And the last thing I wanted was for Balen to pity me.

His smile died, and the playful light vanished from his eyes, turning him back into the stoic, grim leader I’d seen so much of already. Anger flashed in the amber depths.

I got the feeling he didn’t like to see me feel bad about myself, or remember the hurt of my life before. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking—me hoping he cared. “They were idiots, Deira. Ruled by their fear and not worthy of you.”

I stared down at the tray, moving it back and forth between my hands. Nice words, but they did nothing to ease the growing ache in my chest. “Thanks,” I managed with a small shrug.

“Deira.” He waited until I looked at him. A boyish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Would you like to lay with me?”

His eyebrows were raised. And his eyes, lit with laughter, said he was goading me. Nothing more.

“You are not amusing. And the answer is no,” I said, just to be clear.

“Are you certain?”

“Aye.”

“Aye, you’re certain? Or, aye, you wish to lay with me?”

My mouth gaped like a fish plucked from the river. Embarrassed, I snapped my lips together. “Why are you doing this? You’re a king. I’m blighted, a halfling. What you suggest, whether in jest or truth, isn’t possible.”

His expression blazed with sincerity. “I never jest, Deira.” He lowered his body into the water, so that it lapped at his chin. He fanned his arms through the hot liquid. “Though I admit, for some odd reason, I feel the need to goad you. Perhaps it’s simply to make you smile.”

“Then your goading has failed. I’m not smiling.”

“I can see I’ve lost that battle. How are you feeling then?”

“Annoyed,” I answered. “You behave like no king I know.”

“Where I come from, a king is not raised above his people. He’s a servant to them, instated by Challenge, and his ability to lead and fight. I am no different than any Sydhr warrior otherwise.”

“And do other Sydhr warriors have a tent full of wives?”

His eyes narrowed. “A tent full of wives. Who told you this?”

“No one. I saw them with my own eyes. Ixia and the others.”

An astonished look crossed his face and then he burst out laughing, a deep sound that echoed in the cavern. I wanted out of this conversation, out of this underground lake, and away from him. Suddenly, I didn’t much care for my state of near undress. As I let go of the tray to leave, he spoke.

“I forget you know so little of our culture. While I’m quite capable of satisfying a tent full of women,” he boasted, swimming in a small circle around me. “They are not my wives. Ixia is my sister and the others are my cousins.”

For some reason, my mistake felt even more humiliating than anything else so far. I didn’t need Balen at all to embarrass myself; I seemed to being doing very well on my own.

I was no good at conversing with a male.

I gave up and swam away, intending to go back to the dressing chamber, but Balen caught my hand in his.

I didn’t turn, but closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, refusing to say anything more and embarrass myself again. He tugged. His hand was warm and strong, and it felt good around mine. I drew in a deep breath and faced him. The fact that I was holding hands with a naked male did not go unnoticed by me.

“Please. Don’t go.”

He said nothing else, made no move, but something vulnerable passed through his eyes. Loneliness, I thought. Weariness, too. He might claim to be a simple Sydhr warrior, but the responsibility to lead his people did, no matter what he claimed, set him apart. We were so different, and yet in that brief moment, we had something in common.

“One thing a Sydhr male often does for his female,” Balen said, “is wash her hair.”

A jolt of awareness rippled beneath my skin. Swallowing took effort. I wanted to point out that I wasn’t his female, but I couldn’t get the words out. His big hand dwarfed mine. He squeezed gently.

“No more goading,” he promised.

I gave a quick nod, unable to do much of anything else.

He guided me to one of the baskets on the rock ledge where he rooted inside, smelling each bar of soap until finding one he approved of. Then, he placed his hands on my shoulders, turning my back to him. “Lean back into the water, so I can wet your hair.”

I was sure my heart had never pounded as fast as it did then. His hands smoothed the hair back from my head, his touch sure, yet gentle. My mouth went dry and I stayed tense until he finished. Then, he stood me up. I faced the ledge as he began soaping my hair, gently massaging my scalp.

“Relax, Deira. Close your eyes and enjoy it.”

That was the problem. I was afraid I’d enjoy it too much. No one had ever touched me this way. I rested both elbows on the ledge in front of me, my chin on my overlapped hands, letting my legs dangly freely in the water. I concentrated on easing the tension from my body, breathing slow even breaths and letting his big hands work the soap into my hair.

