Azrin as some kind of savior-in-waiting. Azrin had always said that if his father had only managed to have another son, Azrin would never have remained his heir. But he hadn’t.
This is real, she told herself again.
“You can do this,” she said. “You’ve been preparing for years. You’re ready.”
“Yes, Kiara. I’m ready,” he said quietly, his eyes again too dark, his mouth too grim.
Something gripped her then, some kind of terror, but she shoved it aside, annoyed with herself. Again. Was she really so self-involved? She could only stare up at him as he ran a hand over the back of her head, smoothing down her wet hair, gently tipping her head back to gaze at him more fully.
Azrin’s mouth curved slightly then, though it was in no way a smile, the way she wanted it to be. His gaze seared into hers, and she was afraid, suddenly, of the things he might see there.
“But are you?” he asked.
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