Page 10

Chapter Ten

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“S he knew exactly what she was doing,” Tanyl muttered. We stood in the rear of his spacious bedchamber as servants bustled around Sylvie, adjusting the sheets and ferrying warm water from the hearth. Father Aegor hovered on one side of the bed, his eyes closed and his arms stretched wide as he chanted prayers for healing. One of the servants shot him an irritated look as she maneuvered around him.

But her expression wasn’t nearly as irritated as the one Tanyl had worn since he carried Sylvie from the battlefield. In the two hours since, he’d paced the bedchamber as healers examined Sylvie in between casting him wary looks.

“She could have been killed,” he said now, his arms folded over his chest. His hair was damp, and he’d changed his clothes after I finally persuaded him to wash the stink of the battlefield from his body. I’d done the same, and I’d said a prayer of thanks when I found my laundered clothes folded on my bed.

I caught Tanyl’s eye. “She fought admirably. Her magic is strong.”

He gave a humorless laugh. With a glance at the servants, he angled his body away from the women. “Her magic is unmatched.”

I looked past him to where Sylvie lay on the bed, her pale hair spread over the white pillow.

“She can melt stone,” Tanyl added, drawing my gaze back to him. I must have looked as startled as I felt because Tanyl nodded. “Sylvie’s magic is almost too powerful for her body to contain. She risks burnout every time she wields it.”

Understanding dawned. “That’s why you forbid her to fight.”

“She’s my queen.” His brows drew together. “What kind of king would I be if I couldn’t protect my own wife? What kind of man?”

Sylvie’s dirt-streaked face rose in my mind. I hadn’t lied to Tanyl. She’d fought well, dispatching Scarrok as efficiently as any garrison knight. Burnout was never an issue at the Citadel, where all the Rivven were halflings. But the books in the library taught that even the strongest magic could be mastered. With the right training, Sylvie could be lethal.

“If she had more practice,” I said, “she might?—”

“No,” Tanyl said, and the sudden harshness in his tone snapped my mouth shut. He sighed, and he looked tired as he waved a hand. “Forgive me. I know you don’t understand.” He paused, and I could almost see him choosing his words. “Sylvie watched her parents get ripped apart by Scarrok. It happened less than a year after our wedding. Her mother and father made the long journey from the Silver Sea to Storm’s Hollow to visit her. When they took their leave, Sylvie and Crispin rode with them for a while. They intended to see their parents to the next bend in the river and then return to the castle.”

“But they never got that far,” I said, horror creeping through me.

Tanyl shook his head. “The Scarrok attacked. My knights got Sylvie to safety. Crispin stayed behind and fought the Scarrok, but it was too late. The Scarrok pulled Sylvie’s parents from their horses and drained them. Sylvie threw lightning from afar, saving Crispin’s life, but she couldn’t save her parents. Crispin retrieved their bodies and prevented them from rising.”

I touched my forehead and then my lips. “Perun be praised.”

Tanyl’s jaw flexed. “Sylvie blames herself for what happened. You know as well as I do that past battle experiences can cause soldiers to make mistakes. I won’t put her in that position again.”

Perhaps, but sometimes, avoiding a fear only made it worse. But Sylvie was Tanyl’s wife, not mine, so I bit my tongue.

Movement near the door drew my gaze. As Tanyl turned toward it, Lord Crispin entered. Tanyl cursed softly, then crossed to Sylvie’s brother. They spoke in hushed but agitated tones, and Tanyl’s expression darkened. Crispin’s mouth thinned as he looked from the bed to me and back to Tanyl. The latter made a sharp gesture as he leaned toward Crispin.

I focused on the bed, where Father Aegor had finished his prayers and was doing a poor job of pretending not to listen to Tanyl and Crispin. Sylvie didn’t look as though she’d been in a blood-soaked battle. She looked beautiful, her cheeks pink and her features serene. Her plump lips were slightly parted, and her chest rose and fell evenly under the sheet. The women had bathed her and then dressed her in a simple, flowing nightdress the same light blue shade as the waterfalls that spilled from the base of Storm’s Hollow.

Tanyl stalked back to my side with stormclouds in his eyes. “My Council has called a meeting.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his voice suddenly tired. “I can’t even be upset about it. The Scarrok have never attacked like this.”

But they had. In Mistport—and all through Vetra. When I dipped my hand in King Liam’s rivers, the water showed me schools of Scarrok moving as one. Spring’s curse had changed, the abomination growing into something even more monstrous.

