“Don’t worry, Sol, after you nearly beheaded me this morning, I think it’s safe to say I won’t be doing that again.” He chuckled. “We both know your threats are empty, though. You love me too much to hurt me too badly.”
“Not after this morning. Who wakes up a general with the point of their sword if they have no ill intent?”
“A smart one. Lucky I had that sword too.”
“It’s because you had that sword that I threw the dagger, you big oaf.”
“Who sleeps with multiple daggers in their bed? I thought I was safe after I grabbed the one peeking out from the pillow.” Silence followed and Westley smirked. A decoy knife—smart. Conalle sighed. “Well, I’ve learned my lesson. How do you suggest we rouse the prince?”
“I have no desire to wake him,” she said coldly. “This was your plan.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to tempt fate twice. You’re a war general and he’s a war prince. I do not like my odds of escaping without being wounded this morning.”
“I say we just barge in there. It’s not fair he’s being spared because you’ve decided to have some common sense.”
Before Westley could process her words and before Conalle could stop her, she let herself into his tent. She stopped short when she saw him sitting up, already awake.
Westley fought a smirk. He bet it took a lot to surprise her. Her wide eyes took in his bare chest, the scars and black ink that wove together, runes and ancient words telling the stories of centuries of battle and loss. He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes as she realized the ink formed the shape of a wolf.
His skin burned where her gaze touched him, but he did not move.
When she was done perusing his upper body, their eyes locked for the first time. He thought she flinched, but the expression was gone before he could be sure. His magic urged him to reach forward and wrap his hands around her throat, to squeeze, and bring her closer, to feel her body against his, the softness of her skin against his hard ... Wait. No. She was a threat—dangerous. He faked a scowl.
“Are youdone staring?” he asked.
That broke her trance. She grimaced right back. Conalle stood just a few steps behind her, amusement etched onto his features. When he met Westley’s glare, his face broke into a wide grin, eyes knowing.
“Good, you’re already awake. My head is safe.”
“For now,” Solveig muttered. Her next words were directed at him. “Put a shirt on. We have business.”
“I’ll also need pants unless you’d like to stare at the bottom half of me as well.”
She blinked at him. “If you want to parade around completely naked, be my guest. I care not.”
She obviously cared. She cared, right? Why do I care if she cared?This female had spoken twenty-two words to him and already he was addled.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me dress?” he asked her when she still hadn’t moved.
“Do you want me to?” she deadpanned.
Yes. No. Definitely not. But before he could answer, she left him alone with his muddled thoughts and overactive imagination.
“I’m really glad you were already awake. She tried to kill me this morning!” Conalle actually looked a little frightened at the memory.
“It was difficult to sleep with all that racket.” Conalle furrowed his brows in confusion. “Fae hearing. Connie, you are a Fae.” Westley rolled his eyes and gestured to his own pointed ears as he stood. He’d only been goading her—he was wearing pants, but still, he needed to change into sturdier ones that weren’t so ... revealing. Conalle snickered again.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he said pointedly.
“Get out.”
Chuckling to himself, Conalle let himself out of the tent. Westley could still hear him as he spoke to Solveig.
“That went well.” No response. “No one threw any weapons, so it’s a win in my book.” A thud and a curse from Conalle. “What was that for?Oh, don’t give me that look.” She must’ve made a face at him. Silence. “Just so you know, he was wearing pants, but it hardly mattered with how little they left to the imagination.” Still no response.
It was comical that they were able to have a full conversation with only one of them speaking. “I think even you would be impressed.” Westley could imagine the face he was making.
He quickly dressed in thicker pants and a loose black tunic. He put on the vest he’d worn yesterday. Most of the blood had come out of it. Looping his knives and bow around his chest and back, he joined them.
