself thinking that you’d do anything to get them back.”

He was right, and I thought that this was perhaps the source of the pain he felt. “You sound like you know firsthand.”

“I do.”

 I thought of Finley. Had Hawke known him well? Most of the guards were close, developing a bond thicker than blood, but even if he hadn’t known Finley, there were surely others he knew that had been lost. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for whoever it is that you’ve lost. Death is…”

Death was constant.

And I saw a lot of it. I wasn’t supposed to, as sheltered as I was, but I saw death all too frequently.

His head tilted, sending a tumble of dark locks over his forehead. “Death is like an old friend who pays a visit, sometimes when it’s least expected and other times when you’re waiting for her. It’s neither the first nor the last time she’ll pay a visit, but that doesn’t make any death less harsh or unforgiving.”

Sadness threatened to take up residence in my chest, crowding out the warmth. “That it is.”

He dipped his head suddenly, his lips nearing mine. “I doubt the need for conversation led you to this room. You didn’t come here to talk about sad things that cannot be changed, Princess.”

I knew why I came here tonight, and Hawke was right, yet again. It wasn’t to talk. I came here to live. To experience. To choose. To be anyone other than who I was. None of those things included talking.

But I’d had my first kiss tonight. I could stop there or tonight could be a night of many firsts, all of my choosing.

Was I…? Was I really considering this, whatever this was? Gods, I truly was. Tiny tremors rocked me. Could he feel them? They piled in my stomach, forming little knots of anticipation and fear.

I was the Maiden. The Chosen. My earlier convictions about what the gods concerned themselves with weakened. Would they find me unworthy? Panic didn’t seize me like it should. Instead, a spark of hope did, and that unsettled me more than anything. The tiny glimmer of hope felt traitorous and wholly concerning, given that being deemed unworthy resulted in one of the most serious consequences.

If I were to be found unworthy, I’d face certain death.

I’d be exiled from the kingdom.

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