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18

Fell

IWOKE CURLED AROUND HER.

I didn’t move. Her hand rested on my arm so trustingly in her sleep, the only movement from her that pulsing X against my skin. I peered over her shoulder at her slim fingers, limp and relaxed, the nails shorn to the quick, jagged and uneven, like she had used her teeth on them rather than scissors. This whipping girl was without frills and airs. She was strong and quiet with quick, watchful eyes, like a deer in the brush. Fiery amber eyes, so like her hair.

And she was mine.

Whether I liked it or not.

This woman, who was not the princess I had set out to claim... who was something else I could not yet decipher.

She’d suffered beatings all her life. Willingly. As though there was nothing wrong with it. It galled me. I rebelled at the idea of anyone putting hands on her. I wanted to go back and turn the whip on every one of those bastards for raising a whip to her—on the king and queen for allowing it, for supporting it, for condemning a child to take beatings for their daughters’ transgressions.

I felt feral. A growl swelled in the back of my throat. I’d been brought up to fight, to protect my people and lands, to do what needed to be done to survive, to win. The impulse to protect her burned within me.

I stared down at her hand. It was the one where we were blooded, the carved X on her skin still palpable, a heartbeat on my arm. Myflesh hummed and vibrated, rising up to meet the mark like a plant seeking light.

I was a warrior. I knew wounds. This, however, I did not know. I did not understand it.

Slow, soft breaths lifted her chest. When she was asleep like this, there was none of the guardedness staring back at me from her eyes. Her body was boneless, sinking into the furs, leaning back against me. That fiery hair had unraveled from her braid, and it fluttered against my lips as I breathed. I had the urge to sink my fingers into those locks, to grab a fistful and wind it around my hand. To roll her onto her back and come over her, push inside her...

I inhaled a ragged breath. Time enough for that later, when she was well mended and restored from travel. Later, when she was comfortably installed within the walls of my keep.

I grimaced. While I had been avoiding her, leaving her to Mari’s care, she had very nearly broken herself. If not for that witch and her magic salve, she’d be ruined for riding.

I’d warned her that the crossing was not for the weak and that she needed to keep up, but that didn’t change the fact that I felt like a right bastard when I saw her pretty skin chafed raw. She had said nothing. Nary a complaint for days. Which was what a whipping girl did, I realized. She sacrificed herself. Her wants and needs. Her body. Her necklace to a gang of bandits. I stifled a curse. A necklace. Such a trivial thing, but it should never have happened.

Something told me it would not be the last time she put herself at risk. Deciphering the truth behind her eyes and her silent lips would require close attention. She may have rid herself of the veil, but she still shielded her true self from me.

That damn veil. I blew out an angry breath. It might as well still exist between us.

I still saw red, seething over what could not be undone. She was forever mine, but I recoiled at the idea. I clung to the fury I’d felt the night of our bedding, wrapping my sense of betrayal around me like impenetrable armor—but looking at her,beingwith her,pushed it right out of me, dispelling it like motes of dust through the air.

I was so fucked.

My gaze traveled the length of her body. I’d already accepted her in one very significant way. I didn’t findthata chore at all. She had her... charms. And why not enjoy them? I should get something out of this mess. And it was messy. War always was. Nothing short of war would come to those bastards who’d played me the fool.

Accepting her did not mean I accepted what had been done to me. There would be a reckoning, in due time.

I slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb her. Silently, I dressed, one eye on her face, so soft and peaceful in slumber. Something stirred in my chest. Lifting my scabbard over my head, I stood over her in the quiet.

Shaking my head, I exited the tent. The sky was a deep purple. Dawn had not yet arrived. No one else roused as I made my way to the horses.

I felt him before I heard him, well familiar with his heavy gait.

“Sleep well?”

I didn’t bother turning to face Arkin. “Well enough.” The bridles clinked in the hush of predawn as I collected my destrier and then Tamsyn’s mare and started to lead them to the stream.

“You’ve gone soft for her.”

Softwas the last thing I felt around her—but I wouldn’t admit that to Arkin.

I didn’t react immediately, considering my response.

I peered around at the sleeping camp and the dark shape of the tent backlit by the rising dawn. “She’s my wife.”