Tanyl pinned me with one of his sharp, assessing looks. “Have you seen them launch an assault like they did today?”

“No. So far, the large groups I’ve seen have avoided the large cities. They appear to have one destination.”

“Storm’s Hollow,” Tanyl said grimly.

I hesitated, awareness prickling over me. Crispin still stood in the doorway, his arms folded and his attention on the bed. I bent toward Tanyl and pitched my voice just above a whisper. “I can’t say for certain. My range only extends so far. But the creatures move toward the Covenant. When we’ve tracked them, they slip under the barrier and disappear.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed the information. I held his gaze, letting him look for the truth in my eyes. When he finally nodded, some of the tension drained from my shoulders.

“I shouldn’t leave her,” he said, looking at the bed over his shoulder.

I followed his gaze. “I’ll stay with her,” I blurted before I could think better of it.

Tanyl turned back. “Would you?”

“Yes,” I said because I’d boxed myself in, volunteering to sit with Sylvie as if I had any business doing so. “I’ll fetch you myself if anything happens. But it won’t. You heard the healers say her pulse and breathing are fine.”

Tanyl gave me another long look. Then he clasped my shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

“Take whatever time you need, Your Grace.”

Something entered the air between us. Unspoken things, each one weighted with age. Except for our earlier encounter on the riverbank.

A mistake. Tanyl knew it as well as I did. We’d sworn, both of us promising to walk away and never look back.

And yet you got on a horse and rode all the way to my kingdom.

As always, Tanyl saw through me. The passage of fifty years was nothing. He saw everything, stripping me bare more thoroughly than Saltvale’s unforgiving sun and wind.

He squeezed my shoulder. “Watch over my wife.”

Then he dropped his hand and walked to the door, his fall of golden hair swinging against his back. Crispin stepped aside so Tanyl could pass. As Tanyl entered the corridor, Crispin met my stare, intelligence in his blue-green eyes. But there was something else. Something that made my fingers twitch for the hilt of a knife.

Calculation. The head of Tanyl’s Council saw things, too. If I wasn’t careful, he’d see all the way through me the same as Tanyl.

I nodded.

Crispin returned the gesture. Then he left.

I released a slow breath. Fighting Scarrok was dangerous but straightforward. Navigating the politics of a royal court was an entirely different kind of danger.

“Father?”

One of the healers moved toward me, her long skirts swishing around her legs. Tapered ears peeked from the braids that wreathed her head. Kindness gleamed in her blue eyes as she gestured toward the bed.

“We’ve brought a chair. Perhaps you would like to sit?”

Refusal rushed to my tongue. I didn’t need to get any closer to Sylvie.

“Father Aegor is leaving to tend the wounded knights in the infirmary,” the healer said, a hopeful look entering her eyes. “Rumor has it you’re a healer yourself. We thought you might say healing prayers for the queen.”

The mix of servants and healers around the bed looked toward me. My nape prickled, and I forced a smile. “Of course.”

Moments later, I sat inches from Sylvie as the women tidied the chamber. Father Aegor murmured a final benediction. With a nod toward me, he left in a whisper of robes.

Sylvie slept on, her lips parted just enough to reveal white, even teeth and the hint of a pink tongue. Every dozen or so breaths, she snored softly, and the sound that should have been unbecoming was just another facet of charm that drew me until I bent my head and feigned the prayers the servant had requested.

Because I couldn’t pray. Not when my eyes returned again and again to the swells of sweetly curved breasts and the faintest tips of nipples that thrust against waterfall fabric. The nightdress was too thin a garment for a queen to wear in front of a man who wasn’t her husband.

Then again, the women in the bedchamber didn’t see me as a man—or at least not as a threat. One by one, they gathered their medicines and bowls of water and left the chamber until, at last, I was alone except for the blue-eyed healer.

“It’s a concussion,” she said, a sigh in her voice as she gazed at Sylvie from the foot of the bed.

I straightened. “I thought it was burnout.”

The healer lifted a shoulder. “That too, I suppose, but the queen had a nasty bump on the back of her head. The swelling has gone down, but I’m sure it’ll be tender for a day or so.”

“Do you have grimblevine? The herb, I mean.”

“Yes. It’s rare this side of the Covenant, but it grows near the sea. I’ve seen a bottle in the infirmary.”

“Fetch it for me, please.” When she stared, I cleared my throat. “We’re skilled with battlefield injuries at the Citadel. With Perun’s help, I’ve tended quite a few concussions over the years.”

After a moment, the healer nodded. “All right.” As she started for the door, I stood.