His fingers massage my scalp in slow circles until I was drowsy. He gathered the length of my hair and threaded it through his fingers. Then, his hands went to the back of my neck and kneaded the soapy, slippery flesh.

“How do you feel now?” Hs voice was low and rough.

“Good. Sleepy.” His fingers kneaded the base of my skull. “Very good.”

He chuckled softly. My thigh brushed his, and all I wanted was to get closer, for his hands to glide over my shoulder and cover every part of me. The thought tensed me up again. I lifted my chin from my hands and glanced over my shoulder.

He was so close. I couldn’t breathe. His fingers stilled, but his hand still cupped the back of my neck.

Our gazes locked.

The hot water rocked against us. He leaned in until his lips brushed my temple. Heat surged through me. I leaned back against him, feeling his solid chest against my back. His left arm slipped around my waist. His lips moved to my ear. Instinctively, I tilted my face more toward him, and he leaned over and captured my lips with his own.

I gasped against his mouth, my eyelids sliding closed as heat flooded me. They were so soft and warm, his lips. I didn’t want it to stop. I turned in his arms. His tongue slipped out and licked my bottom lip, sending a bolt of energy sizzling straight to my core.

His hand splayed against my back, holding me against him, the other hand still cupping the back of my neck. Evidence of his arousal pressed against my belly, but it didn’t scare me. It made me feel powerful and beautiful. He wanted me too. Me.

My hands found their way to his back, the muscle hard and solid under my palms.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered, his lips against mine, his tone husky and unsteady.

I did, and his tongue swept inside my mouth. Again, that bolt shot through me. We moaned together. He pressed me back against the ledge. I felt restless, tormented. Urgent and achy. His kiss was slow and consuming. Tongue against tongue, in a torturous rhythm that I returned with earnest.

Balen ended the kiss by pulling my bottom lip into his mouth and between his teeth, biting it gently before letting go and kissing me softly. His lips spread into a grin as he moved a strand of wet hair from my neck and licked the place where it had been. My head dropped back and my eyes opened to the ceiling. I couldn’t focus on anything but the sensations coursing through me, the feel of him, his skin, his scent, his taste.

He will die for you, Deira.

My hands on his back stilled.

He wants you because you are different and rare. He is but bored.

“No,” I breathed, suddenly assaulted by too many emotions at once.

He will die and you will be left with nothing. But I know you. I know what you are. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

I tried to close my mind, to force him out, but he’d already snaked his way inside.

He will use you. 'Tis nothing but lust you feel swelling against your belly, nothing but lust you pooling between your legs, nothing but-

“Leave me alone!” I shoved at him, my heart pounding too fast.

Balen froze.

Slowly, he straightened, the amber blaze in his eyes going cloudy and confused.

He braced one hand on the ledge behind me and scrubbed the other down his face, taking a moment to calm his ragged breathing. Then his hand dropped from the ledge and he stepped back, lips grim, jaw tight. He appeared as though he was about to speak, but then thought better of it. Instead, he left me.

“No, wait!”

I swam after him. He stopped, but did not turn around.

“I didn’t mean… You don’t understand.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, facing me with a heavy exhale. “I do,” he said. “I never should have . . . you are young . . . and not my kind...” He paused before swimming away.

A silent scream welled inside me, tasting of bitterness and rage. The drowsy warmth that had clung to me was now a boiling, wide-awake fury.

I was not his kind. Not Sydhr or not full-blooded Danaan? Was I not good enough for him? Pure enough? And I was not too young. I’d had to grow up after my mother had died. I’d never had a childhood beyond my sixth year.

How dare he say that I was too young, that I was not his kind. I was. I was a Danaan.

I slapped the water with my hands and let out an angry groan. Damn him. And damn Nox!

I stayed in the pool, trying to regain some control over my emotions and give myself time to think.

After a while, I ducked under the water to make sure all the soap was gone from my hair. Then I washed quickly before making my way back to the dressing chamber where Jensine removed the wet gown, dried my skin and hair, and then rubbed rare hysop oil into my skin. Hysop was used in anointing those wishing to visit Dagda’s temple on the lake.

As I lay on the table, Jensine working the aromatic oil into my skin, my muscles relaxed and my mind drifted. Thoughts of Balen and Nox began to filter in, but I shut them out—they’d taken up enough of my time for one day. Instead, I focused on the massage, the expert way Jensine pushed and kneaded my sore muscles.