“Valenden,” Rangar said quietly. “I will ask you one final time, brother. As elder son, do you wish to challenge my place as successor?”
Bryn couldn’t meet Valenden’s eyes for fear of what she might find there. In this last moment, would he suddenly gain kingly aspirations? The silence stretched until Valenden bowed his head and said, “I swear loyalty to you, Rangar Barendur, King of the Baersladen.”
He knelt before Rangar and his father’s dead body. On cue, the two soldiers knelt and bowed their head, and Mage Marna followed suit.
“My king,” the each repeated.
Bryn started to kneel, but Rangar clasped her arm and shook his head. “Not you, Bryn. You never need kneel to me.”
“You’re the king,” she whispered, glancing at the others. She knew enough about tradition throughout the kingdoms to knowallsubjects were required to kneel.
He shook his head again. “You’re my Saved, and I am yours. We are forever bound. Soon, I’ll call you wife and queen, and we will rule together, neither bowing to the other.”
Such a breach of tradition made her nervous, though she was touched by the sentiment. His hand still on her forearm, Rangar pulled her close. He lifted her hand to kiss the engagement ring on her finger. Her lips parted slightly as the magnitude of what had happened settled over her.
Rangar was king.
A king was kissing her . . . a king she was going to wed.
She began to tremble from the idea of it, as well as sheer exhaustion. Rangar frowned and braced an arm around her.
“Lady Bryn needs rest,” he said. “Aunt, brother, I will take her to our bedroom and then meet you in the council chambers to discuss tomorrow’s coronation.”
“Rangar, no,” Bryn objected. “It’s the middle of the night. You need rest, too. You’ve been on the road for days.”
“She’s right,” Mage Marna agreed. “Tomorrow will be a pivotal day. You must project strength and good health, Rangar, so your people feel confident in you. Sleep. Eat. Bathe the dirt from your travels off you. Valenden and I will make arrangements for the funeral and coronation.”
Rangar started to object, but Bryn shushed him sharply. She pressed a hand to his sweat-bathed face. His scars were slick against her palm. “Rest, my love.” She brushed her thumb over the scars. “Myking.”
Chapter 15
TRUE ROMANCE . . . this and this and this . . . funeral sashes . . . smells of the forest . . . a mage queen
Bryn tumbled into a troubled sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. It didn’t help that, given the lateness and Rangar’s unexpected arrival, they’d returned to the third-floor chambers despite Rangar no longer being under house arrest. The room felt cursed, and dark premonitions worked their way into Bryn’s dreams. Growls haunted the hallways. Yellow animal eyes glowed in the shadows. She was back in the dungeon, where the frozen wolf carcass suddenly lifted its head, snarling with undead rancor.
Breathing hard, she snapped awake. Sunlight filtered through the window. Rangar was by her side, still wearing his riding gear except for the boots, his face twisted in his sleep as though he was having his own nightmares.
For a moment, Bryn took this opportunity to study him. It was rare to see him vulnerable like this. His hair was filthy, his shirt caked in sweat. His lips were chapped from being out in the cold for so long. As she gently brushed the hair away from his scars, she wondered what he’d endured while on the hunt for Broderick. He looked as though he hadn’t slept a single night or stopped for a single meal.
He stirred awake at her touch, capturing her hand with a warrior’s swiftness to place a kiss against her palm.
“My love,” he said quietly.
“Today, you become king,” she said softly.
“And bury my father,” he muttered, rolling over onto his back.
She smoothed the sheets off him and started unbuttoning his dirty shirt. His hexmark scars flashed on his bare skin, and her stomach tightened. She had the urge to trace them, to get to know him through his scars—the intentional ones as much as the accidental ones—but stayed her hand.
“You need a bath,” she stated firmly.
“Do I smell that bad?”
“I don’t mind the smells of the forest—but yes.”
He snorted and leaned up to capture her lips in a kiss. It stretched for some time as Bryn’s heart began to dance. She’d feared so much for him, but now they were here together. Grief might hang over them, but they were free.
Rangar pushed up to a seated position and slid the rest of the way out of his shirt, never breaking the kiss. His lips were urgent, as thoughshewere the only meal he’d craved on the journey.
