In one fluid motion, he tugs his tunic over his head and tosses it aside.
I suck in air so fast I nearly swallow my tongue.
The groove bisecting his ridged abdomen cuts a pronounced line of shadow through the muscle, curling black hair trailing to the waistband of his breeches. Wide, powerful shoulders narrow to a trim waist. My gaze crawls over every bit of exposed skin, from the flat, dusky nipples, to the raised collarbones, to the hollow at the base of his throat.
“You’re staring.”
Somehow, I manage to tear my eyes away from the impressive display. “And?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Am I not allowed to look at my husband?”
“You may.” His eyes darken. “So long as I’m allowed to do the same.”
My skin tightens until my bones ache. I don’t want to think about the crumbling edge I toe. It would be far too easy to step forward and greet that abyss.
“I’m going to wash,” I state, snatching my bag and slipping behind the divider where the tub sits. “And you’re not invited.”
With Boreas nearby, I don’t linger in my washing. I’m scrubbed clean and wrapped in my sleepwear in less time than it takes to saddle a horse.
When I emerge from behind the divider, Boreas has changed into loose-fitting trousers. His chest remains bare. His feet, too, are bare. The sight of his toes unnerves me as much as it did the first time. We study one another across the length of the tent, my skin humming, blood bristling with anticipation. I swallow to bring moisture to my mouth.
With effort, I move toward my side of the bed and slide beneath the blankets. Boreas blows out the lamps and follows suit. There’s a healthy amount of space between us. It should suffice.
Except as soon as the blankets settle it becomes immediately apparent that they’ll do little to combat the night’s deepening chill. Turning onto my side, I squeeze my eyes shut and burrow into the lumpy mattress.
“We’ll keep warm if we share body heat.” The king’s voice floats out of the orange-flecked darkness.
“The fire is warm enough.”
“The fire will die.”
“So? I’ll be asleep by then.” I hope.
The fire dies an extremely quick death, from logs to coals in less than an hour. The evening chill infiltrates the tent and slides beneath the blankets. I curl into a tighter ball, shivering.
Something brushes my leg, and I snap upright, breathing hard. “No touching.” My teeth begin to chatter.
“I’m not the one who initiated touch last time.”
He has some nerve. “That’s not what happened. I woke up with your arm around my waist and your—”
The Frost King arches one eyebrow toward his hairline, face smudged in the feeble light. “My what?”
My face heats. As if he doesn’t know. “And your cock pressed against my ass.”
His lips curve the slightest bit. He is definitely thinking it.Filthy mouth. “You’re the one who turned to me in the middle of the night.”
This again. “I wasn’t in my right mind, so keep your arms to yourself this time.” Even if they are spectacular.
He sighs. “Fine. Stay there, if you’re so determined to freeze.” He turns his back to me.
The hours crawl by with horrible cruelty. My muscles contract in sporadic bursts. My eyes sting with exhaustion, and my mind cycles in and out of dark thoughts, snapping me awake every time I begin to drift off. The camp has settled down, and there is only the occasional snore of a soldier to break the quiet night. I switch from lying on my side to lying on my back. Minutes later, I switch again.
“Wren.”
I glare into the darkness. “What?”
“I can’t sleep if you’re tossing and turning all night.” Boreas rolls onto his side to face me. His bone structure is a study of shadow, his mouth the only softness. “Sharing body heat doesn’t have to be sexual. My men do it in the field to conserve warmth. It’s a survival tool, nothing more.”
When he puts it like that, he has a point. Elora and I shared a bed the majority of our lives. Most people in Edgewood do, since the cottages haven’t the space for additional rooms.
