“Winter—” he started, breathless.
She silenced him with a finger against his lips. For a moment, his hope lingered, but then he saw the serious look in her eyes. His heart sank.
“Val, the dregs don’t lie. You’ll have fun your entire life, but you’ll always be alone.”
He sputtered, “Fine, fine; I’ll get the damn name-knowing hex…”
“That won’t change anything.”
He realized, then, like feeling the wind shift directions, that there would be no secret affair. No girlfriend for him, no nights helping Winter in the tavern.
His face must have fallen because she rested a gentle hand on his cheek.
“You can sleep here tonight, prince. Give your body a chance to rest and heal.”
He scowled and turned away from her offer but then thought better of it and moved his head back to fit within her gentle palm. “Sleep with me?”
“Well, you’re on my bed, so yes.” A tiny smile flickered over her face.
Valenden laid down on her bedroll. Winter extinguished the lantern and laid down next to him, tucking one hand under her head.
Facing one another, she stroked his tangled hair until he felt himself nodding off.
The last thing he remembered—or maybe it was a dream—was Winter pressing a soft kiss to his lips again before muttering, “You aren’t the only one destined to be alone, prince.”
They spent the night lying next to one another—together and yet alone—and all Valenden could think about as sleep overcame him was calloused hands, the sweet smell of mead, and hair pulled back like a soldier’s.
Chapter9
Rangar
Rangar knew the girl in his arms wanted him. Aya had made it clear that she would accept a physical relationship without an emotional one—and gods, it was tempting. Her body was so lush and tight as her curves melded into his chest. He’d heard what the soldiers in the Baer army said about Aya—she was the one they all longed for, and now she was his.
Ifhe wanted her.
Maybe he was being a fool over the Mir princess, as his brothers constantly teased him. He’d only seen Bryn twice in his life: the first when he saved her from wolves, the second when he snuck into the Harvest Moon Gathering. And yet he’d thought about her every night since he was nine years old. She was his Saved; he was her Savior. Thefralenbond wasn’t a duty that he took lightly. And, of course, when he’d seen her grown up with those luscious lips and perfect curves…
He dropped a hand into his pants pocket, where his fingers found the button he’d kept with him for a year. Bryn’s button, which she’d dropped at the Harvest Moon bonfire, and he’d picked up as a token to remember her by.
Rubbing the wooden button between his fingers, he gently broke the kiss with Aya.
“Aya.”
There was enough regret in that one word that she instantly turned away, stung. She was smart enough to know when she’d been rejected.
“So that’s it, then?” she asked quietly. “It’s her or no one else?”
“I saved her life. She and I are forever bound.” He dragged a hand down his scarred face. “She has these same scars on her body.”
Aya folded her arms defensively, or maybe it was just the cold. She glanced through the bare trees toward the horizon where the sun was sinking.
In an effort to change the subject, she asked tightly, “Are you coming to the Hold for supper?”
A part of Rangar still wanted to reach out and give Aya all the reassurances she wanted. He’d never intended to hurt her—but the simple truth was that his heart wasn’t free. Still, he’d never been taught to put such feelings into words, so he only barked gruffly, “No. I’ll get something from the kitchen later. I need to return this sword to the armory.”
She dipped her head in a nod and turned away but then paused and looked back at him. The snow caught in her long, dark hair like stars against the blanket of night.
“I hope she’s everything you want her to be,” Aya said.
