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A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 222 из 338But the sword at his side with its silver-and-bone hilt was real enough, and if you could see one weapon, there'd be more because he was Frost. The queen called him her Killing Frost. If he'd ever had another name I did not know it. He wasn't wearing any magical or bespelled weapons—for Frost it was almost the same thing as being unarmed.
He stared at me with those grey eyes, clearly suspicious.
I found my voice, anything to fill the silence. Distraction was what was needed. I let go of Doyle's hand and took a step forward. Frost was vain about his appearance and his clothes. "Frost, what a bold fashion statement." My voice came out strong, somewhere between teasing and mockery.
His fingers went to the edge of the tunic before he could stop himself. He frowned at me. "Princess Meredith, a pleasure as always." A slight change in tone made mockery of his polite words.
I didn't care. He wasn't wondering about what Doyle was hiding. That was all I had wanted to accomplish.
"What about me?" Rhys said.
I turned to find my third-favorite guard. I didn't trust him as I did Barinthus or Galen. There was something weak about Rhys, a sense that he wouldn't exactly die for your honor, but right up to that point you could depend on him.
He put his cape and the waist-length spill of white wavy hair over one arm so I'd have an unobstructed view of his body. Rhys was a full half foot under six feet, short for a guard. To my knowledge he was full-blooded court. He just happened to be short. His body was encased in a white bodysuit so tight that you knew at a glance that there was nothing under it but him. There was white-on-white embroidery on the cloth edging the round collar and the slight flare of the long sleeves, and encircling the cutout over his stomach, which revealed his cobblestone abs like a woman showing off her cleavage.
He let the cape and his hair fall back into place. He smiled his full cupid-bow lips at me. They matched the round boyishly handsome face and the one pale blue eye. His eye was a tricircle of blue; cornflower blue around the pupil, sky blue, then a circle of winter sky. The other eye was lost forever under a furrow of scars. Claw marks cut across the upper right quarter of his face. One single claw mark parted an inch from the rest, cutting across otherwise perfect skin to cross from his upper right forehead to cut down the bridge of his nose and the lower left cheek. He'd told me a dozen different stories about how he lost his eye. Great battles, giants, I think I remember a dragon or two. I think it was the scars that made him work so very hard on his body.
He stared at me with those grey eyes, clearly suspicious.
I found my voice, anything to fill the silence. Distraction was what was needed. I let go of Doyle's hand and took a step forward. Frost was vain about his appearance and his clothes. "Frost, what a bold fashion statement." My voice came out strong, somewhere between teasing and mockery.
His fingers went to the edge of the tunic before he could stop himself. He frowned at me. "Princess Meredith, a pleasure as always." A slight change in tone made mockery of his polite words.
I didn't care. He wasn't wondering about what Doyle was hiding. That was all I had wanted to accomplish.
"What about me?" Rhys said.
I turned to find my third-favorite guard. I didn't trust him as I did Barinthus or Galen. There was something weak about Rhys, a sense that he wouldn't exactly die for your honor, but right up to that point you could depend on him.
He put his cape and the waist-length spill of white wavy hair over one arm so I'd have an unobstructed view of his body. Rhys was a full half foot under six feet, short for a guard. To my knowledge he was full-blooded court. He just happened to be short. His body was encased in a white bodysuit so tight that you knew at a glance that there was nothing under it but him. There was white-on-white embroidery on the cloth edging the round collar and the slight flare of the long sleeves, and encircling the cutout over his stomach, which revealed his cobblestone abs like a woman showing off her cleavage.
He let the cape and his hair fall back into place. He smiled his full cupid-bow lips at me. They matched the round boyishly handsome face and the one pale blue eye. His eye was a tricircle of blue; cornflower blue around the pupil, sky blue, then a circle of winter sky. The other eye was lost forever under a furrow of scars. Claw marks cut across the upper right quarter of his face. One single claw mark parted an inch from the rest, cutting across otherwise perfect skin to cross from his upper right forehead to cut down the bridge of his nose and the lower left cheek. He'd told me a dozen different stories about how he lost his eye. Great battles, giants, I think I remember a dragon or two. I think it was the scars that made him work so very hard on his body.