The Chosen

My lips split up and my eyes enlarged. I had seen a man's chest before, but I had never beheld his.

The muscles that flexed and massed under the thinner shirts the guards trained in were currently on display.

He was broad of shoulder and chest, all lean muscles established by years of drastic training. There was a neat dusting of hair under his navel that vanished behind his breeches.

My gaze fell even lower, and heat returned, a distinct kind that didn't just flush my skin but further invaded my blood.

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

And I had a massive imagination thanks to the Ladies' steady tendency to overshare, and my steady tendency to listen in on discussions.

A strange twirling sensation hit my lower stomach. It wasn't unpleasant. Not at all. It was gentle and tingling, reminding me of my initial drink of frothy champagne.

Flinch strode toward me, and my muscles tensed to run, but I gripped myself still by sheer will. I knew I should've stepped away. I should've talked and disclosed that I wasn't Ivy. I should've left instantly.

The manner he prowled toward me, his long legs eating up the distance between us, told me his objective, even if he hadn't removed his tunic.

And while I had little—alright, entirely no experience—I innately knew that if he reached me, he would touch me. He may execute even more. He might kiss me.

And that was forbidden.

I was the Maiden, the Chosen. Not to mention, he believed I was another woman, and he had been in this room with somebody else before I got here.

That didn't imply he'd been with someone, but he could've.

I still didn't move or speak.

I stayed, my heart pounding so fast I felt faint. Tiny tremors pulled my hands and legs.

And I never trembled.

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

Living, I mumbled back.

And being remarkably stupid, the voice countered. I was, but again, I stood there.

Senses hyperaware, I stared as Flinch halted in front of me and raised his hands, grasping the back of the hood with one.

For a moment, I worried he might pull it back, and the mystery would be over, but that wasn't what he did. The hood only slipped back a couple of inches.

"I don't know what sort of game you're about tonight." His deep voice was hoarse.

"But I'm glad to find out."

His other arm landed around my waist. A gasp left me as he towed me to his chest. This was nothing like the short embraces I had received from Josep.

I'd never been held by a man like this. There wasn't an inch between his chest and mine. The touch was a jolt to my senses.

He raised me onto the tips of my toes, then clear off my feet. His stability was staggering since I wasn't precisely light.

Astonished, my hands settled on his shoulders. The heat of his tough skin seemed to boil 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 suspense curled its way down my spine at the same time my stomach dropped with uncertainty. There wasn't time for the two warring emotions to combat.

He pivoted and stepped forward with the exact kind of feline grace I had seen from him before. In a matter of a few stuttering heartbeats, he was steering us down, his grip strong but cautious, as if he were conscious of his strength.

He came down over me, his hand still behind my head, his weight a surprise as he hugged me into the bed, and then his mouth was on mine.

Flinch kissed me.

There was nothing sweet or soft like I'd guessed a kiss to be. It was rough and irresistible, claiming, and when I stunk in a sharp breath, he took benefit, heightening the kiss.

His tongue stroked mine, startling me. Anxiety flickered in the pit of my stomach, but so did something else, something far more powerful, a pleasure I hadn't felt 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 quivers that burst all over my skin, in the unexplainable heaviness in my chest, in that curling, tightening sensation below my navel and even lower yet where there was an abrupt, throbbing pulse between my legs.

I fluttered, my fingers digging into his flesh, and I suddenly hoped I hadn't worn gloves because I wanted to touch his skin, and I doubted I'd be in any shape to focus on what he was feeling. His head leaned, and I felt the brush of his oddly sharp—Without warning, he broke the kiss and raised his head.

"Who are you?"

Thoughts oddly sluggish and skin humming, I blinked open my eyes. Dark hair fell forth onto his forehead.

His characteristics were dimmed in the soft, gleaming light, but I thought his lips looked as swollen as mine felt.

Flinch acted too rapidly for me to trace the movement, tugging my hood back, and revealing my masked face. His brows pinched as the haze vacated my thoughts.

My heart jerked around in my chest for a whole varied reason, even though my lips still tingled from the kiss.

My first kiss.

Flinch's golden-eyed stare got to my head, and he strode his hand out from behind my neck. I tauten as he picked up a strand of my hair, hauling it out so it glowed a deep auburn in the candlelight.

His head bent to the left.

"You are most certainly not who I thought you were," he murmured.

"How did you know?" I blurted out.

"Because the last time I kissed the possessor of this cloak, she damn nearly sucked my tongue down her throat."

"Oh," I mumbled.

Was I supposed to have done that? It didn't sound like it would be something desirable.

He stared down at me, gaze scrutinizing as he remained with half his body atop mine. One of his legs was thrust between mine, and I had no inkling precisely when that had occurred. "Have you been kissed before?"

My face caught fire. Oh, gods, was it that evident?

"I have!" One side of his lips kicked up.

"Do you constantly lie?"

"No!" I immediately lied.

"Liar, " he murmured, his tone practically teasing.

Embarrassment surged my system, choking the shivery pleasure as if I had been drenched in cold, winter sleet. I nudged at his bare chest.

"You should get off."

"I was planning to."

The way he said it made my eyes narrow.

Flinch laughed, and it was…it was the first time I'd heard him do so.

When I saw him in the Hall, he was silent and tolerant 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 entirely sure that he ever laughed.

But he had now, and it sounded actual, deep, and nice, and it thundered through me, all the way to the tips of my toes. I was sluggish to realize that this was the most I'd heard him speak.

He had a tiny accent, an almost melodious lilt to his tone. I couldn't quite place it, but I had singly ever been to the capital and here, and it was not frequently that many spoke to me or around me if they knew I was present.

The accent could be quite widespread for all I knew.

"You really should move," I informed him, even though I liked the weight of him.

"I'm quite relaxed where I am," he added.

"Well, I'm not."

"Will you tell me who you are, Princess?"

"Princess?" I recounted.

There were no Princesses or Princes in the whole kingdom beyond the Dark One, who called himself such.

Not since Philvania had ruled.

"You are quite demanding." He raised one shoulder in a shrug.

"I visualize 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 demanding."

"We'll have to disagree on that." He paused.

"Princess."

My lips wriggled in wry humour, but I managed to suppress 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 weird 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 wish 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 anxious about."

"In other words, old enough to be disguising as someone else, letting others believe you're another person and then allowing them to kiss—"

"I get what you're explaining," 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 suspicion you already know. I'm Flinch Norman."

"Hi," I said, feeling stupid for doing so.

The dimple in his right cheek deepened.

"This is the part where you tell me your name."