Till

“Beautiful and deadly, even without your magic.” The blade pushes against my throat as I speak, but not quite enough to cut me.

I’ve been in this position before, but it’s not usually such a lovely face on the other side of the knife. It’d almost be a treat, if I didn’t know I was walking a fine line between life and death.

“Your kingdom likes to think mages defenseless without our magic,” she hisses, her grip tightening around my knife’s handle. “But you always forget that we have bodies too, and some of us know how to use them.”

Do you, now?

The corners of my mouth threaten to turn into a petulant grin as my mind lingers on exactly how she could make use of that divine body, but without the shadow of a doubt, I am in no position to be cracking wise.

“It’s on me, truly.” My voice is as respectful and reverent as I can manage—I’m well aware that my life is quite literally in her hands. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

It’s not a mistake I intend to make again.

Still, she’s keeping me alive for a reason—in that tower she seemed perfectly ready to render me to a pile of ash and bone, but she hesitates now.

I’ve no idea how long her mercy will last, but my treacherous heart pounds with the thrill of the unknowable as her golden eyes regard me as sharply as the dagger pressed firmly against my throat.

There’s no mistaking those eyes. . . she may believe the witch is her mother, but clearly, she has some doubt, or I’d be bleeding out on the forest floor right now.

“Everyone does.” Her face splits into a grin, but the muscles in her shoulder soften ever so slightly.

I’m not the only one enjoying our little back and forth, it would seem—though I imagine it’s much more pleasant on the other side of the blade.

As attractive as her confidence and surety of self is, it also clouds her judgment—she doesn’t even notice when I move my foot until it’s too late.

Hooking her ankle with mine, I sweep her, sending us both tumbling to the ground where we grapple for the knife in a tangle of limbs in the grass and dirt.

Just as she’s about to grasp the hilt, I grab her wrist, overpowering her and acting quickly to toss the knife away, out of reach but not out of sight.

Panting, I hold both her wrists against the ground, staring down at her equally exhausted face as my heart races in my chest. “Now, can we take a moment for sense to reassert itself?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she stares up at me with big, wide eyes, a beautiful blush flooding her pale cheeks, and her hair a fiery mane around her head and shoulders. Innocence is an odd look on her considering she’d just held a knife to my throat and attempted to burn me to death before that.

Still, resting atop her like this, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the way her lip goes nervously between her teeth makes me acutely aware of the fact that, from her vantage point, I am a strange man lying on top of her.

After breaking into her home.

I’ll admit, not my best look.

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way, I assure you,” I offer, staring deeply into the magnificent gold of her eyes. “I’m going to let go of you now, and I need you not to attack me. Can you promise me that?”

She simply nods, pressing her lips together like she’s suddenly at a loss for words. I’m not strictly certain I can trust her after the multiple attempts on my life, but I came here to steal the witch’s gold, not murder the lost princess.

“Okay, easy. . . ” Slowly, I release her wrists, but as soon as I attempt to pull away from her, her arms wind around me, capturing me in what I’m sure will be another attempt on my life.

Until it registers in my mind that her lips are against mine.

Once, twice, a third time she kisses me, and my first thought is that she’s somehow attempting to poison me. But if that’s the case, poison’s never tasted so sweet.

After a moment of shock, my mind becomes my own again, and I push up, moving my face out a range of her not unwelcome but certainly not expected advance.

“What was that?” I hiss, shaking my head in utter confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, suddenly sheepish as she props herself up on her elbows. It’s an odd look on her, ill-suiting the naturally regal confidence she’s displayed up until now. “I’ve read men like that sort of thing.”

It puts me at ease that she makes no motion to rise up—I doubt she intends to kill me from where she lays, but I can’t lower my guard just yet. For all I know of magic—and it isn’t very much—mages must rest to regain their expended magical energy.

She could be biding her time.

“Give me more credit than that.” Leaning my weight back into my heels so that I’m crouched in front of her. “I may be a career scoundrel, but I’ve no intention of taking advantage of you—or allowing you to use your feminine wiles to catch me off guard.”

“Even if I ask you very nicely?”

Her grin is coy, tugging at her lips in an endearingly genuine way—she’s playing with me, but she’s not very good at it, and I can infer from the state of her tower and how deep we are in the forest that she must be inexperienced.

“What are you playing at?” My eyes narrow on her, brow furrowed in contemplation. “What is it you’re hoping to achieve here?”

Her strawberry tongue darts along her lips, and her golden gaze softens with what I suspect is embarrassment. “I. . . have lived in that tower all my life, and I was hoping to create some new. . . experiences.” Her confession seems to sting her, if the way she scrunches up her face is anything to go by. “I was under the impression that most men were excited by a willing woman.”

If looks could kill, she’d have killed me dead with the glare she shoots me when I snort in derision. “Most women trying to lure in a man don’t attempt to murder him first.”

“I said I was sorry,” she huffs, as though an apology should be plenty to absolve her—but gods be silent, it just might be.

I could run—I could leave her here in the woods, go back the way I came, return to the guild and admit that even a master thief as skilled as I cannot steal a treasure that does not want to be stolen.

But then, the witch’s gold is right here, laying in the grass and giving me those come-hither eyes. . . eyes of gold, just the same as Soltemni’s king.

“Why do you want me so badly?” I shake my head. “The thief that broke into your home and stole you from the tower seems a poor choice of lover—especially your first.”

The Princess and the Thief. . . a tale as old as time itself.

“There’s a certain air of romance to it, isn’t there?” She flutters her russet red lashes at me. “Besides, you’re nice to look at, and I’ve a curiosity that begs exploring.”

“You’ve certainly got a way with words.” I clear my throat. “But a young lady—”

“Young lady,” she spits. “I am no ‘young lady,’ thief. I am a woman grown, and I want you to make me feel like it.”

“Is that so?”

Her body tenses in surprise as I pounce, pressing the weight of my body over her as I cup her jaw between my thumb and fingers, pulling her into a kiss much more intense than the one she’d laid on me.

She gasps against my lips, but her arms snake around me, drawing me closer as my tongue slips along her plush bottom lip.

I taste herbal tea and fresh berries as her tongue awkwardly pokes at mine. A chuckle escapes my lips at the contrast between her willingness—no, eagerness to take a life—and her innocence in pleasures of the flesh.

“What are you laughing at?” she mumbles against my lips, and I’m well aware of the way her knee bumps against the side of my hip as she shifts under me, allowing me closer.

“It’s obvious that you’ve never kissed before,” I admit, grinning at the way a hot blush of indignation crosses her cheeks. “Don’t worry—there’s a first time for everything.”

“Is there usually so much talking?”

She shuts me up by crashing her lips against mine, eagerly enough to draw a small moan of surprise out of me. There’s a sting of pain when her teeth catch my bottom lip, but it’s good.

She may not be well practiced, but she has fine instincts for my tastes.

My hand works its way up her back when she arches against me, holding her close as I give myself over to the rush of desire—until I hear the snap of twig.

Anya’s hand weaves into my hair with the intent to pull me back into the kiss, but her eyes sharpen when I don’t budge. “Is something wrong?”

“I heard something.” I nod toward the treeline. “In the woods.”