Page 23 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

‘That’s one word for it,’ Dessa muttered, and Kipp barked a laugh.

‘And you?’ Wren asked her friend with a glare. ‘Who are you meant to be?’

‘Who do you think?’ Kipp gave her an incredulous look as an ornate carriage pulled up at the end of the alley. ‘I’m Kristopher fucking Snowden.’

‘Furies save us all,’ Torj muttered, striding towards the carriage.

The ride to the estate was short, but Kipp insisted that no nobles of their supposed standing would be caught dead wandering the streets in all their finery.

At least the carriage is large enough that we’re not on top of one another , Wren thought as it drew to a halt outside a grand manor house.

But the musing conjured an image of herself and the Bear Slayer in that very position, and she had to borrow Dessa’s fan.

Torj was the first to leave the carriage.

With his back to her, Wren was allowed an unobserved moment to admire the way his black cape hung from his shoulders.

The rich fabric swirled around him as he moved, so different from the practical, mud-stained cloak she was used to.

Despite the noble trappings, she could still see the Warsword in him: the alertness of his stance, the subtle scanning of the entryway for threats, the power held in check beneath the fine fabrics.

It was a strange duality – the fierce protector and the handsome nobleman – and it heated her blood like nothing else.

Which was why when he turned and offered her his hand, she took it without thinking, his fingers warm around hers. As soon as her feet were on solid ground and she was sure she wasn’t about to trip over her skirts, she snatched her hand back.

‘ Happily married couple,’ Kipp reminded her, as he made for the grand stone steps leading into a brightly lit foyer. ‘You’re to dance, be merry while Dessa and I search the lower floors, then we’ll swap and cause a diversion for you.’

Wren could already hear the music within – the soft melody of a lute, several fiddles accompanying in harmony. A strong hand slid around her waist, drawing her close as they headed into a crowd of nobility. Fingers unconsciously flexed across her hip, as though desperate to explore more of her.

‘What are you doing?’ she hissed at Torj, suddenly short of breath.

He didn’t remove his hand. Instead, his thumb stroked over her gown deliberately, sending a shiver down her spine. It felt like forever since she’d been touched like this. Her body betrayed her, yearning for contact despite her rage.

And then, he leaned in.

‘If you were my wife,’ Torj said, his voice low and rough, ‘I wouldn’t let you go. So that’s what I’m doing.’

She was speechless. His words seared into her like a brand, each syllable igniting a trail of fire across her skin.

A maelstrom of desire surged through her veins, leaving her breathless and aching.

He held her pressed to his side and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, the subtle touches sending sparks of awareness through her.

His familiar scent wrapped around her, and Wren let herself breathe it in, a delicious form of torture as they moved through the crowded foyer. Servants scurried about taking cloaks, and she found her shoulders bare.

Several eyes latched onto her as soon as her cloak was swept away by an attendant, scanning the opulent choker at her throat and the tops of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath.

Wren didn’t care for their staring, but there was no denying that a certain kind of power was now in her grasp.

She watched as a young nobleman started and stopped in her direction several times—

Soft lips pressed against her neck, right over her fluttering pulse.

Pleasure bloomed from that point through her whole body, causing her to clench her thighs together, feeling the dampness gathering there.

A broad hand spread across her abdomen, the ultimate show of possession, pressing her flush against the muscular Warsword at her back.

And without thinking, she arched into him, relishing the hard planes of his body against hers.

‘Do you think I’d allow someone to approach my wife like that?’ The rich timbre of Torj’s voice went straight to her core.

She had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering, until she remembered herself. She needed to come from a position of strength if she was to interrogate him about the book she’d found. She refused to be a simpering fool at his mercy.

Together, they entered a grand ballroom.

Its soaring ceilings were adorned with crystal chandeliers and ornate gilded mouldings that traced intricate patterns along the walls and archways.

It reminded Wren of the places she’d been as the Poisoner, with all the trappings of unimaginable wealth.

Enormous arched windows lined the entire far side of the room, their panes reflecting the flickering candlelight and revelry.

This was exactly the sort of party the marks from her ledger had attended.

Noting that Kipp and Dessa had long since peeled away from them, Wren turned to the dancers twirling across the floor. There were various pairings: men and women, women and women, men and men, and no one batted an eye. A pang of grief struck Wren as she wished Ida could see the freedom here.

Women wore sweeping gowns of silk and velvet and were adorned with more jewels than Wren had ever seen. In another lifetime, this might have been all she’d ever known – a world of decadence and splendour, not plants and poisons; not battle and death.

As though sensing the change in her, Torj’s thumb stroked the soft fabric at her waist: a small, intimate gesture, causing a wave of goosebumps to break out across her skin.

Every nerve ending felt electrified, attuned to the Warsword’s proximity and each tiny movement of his fingers against her.

She only hoped he didn’t notice the hitch in her breath.

To her surprise, he tugged her towards the dance floor, the music swelling and ebbing like a living thing through the crowd of couples. ‘Come on, Lady Hargrave. Kipp told us to dance.’

‘And you’re always so accommodating of Kipp’s requests, are you?’ she said wryly. ‘I thought this was your assignment?’

‘It is. But we can’t just barge in and ransack the private rooms, can we?’

He swept her into his arms, her long skirts swishing beneath them as they fell into step with the pairs around them. Torj’s fingers laced through hers, warm and firm, his other hand holding her waist.

‘Hand on my shoulder,’ he murmured, his breath tickling her ear, his scent intoxicating.

Wren stared up at him, trying to find her footing. ‘Here I was thinking the Bear Slayer didn’t dance.’

‘I didn’t say I do it well,’ he replied gruffly, brows knitting together in concentration. When he found his rhythm, he met her gaze. ‘Though I’m not the Bear Slayer tonight – I’m your husband.’

She hated that those words found their way into her chest, causing her heart to flutter and her core to tighten in anticipation. It was dangerous, being so close to him. The force of him was overpowering, and she worried she might lose herself again.

The music picked up pace, and warm notes plucked on the lute punctuated the sweeping strings, guiding the dancers. Wren, however, had no idea what she was doing, and neither did Torj, by the way he fumbled through the steps.

‘Don’t you dare drop me,’ Wren warned him, narrowly missing a collision with a woman whose dress was unnecessarily voluminous.

Torj peered down at her, and for the first time, she noticed flecks of gold amid the sea-blue of his eyes. How had she never seen them there before?

‘I’d never let you fall,’ he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Despite everything, Wren wanted to kiss him, every part of her calling out for his touch.

She shoved those feelings deep down and replied in a cold, flat voice, ‘But you’re more than willing to walk away.’