Weariness settled deep in Yarrow's bones, an apathy he hadn't been able to shake for several months. He glanced at Marak, his prince and friend, waiting for the nod that indicated Yarrow could depart.
Yarrow wasted little time leaving the throne room. As soon as the door closed behind him he leaned back against it and let out the pent up breath he had been holding for better part of an hour. He hated sitting still as the nobles of Shadowhall complained to Marak of insignificant troubles.
He pushed away from the door, his feet soundless as he crossed the high-vaulted hallway. Sunlight spilled through the windows that reached all the way to the ceiling, drenching the hall in radiant light.
The sound of soft-soled slippers drifted down the corridor with footsteps slow, measured. He knew her sound before he saw her.
Yarrow slid into a shadowed doorway and watched as Taraca glided past. He followed her with his eyes, her beauty searing itself in his memory, adding to the dozens of others held deep within him.
His gaze slid down the light green gown that caressed her curves like a lover's hand. Yarrow sighed and leaned back against the wall. For as long as he could remember he had watched Taraca, wishing he could touch her creamy skin, taste her red lips.
"Watching will never do you any good," Marak whispered as he walked up.
Suddenly, Taraca stopped and turned her head to look at them. Her pale green gaze held Yarrow's before she inclined her head and walked away.
Yarrow turned to Marak. "Watching is all I can do."
"Lay your claim now before her father gives her to someone else," Marak warned.
"She deserves someone better than me. You know where I come from. You know if people discovered it, I would be run out of Shadowhall."
"Do you forget so easily that I am heir to the throne?"
"Nay, Marak, but you can only do so much."
Marak crossed his arms over his chest. "So, you're going to let her marry another man?"
"Nay." In fact, it made the bile rise in his throat just to think about it, but Taraca was from nobility, and he ... well, he had a family secret that couldn't be aired.
"You are more than her equal, my friend."
Yarrow watched Marak walk away before he glanced in the direction he had last seen Taraca. Without thought, his feet carried him towards her, for one more glimpse of her beauty, for one more whiff of the fragrance that was only hers.
He stopped at the corner and peered into the small anti-chamber the handmaidens liked to use for gossip and such. He found Taraca by herself, gazing out one of Shadowhall's many windows, one that overlooked the waterfall and lake.
Taraca's face was pensive as if she had a great weight on her shoulders, a decision that would alter her future. Her arms were folded over each other at her waist, and though she looked at the waterfall, Yarrow had the impression she didn't actually see it.
He stepped back when she took a deep breath. Just as he slid into the shadows, he heard her father call out to her. Yarrow watched her father, Lord Proll, walk towards her and hold out his arm. Proll was a trusted member of the king's council, but there was something about him Yarrow didn't trust. Neither did Marak, but as prince, Marak had to walk a fine line with the council.
Yarrow wished he was closer so he could hear the words exchanged between Proll and Taraca. Whatever it was, Taraca didn't look happy about it. A moment later, they walked from the anti-chamber with Taraca's hand on her father's arm.
Once more Taraca was gone from him, as she had been each day of his life. He couldn't wait until the morrow that would bring her back to the castle, back to where he could gaze upon her loveliness and dream of tasting her.
Maybe it was time to listen to Marak. Maybe it's time to let others know just who you are.
Maybe it was time to let Taraca know his desire for her.
)
A defiant bride-to-be tries to stage her own disappearance when she's kidnapped, and her only chance at freedom is surrendering her heart to the one man who can save her. Taraca has waited years for the time she could choose a husband and learn the pleasure of love making. When her father binds her to a man twice her age, Taraca does the only thing she can--she runs away. Instead of her freedom, she finds capture at the hands of the Kellians. Yarrow has loved Taraca from afar for years. The only thing keeping him from taking her is his blood relation to the Kellians who are feared throughout Shadowhall. But when Taraca is taken by Kellian warriors, Yarrow will risk everything to free her. Publisher Note: This book is linked to 'Tempted' although it can be read as a stand alone story.
