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Thea batted his hands away with another laugh. ‘I didn’t bring you here for that,’ she told him, gripping him by the arms and turning him to face the back of the tent. ‘I brought you here for that.’

Instantly, his gaze fell on the mannequin in the far corner.

Upon it was the finest suit of armour Wilder had ever seen.

Warsword armour.

‘How…?’ he murmured, approaching the mannequin and studying the set, tracing the interlocking metal rings that covered the torso and arms – a chainmail hauberk. It was incredible, a seamless blend of the unyielding strength of iron and leather, offering both protection and mobility.

‘I found the designs in the Dorinth armoury in Delmira, after we were attacked in the ruins,’ Thea replied, watching him as he marvelled at the masterpiece. ‘Are you going to stare at it all day or are you going to put it on?’

His hands shook as he pulled his shirt off and reached for the armour. Since passing the Great Rite, he’d worn imitation armour, which rubbed him raw and left him vulnerable – he had the scar through his shoulder to prove it. But this… He slipped the chainmail over his head, the mesh-like fabric fitting him like a glove and moving with him smoothly. This was everything he’d ever imagined his armour to be.

Warmth bloomed in his chest as he fitted the bracers to his forearms and the greaves to his legs. He secured each piece in place with the leather straps and buckles, feeling Thea’s gaze on him with each added layer.

When at last he’d fastened his belt and scabbards in place, he looked up. ‘It’s perfect,’ he told her.

‘As it should be.’ Thea began strapping on her own armour – the same set of boiled leather plates he’d had Audra alter for her back in Thezmarr. He’d had to help her into it the first time, lacing the pieces in place as he knelt before her. Now, she dressed for war herself, quickly and efficiently.

‘What about yours?’ he asked. ‘You need Warsword armour too.’

‘There were only enough materials for one set,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I figured you’d waited long enough.’

Wilder closed the gap between them, pulling her hard to his armoured chest. ‘Thank you.’ He kissed her, groaning with need as her mouth opened beneath his and allowed his tongue to sweep in.

For a moment, their kiss was all there was. Deeply passionate, a claiming of one another on the precipice of battle, a promise.

Reluctantly, Wilder broke away, breathless.

But Thea fixed him with a hard stare. ‘When the battle is won, I’ll be peeling this armour off piece by piece, and worshipping what I find beneath,’ she told him.

His lips quirked into a smile. ‘Is that a bribe to stay alive, Princess?’

‘Yes.’

He laughed. ‘Good. I think you’ll find it very effective. Never underestimate how badly I want to bury my cock inside you.’

She strapped her sword in place and checked her daggers, and winked. ‘Oh, I never do.’

Outside, a horn sounded.

Three short blasts.

A warning.

With a final lingering look at one another, Wilder and Thea left their tent, and went to face Artos on the battlefield.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THEA

As the sun crested the wintry horizon, Thea and Wilder rode out to meet Talemir and the others. From their vantage point on the field, with a spyglass pressed to her eye, Thea spotted Artos at the rear of his forces, clad in golden armour. If he were closer, she would have spat on him, for that gilded breastplate seemed like a further insult – a taunt after inviting darkness into the world, after breeding monsters in the shadows.

Those very monsters bolstered Artos’ numbers and ranks before them: howlers, arachnes and all manner of filth in between, and then… a combination of Harenth and Tver men, no doubt manipulated by fear and empath magic. She had seen Artos’ power back in Aveum, had seen how it could transform the very nature of people. Despite having heard Torj’s report and Wilder’s recount of the plans from the Scarlet Tower, Thea hadn’t wanted to believe it. It was all so wrong.

She glanced back at their own forces. Aveum’s winter soldiers, the shadow-touched folk, shieldbearers not yet seasoned, Guardians from all over the midrealms, and the Warswords – old and new.

No matter what they did, many lives would be lost in the hours to come. The thought opened a chasm of dread low in Thea’s gut.