“I’ll need lyssop, too,” I said. “And a mortar and pestle if you have it.”

As she left to gather the supplies, I turned back to Sylvie. Thick, dark lashes rested on her cheeks, which were dusted with pink. The worst concussions could be dangerous. Men who fell asleep after a sharp blow to the head sometimes didn’t wake. But she was immortal, her body capable of withstanding a great deal more than a fall from a horse.

Still, anxiety tugged at me—and kept on tugging until I leaned over her and pressed my fingers to the side of her neck. Her pulse beat a strong, steady rhythm against my skin. The sestra’s chain was a pale ghost among the tiny kestrels and forked lightning that spread down her throat. The delicate bolts disappeared under her gown’s neckline, which shifted ever so slightly with her breaths. The fabric slid up and down her chest, the rise and fall barely noticeable.

But I noticed. And I ogled a sick, sleeping woman. Tanyl’s wife .

I stumbled back from the bed and sat hard in the chair. Through the chamber’s long windows, the sun had begun its descent toward the horizon. It was too late to pray Anone and too early for Thara. Even so, I bent my head and murmured the wind goddess’s devotion. When I finished, I touched my forehead and then my lips as I mouthed Perun protect me .

But would my god protect me from me?

After a moment, I started the devotion for Eura, the goddess of lightning and twin to Veluna. I went from one Hour to the next, my head dipping lower as the sun sank in the sky outside. And I didn’t dare lift my head and let my gaze fall on parted, pink lips or a flat stomach. I didn’t look at the long legs under the sheet or the slight dip where the fabric formed a soft valley between slender thighs.

I didn’t look. I just prayed. Not to the gods—but to whatever part of me was still good.

* * *

A sound brought my head up. I was instantly alert, a knife in my hand as I jumped to my feet.

Shadows clung to Tanyl’s bedchamber as I spun in place and swept my gaze from corner to corner.

Nothing. The chamber was empty. I’d fallen asleep when I was supposed to keep watch.

A whimper brought my attention to the bed. Sylvie’s forehead creased. Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes darted back and forth under her lids. Another whimper spilled from her lips as she tossed her head on the pillow.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to see…”

Sheathing the knife, I leaned over the bed. I reached for her, then hesitated. If she was having a nightmare, waking her might startle her.

“Please!” she cried. The blanket slipped beneath her breasts, and her gown’s low neckline gaped. Her chest heaved, and she gasped like she couldn’t get enough air.

Instinct took over, and I sat on the edge of the bed and took her shoulders in a firm grip. “Your Grace,” I said. “Sylvie!”

She opened her eyes mid-gasp, and she locked gazes with me as she bolted upright.

“It’s all right,” I said, tightening my grip. “It’s me.” Except she didn’t know me. Not really. And it was dark, with only moonlight and the all but dead fire lifting the gloom. “It’s Briar,” I clarified. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

For a moment, her stare stayed wide and terrified. Then she sucked in a breath, her mouth trembling as recognition flooded her sea-colored eyes. “Briar?” she asked hoarsely, something raw and vulnerable in her voice.

“Yes.” Without thinking, I brushed the heavy fall of platinum hair off her shoulder, exposing the long line of her neck with its pattern of lightning and kestrels. The strands were like silk against my fingers, and it was an effort to pull my hand away.

“Briar,” she murmured, as if she reassured herself. Her muscles relaxed under my palms, and she drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I have bad dreams.”

Her neckline gaped, the silk revealing the gentle swells of her breasts. She was warm under the fabric.

She can melt stone , Tanyl’s voice said in my mind. If her magic was that strong, maybe she burned with it all the time. Moonlight silvered her hair. Her bones under my hands were delicate. Fragile. But she wasn’t. I’d seen what she was capable of.

And we sat far too close, our breaths mingling.

I released her, and heat touched my face as I moved back to my chair. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I said. “Everyone has bad dreams now and then.”

A rueful smile touched her lips. “Yes. I suppose they do.” Moonlight limned her profile as she glanced around the chamber before looking at me. “Has Tanyl been in here?”

The heat in my face intensified. “Yes, of course.” I stood too quickly, and the chair legs scraped against the floor. “I’ll call for him?—”

“No,” she said, thrusting out a hand. She lowered it, then tucked a lock of hair behind one tapered ear. “Just…not yet, all right? I want to gather myself first.”

Indecision warred within me, but I nodded. “All right.”

She flashed a grateful-looking smile. Then she sobered. “What happened after I fell?”

