He glanced away, his lungs too tight. It made his whisper sound hoarse. “I know you’re right, I just . . . It hasn’t felt real yet.” It probably wouldn’t until he was in Zagrev, walking the palace halls Argent had always walked with him. Seeing the throne that should have been his.
Guilt rose inside him, along with a flare of anger. Tam had stolen that future from Argent. She’d taken it fromallof them when she’d killed him. And Carver hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t been able to prevent it.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Amryn whispered.
“It was my plan,” he said, his voice low and horribly even.
“We all agreed to it.”
“But I was the fool who thought it would work.”
“The plan was good,” she argued softly. “We just didn’t know about Tam.”
But he was a strategist. It was his job to predict every eventuality. He’d failed to do that, and his best friend had died.
Amryn’s lips pressed together. He could see the debate in her eyes, but in the end, she changed the subject. “Do you have any insect bites?”
It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. He huffed out a breath. “A few.”
Sympathy softened her features. In the dim glow of the firelight, she found her bag and pulled out a stoppered vial. “Ahmi gave this to me earlier today. It helps soothe the sting a bit.” She met his gaze. “I could apply it, if you’d like.”
His heart skipped a beat. Despite the rawness of his emotions, the thought of being touched by his wife made his skin tighten in anticipation. “Ifyou’dlike,” he returned softly.
Amryn shifted to kneel before him.
Carver drew his arm forward, angling it so she could see the reddened bites that riddled his forearm.
She winced. “Carver, they’re everywhere.” She hesitated, then spoke in a voice so low the words were nearly inaudible. “I could heal them.”
“No.” His answer was immediate. He knew how her healing worked. She would take on any of his discomfort, and nothing was worth that. Besides, if anyone noticed he was suddenly free of bites, they might grow suspicious.
Amryn bit her lip but didn’t argue. She uncorked the small bottle, then dipped one fingertip inside. She leaned in, and Carver’s breath caught as the pad of her finger brushed gently over the first irritated bump, spreading cool ointment over the bite. Her touch was featherlight. Barely there. And yet he felt it so deeply, it could have been a brand.
He swallowed as she traced each bite on his arm. He barely registered the fact that the ointment seemed to be working. He was only aware of the places she touched him, and the searing warmth each brush of her skin left behind.
When she’d found all the bites on his arms, her eyes ran over his chest. He wondered what she thought of all the scars that marked him. But it was an errant thought, driven away the moment she located another bite. This one was high on his left shoulder.
He watched with fascination—and more than a little satisfaction—as a light blush spread over her cheeks. He swore neither of them were breathing as she moved to tend a bite on the side of his neck. His pulse fluttered under her fingertips.
Her eyes darted to his. “I’m sorry they attacked you.”
He wasn’t. Not if it meant she’d keep touching him like this.
They’d been married for nearly three months, and they’d shared intimate moments. He knew the thrill of holding her. Kissing her. His fingers knew the softness of her curls and the warmth of her skin. But the only time he’d shared his wife’s bed was when she’d been injured or sick. Their marriage had been far from conventional, but there was no denying what he felt for her. It had been growing every day since the first moment he saw her in that chapel, walking toward him.
He knew the dubious privacy of a tent wasn’t where he wanted to seduce his wife for the first time. He wasn’t even sure Amryn was ready for that. But when she tended his last insect bite, he swore his disappointment was mirrored in her eyes.
She drew back and sealed the vial. “I hope that helps.”
Her touch had driven him mad. But he gave her a half smile. “They already feel better. Thank you.”
She nodded, fiddling with the narrow bottle in her hands. “I just wish there was some sort of balm to help Jayveh.”
“Youarehelping her,” he said. “Just by being there for her.”
Amryn’s eyes found his. “I’m here for you, too.”
His throat constricted. “I know,” he murmured, his voice rougher than it should have been. Because he knew what she wanted, but he couldn’t give it to her. He refused to burden her with his sins or make her feel his pain. She didn’t deserve to face his demons.
