Page 32 of War

The horseman is the last one to come riding out, looking portentous on his steed. He’s clad once more in his leather armor, his gigantic sword strapped to his back and his gold hair pieces glinting in the sunlight. He doesn’t look like anything that belongs to this century.

War rides up to my side. “Ready?”

Not like I have much of a choice. I nod anyway.

“Follow me.”

He rides off, his horse racing to the front of the line that’s formed. People cheer as he passes them by, like he’s their savior rather than some supernatural menace. I watch him for several seconds before I coax Thunder to follow the horseman.

People don’t cheer when I ride by, but I feel their curious, questioning gazes.

Who is she?

Why is she following War?

I make my way to the front of the procession, and then past it altogether.

There, War waits. His eyes seem to dance as I get closer to him. Once I come to his side, he wordlessly begins to ride, setting the pace for us.

Nohi, nohow are you?Just a quiet confidence that I’ll fall into line.

I glance back at the horde, which is beginning to move. It’s clear from their pace that they’re not going to catch up to us. Never have I wanted such a faithless mass of people to save me as I do now.

They follow behind us for half a kilometer before the horseman and I pass a bend in the road, and then the two of us are alone.

The silence swarms in. I wait for War to break it—surely he’s going to break it—but he just rides on, those dangerous eyes of his fixed on the road ahead.

I clear my throat. “Why did you want me to ride next to you?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re my wife.”

I’m not your wife, I want to insist.Not in any way that matters.

The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but then I study War’s profile, and there’s something so …certainabout the way he handles me. I take him in for a bit longer, from his dark, shoulder-length hair to his curving lips and sharp jaw.

“Why do you think I’m your wife?” I say.

War’s eyes flick to just beneath my chin.

“I don’t ‘think’ it,” he says. “Iknowit.”

Chills. There it is, that certainty. You’d think that if I was supposed to make a husband out of War, I’dknowit too.

“If I’m your wife, why don’t I sleep in the same tent as you?” I say. “And why don’t—” I stop myself before I can say more.

The horseman glances at me. Now I’ve caught his interest.

“Go on,” he says. “Tell me, Miriam, all about the rest.”

I don’t.

“Why don’t I fuck you raw and feast on your pussy and keep you chained to my bed like a proper husband?” he finishes for me.

Chained to the bed like a proper husband?

I glance over at him. “Who thehelleducated you on marriage?”

Seriously, what the fuck?