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Chapter forty-five

D imitri took a seat on a pew shadowed from the morning sun.

The rays bathed the temple in golden light, but he cared little for it.

His attention remained fixed on Astrid. He’d allowed her space to pray and scarcely recognized the silent female kneeling before the white marble altar.

The vicious temper he’d encountered time and again vanished within this temple.

Unless he was trying to fuck her in front of her goddesses.

He strangled his dark amusement and smiled. He preferred this... more accepting side of her.

Time passed and Dimitri began to wonder if she bowed not in prayer, but to ascertain how long he would allow her to commune with her goddesses. He sat in silence as the passing minutes eroded his patience. This temple could be her sanctuary—a place to escape to and find solace from anyone but him.

He strolled to his devout wife and lowered to his knees, folding his wings behind him. “Teach me to pray to your three-faced goddess,” he whispered.

Astrid ignored him and Dimitri’s impatience gave way to wrath. The silence stretched between them and dragging Astrid to his feet by a fistful of her hair sounded more appealing by the second. He’d been a moment from acting on the impulse when her head turned a fraction.

Seething fury glimmered in the depths of her midnight eyes.

She would kill him and leave his body as an offering to her robed statues if she were able.

Her viciousness was a shield, intended to deflect male attention, but he found it intoxicating.

Her rage sweetened the flavor of her soul, and he could think of nothing more pleasing than watching her rancor slip into surrender as she came.

“If this is where you wish to spend your time,” Dimitri began, gesturing to the Three-Faced Mother, “I will spend it with you. Teach me.”

Her features remained harsh as she scrutinized him. “You’ve admitted you don’t worship Fate.”

Her words were true. Fate was cruel and Dimitri believed blindly walking the mangled path set before him was a fool’s errand. “I worship Vinceret. But should I not pay my respects to the goddesses my wife kneels to?”

Astrid eyed him suspiciously. Clorea was ruled beneath the shadow of the Three-Faced Mother.

His little wife protected her faith viciously.

Curiosity pestered him. Did she desperately cling to her temples because she was devout or was her time for worship restricted?

When he returned for her pet snake, he would ask if she would like a collection of heads as a belated wedding gift.

Astrid gazed at the statues. “We pray to the Mothers, and she sends serpents to guide us to our fate.”

His little wife was far too willful to be led by anything. The concept of her beliefs were marred by her actions. “If you believe in a predestined fate, why do you fight me? Your Mothers allowed me to capture you. Keep you. Is this not your fate?”

A small laugh slipped past her lips as she smiled.

“Trusting in fate does not mean I am to roll onto my back and allow life to happen to me. You are an instrument of the Three-Faced Mother just as I am. I couldn’t serve the Mothers beneath my father’s suffocating grasp,” Astrid said, turning toward him. “The Mothers sent you to liberate me.”

“How are you sure your assumption is correct? The Three-Faced Mother could have as easily placed you in my path to be my faithful and smitten wife.”

“Because you don’t serve her,” Astrid said simply. “The path she set before me isn’t meant to be easy. It’s meant to be traversed.”

On the battlefield, he’d witnessed the dying and wounded scream for their gods.

Begging for their intervention. Desperate cries to save them, to spare them.

His feral neva didn’t lament to her goddess.

She believed her hardships served a greater purpose.

A quiet serenity came over her as she closed her eyes in prayer, assured and unwavering.

Dimitri wanted her faith and passion. Her loyalty.

“What do you pray for?” he asked.

“Knowledge,” Astrid breathed. “There is no doubt you’re a sword. I pray to recognize if you were meant for my hand or if another wields you and you’re destined for my throat.”

“I am in your hands, neva, but a weapon can only perform as well as it is treated,” Dimitri said, lowering his voice to a caress. “If you cared for your blade, sharpened and honed it... I would never fail you.”

Astrid offered him a bemused smile. “Why would I care for a blade that cuts me more often than my enemies?”

“Why do you blame the weapon when your injuries are obviously the result of your poor swordsmanship,” Dimitri countered.

Humor lit her eyes, and Astrid rose to her feet. She smoothed her hands over the altar, tracing the veins of glittering silver. She turned her head, not quite glancing back at him, and asked, “Would you’ve been kind to me if I spoke to you sweetly in the carriage?”

Dimitri shrugged his broad shoulders. “I would alter nothing about you, neva. There is no changing who we are.”

Astrid’s features softened in a way he’d only seen when she slept.

She may have been a princess, but her court choked and silenced her.

He’d thought to force her affection when all he needed to do was supply her with a space to breathe.

He would still punish her when she turned her viciousness toward him, but he accepted her as she was.

Dimitri rose to his feet and brushed off his knees. “I will have snakes delivered. Is there a particular meat you prefer for your offerings?”

A genuine smile crossed her lips, and she sauntered toward him. “I carved offerings from our prisoners back home.”

Dimitri stroked her cheek and smiled. “Then your serpents will be well fed.”