Sinking back into the chair, I told her. When I finished, the tension had reentered her shoulders.

“Tanyl is going to confine me to my room for a month,” she said.

Alarm made me sit forward. “Would he really do that?”

Sylvie grimaced. “No. At least, I don’t think so. But I know he’s angry with me.”

“He worries about you. He loves you.”

She held my stare for a second. Then she lowered her gaze, and she played with a bit of loose thread on the blanket. The faint sestra’s chain around her wrist peeked from beneath the sleeve of her gown. “He does,” she said softly.

I needed to summon Tanyl. Or her women. Instead, I waited, my eyes on the length of hair that had slipped back over her shoulder, obscuring the curve of one breast. But the other was visible beneath the silk, the tip just below her neckline. One tug, and I’d see everything from her breasts to her belly. Tanyl’s wife. The Queen of Spring.

And I wanted to. Fuck, I wanted to. That had always been the problem. The want . Greed was an offense to the gods, and I had a surfeit of it, my hunger for warm skin and strong arms too insatiable to bear.

But this was different. I wasn’t supposed to want this .

Her.

Was it not enough that I wanted everything Tanyl had to offer? That I craved the hard ground and the sharp edges of his tongue and teeth? His little barbs and his fingers and his agile body pinning mine to whatever surface struck his fancy. Did I really need more?

The answer sat within arm’s reach, her moonlit hair and soft, sweet curves another kind of feast the hunger inside me ached to devour. It wanted the gown to slip.

No, it wanted to wrench it away , exposing the small, perfect breasts and flat stomach. It wanted to see the paradise below it, too, everything slick and pink and soft. In Vetra, nobles paid the Rivven to escort their wives along the rivers. Rich and bored, some of the women tried to seduce the priests. More than once over the years, I’d stumbled upon one of my brothers breaking his vows in the dark, his buttocks as round and pale as the moon as he thrust into a countess or cheesemonger’s wife with her skirts around her ears.

But those were only glimpses. Sylvie was the real thing, and the hunger inside me wanted to spread her wide and see everything. Feel everything.

Little whore , Tanyl’s silky voice whispered in my memory. You’ve never fucked anyone, have you?

I stood, sending the chair scraping across the floor again. My cock throbbed, and wings of panic beat in my chest as I backed away from the bed. “I’ll get a healer.”

Sylvie frowned. “You’re a healer.”

“I’m…” I froze, desire and desperation sapping my reason. Maybe it was true what the elders at the Citadel said—a man’s lust clouded his mind, distancing him from the gods and making him vulnerable. And stupid. “I’m a halfling,” I managed.

Sylvie’s frown turned fierce. She gripped the sheet as she leaned toward me, her posture the same as it had been when she sat on her horse by the riverbank. “That doesn’t make you lesser, Briar.”

The defense—and my name—said in her husky, sleep-roughened voice wrapped around my shaft, holding me in place as surely as chains bolting me to the floor. Riverthistle and something mysterious and sweet teased my nose.

Her. Of course, it was her. Piety and feminine allure. Instantly, I knew Tanyl would have phrased it differently.

Piety and pussy.

Footsteps broke the silence, and I turned just as the door swung open and the healer entered. She stopped on the threshold, her eyes going wide as she looked from me to Sylvie.

“Your Grace!” The healer bustled to my side, a mortar and pestle in her hands. Her expression was equal parts concerned and relieved as she looked Sylvie over. “You’re awake, ma’am. Are you well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sylvie said. She pushed her hair over her shoulder again, and now both nipples thrust against the silk. “A little tired, maybe.”

The healer nodded. Then she brightened as she turned to me. “Father Briar has a treatment that might help.” Shifting the mortar and pestle to one hand, she dug a glass vial from her pocket and held it out. “I apologize for the delay, Father. It took me a while to find the grimblevine.”

Politeness kicked in, and I accepted the vial. “Thank you.”

The healer waited, expectation on her face. “I have lyssop in the other room. Should I get it?”

“What’s grimblevine?” Sylvie asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“An herb,” the healer said at the same time. “Father Briar says they use it for concussions at the Citadel.”

Both women looked at me. Sylvie dropped her gaze to the vial in my hand. “Will it make me feel better?”

I looked at the vial because it was safer than looking at her. “I… Maybe.”

The healer gestured to a table near the hearth. “I can put the lyssop there. You’ll have plenty of space, Father.”

