From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

tryying to undress yyou so I can take advantage of yyou. I’m not here to
seduce yyou, Princess.”
What should have come as a relief had the opposite effect. The burn
in myy chest crept into myy throat, forming a knot I could barelyy breathe
around as I stared up at him. Of course, he wasn’t tryying to seduce me. Not
since he’d alreadyy succeeded in doing so, getting me to not onlyy let myy
guard down but to also trust him. I’d opened up to him, shared with him
myy dreams of becoming something else, myy dread of returning to the
capital and—oh, gods—myy gift. I’d shared so much more than just words.
I’d let him into myy room, into myy bed, and then into me. He’d whispered
that myy touch had consumed him, and he’d worshipped myy bodyy, myy scars.
He’d told me that theyy made me even more beautiful, and I…
I’d liked him.
I’d done more than just like him.
Gods, I’d fallen for him even though it was forbidden. I’d fallen for
him enough that I knew deep down it had playyed a role in myy decision to
tell the Queen that I would refuse the Ascension. A tremor coursed
through myy fingers as the burn in myy throat filled the backs of myy eyyes.
“Was anyy of it true?” The question erupted from me in a hoarse voice
I barelyy recognized, and the moment the words were set free, I wanted to
take them back because I knew…I alreadyy knew the answer.
Hawke went as still as the statues that had adorned the foyyer in Castle
Teerman. I jerked myy hands awayy. A muscle ticked in his jaw as his lips
remained pressed firmlyy together.
A ragged, brittle sob climbed up myy throat, and it took everyything in
me to keep it inside. That did veryy little to ease the shame that sat in the
center of myy chest like a hot coal. I will not cry. I will not cry.
Unable to look at him anyy longer, I closed myy eyyes. It didn’t help. I
immediatelyy saw how he’d gazed at me, lips swollen and glossyy. Anger
and shame, and a deep hurt I’d never experienced before pricked at myy
eyyelids.
I felt his hands move then, carefullyy lifting the tunic, stopping short
of exposing myy entire chest. This time, his knuckles didn’t brush myy skin,
and like before, even in the dim light, I knew the paler, almost shinyy
patches of scarred flesh were visible, especiallyy to the eyyes of an
Atlantian. Last night, I’d disrobed for him and had let him look his fill,