Deception by Briana Blackburn

Author:Briana Blackburn [Blackburn, Briana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Feather Publishing
Published: 2018-10-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Prowling down the streets, Tiana rubbed her face, careful not to do too much damage to the makeup clinging to her skin. She felt absolutely foul. It was a humid night and she could feel every dirty, sticky pore in her damn face.

All she could think about was Roland and wonder once again why he’d left so quickly, and where he’d gone. Because she would’ve liked for him to stay, she realized.

She would’ve loved to have spent the night pressed up against him, bound in their scent, surrendering to a delicious slumber and waking to the rising sun shining in their faces.

She could imagine the slow smile, the forest of green through his lashes, the trailing of a callused finger down the slope of her cheek, tracing her lips. She’d be tempted, of course, to sneak a taste, and her tongue, darting out, might taste the salt of his skin and hear the hiss from between his teeth.

It was impossible for it to work; she knew that. It wasn’t even him, or who he was, but what she was, what she knew he wanted. He wanted all of her, every part, and the worst thing was, he already thought it was all there. She just knew it. Just the way he looked at her said everything. Gods! The poor man didn’t even know she’d been the one to poison him!

There had never felt like such a divide before between her and Killian. In some ways, she cursed that she’d ever taken her brother’s mantle and his face upon her shoulders. She wished, when he turned his back on her, she’d turned hers on him.

But that wasn’t his way. Nor was it hers.

His way was his head on her knee, sleeping with a thumb in his mouth, while she brushed through his curls and held together their world.

It wasn’t Killian who was to blame. She knew that. She’d put herself into this corner. She’d backed herself in tight, trying to navigate through bladed strings in tangles around her. Each breath was a shiver, each movement was a dance.

And she was coming to the end of the night…to the end of her rope. She was tired in ways that resting her head on a pillow would not fix.

She could go to her father. Tell him of her lies. He’d listen, he’d nod, then his face would grow darker the further he withdrew to think. She’d apologize and he’d say there was nothing to be forgiven. She wouldn’t ask to stay, and he wouldn’t offer. She’d say goodbye and they would both know this time, she’d truly be gone.

Back up to the palace she’d walk, dragging off layers of her disguise, washing her face in a chilled stream and digging her bag of clothing out from the little cache she kept them in. She would gather every piece of the disguise crafted for posing as Killian, and she’d pitch it into the river and off it would go. Eventually, it’d be as far away as her brother was.

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