An odd sort of helplessness gripped me, its hold more terrifying than the chaos of battle. I’d fought Scarrok by the dozen, but I’d never been more certain of defeat now that I was cornered by two determined-looking females. It was either prepare their herb or face their wrath. I wasn’t at all certain I’d survive the latter.

So like any good soldier, I fell in line, letting the healer station me at the table, where I ground and mixed and measured while she built the fire in the hearth and then stood at the ready in case I needed her. Even with my gaze on my task, I was aware of Sylvie’s attention. Her regard brushed my skin the same as her husband’s, every stroke heightening my awareness.

But I couldn’t make mistakes with the grimblevine, which was potent and even dangerous in large quantities, so I kept my head down and my hands steady.

Ten minutes later, I wrapped my fingers around a glass of tincture of grimblevine. Then I called my magic.

As always, it roused slowly—a sleepy, reluctant gift that came only when I insisted. It was as if the power resented being housed in an imperfect vessel, my body tainted by Mudwall and my father’s blood.

But I insisted, my jaw clenched as I pulled at the magic buried deep in my chest. Heat spread through me like sinking into a warm bath. It built and then flowed down my arms and left through my fingertips, turning them briefly blue. My magic entered the tincture and spun the lyssop in the glass like a storm in miniature, lightning firing and flaring.

The healer made a sound of appreciation. I nodded to her as I carried the glass to Sylvie, who was now a golden goddess with the firelight playing over her hair and creamy skin.

“You have to drink while it’s spinning,” I said, offering her the storm I’d created. “It’s best to down it all at once if you can.”

She eyed the tiny bolts of lightning as she took the glass, her fingers brushing mine. Just as I drew breath to tell her she didn’t have to drink, she put the glass to her lips, tipped her head back, and gulped like a knight in a tavern after a forced march.

Her throat worked, the smooth column pumping as she downed the tincture. I shouldn’t have watched, not with the healer looking on. But by the time I realized how blatantly I stared, Sylvie lowered the empty glass and licked her lips.

“It wasn’t bad at all.” She smiled, a look of awe spreading over her face. “I feel…really great, actually.” She looked up at me. “Thank you. That was amazing.”

The praise lit a different kind of glow in my chest, and I couldn’t help my answering smile as I took the glass. “You’re welcome.”

“Your magic is strong, Father,” the healer said, moving to my side. She gave the empty glass a curious look. “If the opportunity arises, I’d love to learn how to prepare the grimblevine.”

“I can show you.”

She smiled at me. Then she went to the table and began collecting supplies. “It’s an hour until Zadia.”

I jerked my head toward the window. Midnight. Gods, how long had I slept?

“I’ll have the servants bring food,” the healer said as she went to the door.

“That will be lovely,” Sylvie said. “In the meantime, please get some rest.”

The healer paused at the door. “Thank you, Your Grace. Goodnight.” She looked at me. “Goodnight, Father. Perun protect you.”

My hand lifted on its own, and I touched my forehead and lips. “And Perun protect you, daughter.”

The healer copied the gesture. Then, with a curtsy in Sylvie’s direction, she left.

“Are you all right?”

Sylvie’s soft voice brought my head back around. She sat against the pillows, a slight frown between her brows. I stood stiffly next to the bed, my fingers so tight around the empty glass I threatened to break it. Easing my grip, I set the glass on a small table next to the bed.

“I’m fine,” I said. I should go.

But I didn’t say it. She’d been injured. Leaving meant leaving her alone. What if she needed something? What if she had another nightmare? Even as the excuses paraded through my mind, I knew they were pitiful.

“Thank you again,” Sylvie said. She motioned to the chair, and I sat, a willing subject bending for his queen.

“Do you truly feel better?” I asked.

“I feel perfect.” She glanced at my neck. “Your magic is strong.” As heat followed the sweep of her gaze, she lifted inquisitive eyes to mine. “You must be revered among the Rivven.”

“Yes and no. I don’t use my gift very often. Only in dire circumstances.”

“Why not?”

“The elders believe strength comes from healing oneself.”

For a moment, Sylvie stared. Then she released a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious?” She flushed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound judgmental. It just seems like a waste of power…and life.”

“It is, perhaps.” If I’d ever questioned it, the memory was long since buried. Or, more likely, the elders had beaten it out of me during training. “It’s the way of the Citadel,” I finished.

Sylvie studied me a moment, and her voice was soft as she said, “It sounds like a difficult place to live. And you were just a boy when you went there.”

Memories rose—and they were far too vivid to have faded under the lash. “It was better than the alternative.”

“Mudwall?”

