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Thea took a breath. ‘There hasn’t been anyone else since…’ she answered slowly. In the three weeks since they’d first fucked, all she’d thought of was him. With anger and hurt, certainly, but always him.

‘And before?’ he prompted.

‘No one of consequence. No one who meant anything.’ She sounded harsh, but it was the truth.

‘What of the stable master’s apprentice?’

Thea frowned in confusion, before she remembered their brief encounter in the stables and how Evander had practically fled upon seeing the Warsword darken the doorway. ‘He was my first.’

‘And he wasn’t special to you?’

Thea reached for the flask of fire extract resting against the Warsword’s pack and took a swig, grimacing at the burn down her throat. ‘He was what I needed him to be at the time… Until he wasn’t.’

Wilder’s voice went low, nearly a growl. ‘What do you mean?’

But Thea merely shrugged. ‘He thought me ridiculous. Dressed in boys’ clothes, trying to be a warrior. He wanted nothing to do with me once he knew what I wanted to do. I think I embarrassed him.’

Wilder shifted, his face completely serious as he said, ‘Shall I kill him for you?’

Thea burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary…’

Wilder’s nostrils flared. ‘I didn’t like the look of him.’

Still laughing, Thea wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘And that’s reason enough to kill a man?’

‘I’ve killed men for lesser reasons.’

Thea stared at him. ‘You’re joking.’

‘Am I?’

Thea couldn’t tell, not even when he offered another one of those wicked smiles. The sight made her heart stutter, and her breath catch.

‘Do you think all lovers of warriors are doomed from the start?’ The words tumbled from her mouth before she could think to hold them back. She knew it was dangerous territory once again, but she couldn’t help herself.

Wilder stoked the fire with a stick, coaxing the flames across the logs he’d fed it. ‘Jury’s still out on that one,’ he said finally.

Thea wasn’t sure what she’d been hoping he’d say, but she sensed the time for talking of such things was over. Instead, she looked to him in challenge. ‘Will you tell me of the Great Rite now?’

Wilder groaned.

‘You can’t tell me I haven’t earnt the tale yet. How many others have saved you with bolts of lightning? Twice?’

He lifted his gaze to hers, resigned. ‘I’ll tell you what I can,’ he said. ‘If you eat another helping of dinner.’

‘Another bribe?’

‘Another incentive,’ he corrected her, waiting.

She reached for her bowl. ‘Fine.’

Wilder took a deep breath. ‘There are rules about what I can and cannot tell you.’

‘Whose rules?’

‘The Furies’? The Rite’s? They are not written down, but a Warsword can feel them. The words simply won’t form if it’s something the Furies wish to remain secret. Do you understand?’

Thea nodded. ‘But you’ll tell me what you can?’