Page 89

My body burning up on the inside, my chest squeezing, my skin pulling and tingling and vibrating and humming with a song only I heard... aroused beyond measure by the husband I could never have.

29

Fell

INEVER EXPECTED MY WIFE’S REJECTION TO HURT. WHEN Iventured south, I never thought I would feelanythingfor the bride I would claim. But this ache was as pervasive as the fog filling my life. A constant stitch in my side, pinching, stinging, never releasing me. I was married to a woman I wanted. Desperately. Unexpectedly. But there it was. I wanted her.

And she did not want me.

She made it clear that we would not be husband and wife in the truest sense. And yet I had not moved myself into another chamber. I still stayed in that bed with her, an idiot, a fool.

The yawning gap between us did not get any smaller in the days that followed. It did not shrink over the next week, or the week after that.

If anything, the gulf between us grew wider with each passing day.

I was a glutton for punishment. There was no other explanation. I slept in our bed—well, I didn’t get much sleep with a throbbing cock and a throbbing palm that wouldn’t let up. Lying so close, without touching her, denying myself contact, not being able to close the distance between us, was a torment. It had been better when we were separated. Notbetterbetter, but at least not this much pain. Not this agony.

When we had been miles apart, the buzzing in my palm, while persistent, had not been painful. Now this throbbing hurt, radiatingup my arm and throughout my entire body like one giant gnawing wound.

How could this be normal? Did every blooded couple experience this? I should have been warned. I would never have done it. Never have let them press our bleeding palms together.

Distraction was my goal, and there was plenty to distract myself with—at least in the daylight hours. I threw myself into all the things that needed to be done after almost two months away. And there were many.

Training to resume, especially as I still intended to march an army on the City the following spring. I had not changed my mind on that count. The dragon threat only added a sense of urgency. Unseating Hamlin from power seemed more important than ever, and preparations needed to begin now.

Additionally, repairs throughout the stronghold had been neglected in my absence. There were farmers to meet with to discuss the coming crops. Vassals with concerns that needed to be heard. Recompense offered to Arkin’s family. His wife didn’t know of his treachery. No one did. Just me. Me. And Tamsyn. There was no point in sharing that shame—especially as it was no fault of his family. I sent a small party to travel to his lands and visit his wife and daughters. Aside from their grief, they would be stricken with worry over their position in the Borderlands. Assurances needed to be given. A new vassal lord needed to be appointed, but that didn’t mean I would leave Arkin’s widow and offspring without support.

Oh. And there was still the dragon threat to be tackled. I had not forgotten that.

No matter how distracting my wife and my suffering, I had not forgotten that the curse of the skies had returned. Or perhaps, to be more accurate, it had never left.

Since word had already circulated through the surrounding countryside and beyond, the only thing left to do was to shore up our defenses and make certain we were ready in the event the dragon returned. The catapults were dusted off, as were the giant scale-tipped arrows of dragon bone. Once they were tested for accuracy and proven functional, they were positioned in their old spots along the outer and inner walls. All our arrows and swords and shields of dragon bone and dragon scales were unearthed from the bowels of the fortress and restored, made ready for every warrior. Training commenced in earnest. I had a new generation of warriors to prepare for an enemy they had never faced.

Weapons for dragon defense were not the only thing I unearthed. My father had kept the lion’s share of treasure that was uncovered in the Crags, keeping it hidden away.

Certainly he had turned over a large portion to the realm, but Balor the Butcher was not known to be a trusting man. It was not greed that had prompted him to stash away his personal hoard. It was wisdom. He had warned me many times to trust no one in a position of power, as their motivation would always be suspect, and the day may come when the hoard would be a useful and valuable tool... necessary to guarantee survival, to bribe and form alliances with other kingdoms. It could mean the difference between life and death. Not just for me but for our people.

It was this wisdom that prompted my father to stash treasure in multiple locations. He had divided it up and hidden it in different places throughout the fortress. One large trunk was hidden beneath the floorboards of the library. It was in this room I found myself, carefully prying the boards back and opening the chest, browsing through the assortment of gems and gold until I uncovered the perfect piece. Slipping it into my pocket, I closed the trunk. Securing the floorboards back in place, I went in search of my wife.

I FOUND HERin our chamber.

Tamsyn had not ventured far from the room since our arrival. Almost as though she feared the world outside her door. And yet fear was not a word I would ever associate with her. Not this girl... not this woman who had taken beatings as her due, who had faced down bandits and a huldra with all the calm of a cat lazing in the sun. She’d attacked that huldra and trussed her up like a hog for the spit. As my father would say—she had mettle.

If she had been scared on the journey north, she certainly had not let it get to her. It never showed on her face. She had not acted the coward. She had acted like a warrior.

Still, I hated the idea that she was not comfortable here.

There were whispers. I heard the murmurs throughout the fortress, even beyond, out in the shops, in villages of the Borg. They thought her too precious to emerge from her chamber. They called her spoiled. Haughty. The Whipping Bitch. They thought she held herself above everybody else.

They were wrong, of course, but nothing I said could change their minds. It would be up to her to alter their opinions. If she chose to do so. If she cared.

Time would reveal who she was to these people. Mari knew. So did Magnus and Vidar. They spoke of her heroics with the huldra to anyone who would listen. Others would soon learn, as well.

She was reading a book, reclining on a chaise near the window in a gown of warm yellow that did amazing things for her golden skin and red hair. Those flame-colored tresses were braided and wrapped into a cornet around her head. My fingers itched to pull it apart, to loosen the strands and watch the fiery mane flow over her shoulders and down her back.

She was like a beam of sunshine, glowing in the trickle of paltry light seeping in from outside. The day was covered in snow and fog. She was a spot of brightness amid so much white and gray and gloom... almost unearthly in appearance, radiant, as though she were not bound to this world like the rest of us mortals. I shook off these fanciful thoughts.

She looked up as I entered the room, firing that practiced smile of hers that did not quite reach her eyes at me. It was always in place the moment she saw me. I was getting used to it. I despised it for its falseness, for its uncertainty, but I knew it well.