I nodded. “My stepmother despised magic. When I got older, I realized she feared it. Most humans do.”

Sylvie scoffed. “You were five years old. She should have cared for you. I’m sorry she didn’t, Briar. You deserved better.”

Denials crowded my tongue. But they faded almost as soon as they formed. Because Sylvie was right. I had deserved better. The truth of it gleamed in her eyes, which were big and solemn and the exact color of the sea on a clear day.

“I’m a bastard,” I said because that was true, too, and in more ways than she knew. “People say it’s natural for women to dislike a child their husband sired on a mistress.”

She gave her head a firm shake, some of her earlier ferocity leaping into her eyes. “It wouldn’t be for me. Children are gifts from the gods, and each one is meant for a purpose only Perun knows. Tanyl could have a hundred bastards, and I would offer them a home.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “Sometimes, I wish one would turn up. At least then—” She snapped her mouth shut.

Faint alarm stirred in my chest. “What is it?”

Sylvie swallowed. Then she looked at the fire, her lovely face strained in profile. “I can’t have children.”

The admission landed like a blow, sucking the air from my lungs. Any response seemed inadequate—or a lie. Because I couldn’t tell her it didn’t matter. Tanyl was a king, and his immortality was a gift, not a guarantee. His father had fallen to the Scarrok. Like all kings, Tanyl needed heirs.

On the other hand, silence was just as inadequate. So I opened my mouth and said, “I’m sorry.” And then, because that seemed inadequate, too, I followed it with, “Are you sure?”

Stupid. So stupid. I sat forward. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “That was?—”

“It’s all right,” she said, and she must have sensed my agitation because she put her hand over mine on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if these things are ever completely certain. But after forty-five years of marriage, it seems like I should have experienced at least one spark of hope.” She looked down. “And that hasn’t been the case.”

I turned my hand so I clasped her fingers. “Hope doesn’t die until we do.”

Sylvie looked up. “That’s beautiful. Is that something the Rivven say?”

“It’s something I say.” Although, I’d never said it before. Then again, nothing had ever inspired me to say it. Until now.

“Well,” she said softly, “I’m glad you said it.” Firelight played over her hair and the tips of her eyelashes. With our fingers entwined, we were close enough for me to see her heartbeat disturbing the silk stretched over her breasts. The ghostly sestra’s chain circled her wrist, the links like a distant echo of mine.

“Do you miss the island?” I asked, and I brushed the fingers of my free hand over her chain. When she was quiet for a moment, regret and embarrassment rushed me. “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling my hand away. Gods, how many times was I going to apologize? I clamped my mouth shut. Maybe it was better not to speak at all.

Sylvie grasped my fingers. “You don’t need to be.” She settled our joined hands on the bed, and her expression turned thoughtful as she stared at the chains around our wrists. “I miss the quiet…and the routine. I never had to think about what came next. I never had to…”

“Worry,” I said, and she looked up, surprise in her gaze.

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she said. “I don’t think I worried about anything until I came to Storm’s Hollow. I didn’t worry about gowns or what my hair looked like. It didn’t matter what anyone thought of me because no one thought of me at all. No one noticed me. At the Sancta Sestra, we kept our minds on the gods.”

I bit my tongue before I could tell her she was wrong. Even on an island full of women, it was hard to imagine anyone not noticing her.

“I know what you mean,” I said instead. “The gods made us as we are. And yet the outside world pressures us to change their creation.”

Our gazes held, understanding and shared experience flowing between us. Something else flowed, too, and it made my heart beat faster. Sylvie wasn’t indifferent to me. A shadow of my hunger gleamed in her eyes.

“I will pray for you to have a child,” I heard myself say. “At the Citadel, the Perun River flows into the main temple. We wade into the water and speak petitions directly to the gods.”

She drew a breath. “You would do that for me?”

“It will be an honor, Your Grace.”

Energy arced between us. The scent of riverthistle and something infinitely sweeter drifted around me. The silk fluttered over her breasts.

“Call me Sylvie,” she said, her gaze dipping to my mouth.

My cock tightened. The hunger roared.

Sylvie lifted her gaze to mine, knowledge shimmering in the blue-green depths. “What are we doing, Briar?” she whispered, and we both knew what she was asking.

“I have to go,” I said even as I leaned toward her. She swayed forward, her hair shifting against the silk.

A door opened behind me. Before I could stand, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. The bedchamber blurred as my ass left the chair, and then Tanyl’s hot breath seared my ear.

“I left to protect my crown. It appears I should have stayed to protect my bed.”