Val, I curse him in my mind, vowing to make him pay in the sparring ring.
“Yeah,” Ingrid says, waspish. “Val told me you were probably being dumb and stubborn about it. How could you?”
I have no response, only clenching my jaw as I rip pieces off the loaf of bread, sopping up what’s left of my soup.
Ingrid huffs, standing and wrapping the blanket around her like a cloak as she moves to the frosted window.
“I am glad you’re feeling better,” she says, her voice gentler now, the fight drained from it. I don’t like it. Ingrid isn’t the type to be meek and submissive. I’ve grown so used to her being fiery and challenging me that even though this should be a victory, it feels…wrong.
Food forgotten, I stretch my sore, underused muscles, crossing the room to be closer to her—not nearly as close as I’d like, but I don’t think she’d welcome my arms around her right now.
Or ever.
“Val tells me I owe you thanks for staying by my side.”
“Does he?” she asks, close enough to the window that her breath fogs the glass.
“Mmm.”
“You know that’s not actually a thank you, right?” She turns to look at me over her shoulder, the familiar spark of challenge in her eyes that I both welcome and dread. I’m not used to beingquestioned, as a rule, but Ingrid without that light in her bronze eyes just isn’t right.
And as it often does, that spark in her ignites an answering one in me.
“I didn’t ask you to stay with me.” I regret the words the moment they’re spoken, but it’s too late to take them back.
Her face falls, the light in her gaze dimming. “You did, actually,” she says, making no effort to hide her irritation. “And I was glad to do it, for what it’s worth. Thanks or no.”
“I…”
She shakes her head, not interested in whatever I have to say. “If this is going to work at all, you’re going to have to accept that you can’t do this all on your own. I know you don’t like asking for or accepting help. Maybe that’s because you’ve never had someone really be there for you, but me? Val? The throne? You’ve got to let us in. You can’t run a kingdom by yourself.”
I stare at her, open-mouthed and speechless. All this time I’ve been so certain that my bride has regretted her contract with the Dealmaker… But here she is talking about making it work.
Have I misjudged her?
Would someone uninterested in being wed stay by my sickbed for more than a week?
I don’t know what her motive is. Is she waiting for me to lower my guard so she can take everything I’ve fought so hard for?
Ingrid spends another moment looking at me, waiting expectantly, then sighs, turning back to the window while pulling her makeshift cloak tighter around her. Her small frametrembles with shivers, icy winds working their way through the gaps of the castle as the snow falls in thick drifts outside.
“This storm came out of nowhere,” she says, making my stomach sink.
It’s my fault. My healing took too much power from the throne and now the lands will suffer for it.
Some ruler I am.
“Do you think the calf will be okay?” she asks, genuine concern in her voice.
I’d all but forgotten what landed me in my sickbed, the ifrak’s troubled labor and the baby’s shaky start.
“They’re hearty animals,” I assure her. “Made to survive the cold.”
Of course, our winters have never been so long and brutal before. There’s really no saying, but Ingrid has concerned herself with others enough.
“The mother’s milk will keep the calf warm,” I add, seeing she’s not convinced. “You should set aside your worries for others for a time and get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Ingrid agrees. No argument. No further questions.
