Rolfe hated it when women clutched to him like that, desperate like kitties, trying to act innocent and cute with him. When they cried, he would bolt like a hare from their vicinity. However, that night after he had fought off Obsidian Demons, and had scooped this short height, weightless woman in his arms… as soon as his arms had gone around her, in one second, every part of his world that tethered him to the present, obliterated. 

Iona had lifted her hand to his cheek and he knew that she wasn't aware of what she was doing. She had reached to him not because of attraction, but because she needed his closeness, or was it that he needed her closeness. Whatever it was, it just sent a jolt through his body. Over the hundred years of his existence, he had stayed away from being intimate with anyone even though he had had several torrid passionate nights. Yet this small act, of scooping her and having this urge to press her against his body… his urge to wrap around her body was a sweet, raw connection that left him with a thousand questions as every moment without seeing her was slowly turning into torture. 

His thoughts were all scattered. When he remembered how Iona felt in his lap, against him, against his chest, a wave of heat so strong would pass through him that it almost smoldered him. She felt so light and weak and delicate against him. He didn't know why but he found himself kissing her damp hair when he was carrying her back to the camp. 

It had been two days since the girl was in this condition. She had been very unwell and was delirious the first night. After the healer had given her a draft of sleep and he had covered her with heaps of blankets, she had fallen into deep sleep. For those two days, Rolfe wanted to kiss her again, everywhere, and for hours. A wild thought of having her naked and exhausted in his bed shocked him tremendously. Over the hundred years of his existence, he had experienced all kinds of physical pleasures and he had lost interest in the experience, but now he wanted to have Iona Volkov with ferocity that shocked every bit out of him. 

As he looked at her, he couldn't help thinking that he was in such a terrible situation. A deposed prince with no fortune, with a father who wanted to kill him or catch him to throw in his dungeons forever and now he was with a woman he never wanted to part with. With a shaky breath he wondered if Iona would even want to stay with him or not. Even if he wanted her so badly, would she like to be with him or would she leave him? He hoped that she never had a man in her life. Yet another thought left a ripple of shock through his body—what if she had a man who she had to endure with and now she would want nothing to do with men? "Sweet mother of demons!" 

Brooding, Rolfe went out of the tent and looked at his men who were preparing a meal for the unit. It was a faction of fifty men who were loyal to him and had stayed with him ever since he had revolted and had to run for his life out of Galahar, else his father would have thrown him in the dungeons or perhaps beheaded him. What use was a dead man to his people? 

Rolfe was against his father's policies. A woman called Etaya had been misguiding him for years now. She claimed to be the reincarnation of his ancestor Etayalar Aramaer, and claimed that she would bring glory and power and money to the kingdom of Galahar, when all she was doing was draining the treasury to meet her expenses in the fae kingdom. He hated that woman from the core of his heart. 

He had protested time and again. However, his two older brothers and a younger sister were never with him. 

His father had imposed heavy taxes on his people, who were living in so much poverty that it bled his heart. His father, Edyrm Cranon Aramaer, was leeching the poor people even more. While he was enjoying his palace with a harem, with festivities and lavish celebrations that only loaded the treasury, the people of his kingdom were suffering. Any rebellion was met harshly, for people were enslaved and then made to work in mines to wield armor for a battle in future, for a battle that Etaya was preparing him for with Vilinski. When he stood against his Etaya, her vision of ruling the Lore, of being the only power in the world, of merging the fae kingdom with the demon kingdom and enslaving the faes, his father lashed against him. 

He had argued with his father repeatedly that she was not reliable, that he should focus on developing his own kingdom, he was met with severe resistance, not just from his father, but from his siblings as well. Over the years Etaya had poisoned his father to the extent that one night he asked his soldiers to arrest his youngest son. With the help of his loyal friends and those who supported his ideas and his vision, Rolfe escaped the kingdom. And now he was in the southwest of the kingdom, on the outskirts—a prince without money. The villagers would often smuggle rations for him for they loved him the most. He had told her he was exiled, but in reality...

He had a lovely vision of developing his lands, of engineering miracles, of lovely architecture, of a great education system and of prosperity… Why couldn't his family share the same dream? Why couldn't his mother understand that? He wanted to change the world. 

Gusts of chilly wind forced him to go inside the tent, not because he was cold, but to check on the delicate flower that was lying in his bed. As he gazed at her with fondness he didn't know where it crept from, he saw her trying to open her eyes. He rushed to sit right next to her. He took her hand in both his and waited for her to open her eyes with his breath lodged in his throat. 

When she fluttered open her golden yellow eyes, his mind went blank. She smiled up at him, and he could see that the golden hue of her irises was rimmed with a thin black line. Goosebumps prickled his skin as the air around him seemed to charge. 

"This is incredibly disturbing," she mumbled, even as her blood pounded in her ears, even as the touch sent shivers down her spine. And her stomach grumbled loud. Gods, how long had she been sleeping? And this man was incredibly handsome and was she insane to want to hold those horns and massage them? 

His lips tugged up and he asked, "I am sure you are hungry."

"Ravenous." 

He chuckled. As if on cue, a man entered the tent with a food tray and ginger ale, the smell of which wafted through the air. Rolfe helped her to sit by pulling her pillows up. The man bowed to her and placed the food tray in front of her. He too had horns, except they were gray-colored and not quite as long and thick and sexy as Rolfe's. 

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