“What is that?”
“My nightmare.” Jonas swallowed. “My mother shares memories in a variety of ways. I gave her my memory of the fever, and I want you to see it.”
My fingers trembled when I took the vial. Jonas didn’t look away when I tipped the liquid memory to my lips, he didn’t look away when shadows filled my mind like ash.
It was a strange setting. Almost Natthaven, with touches of the Black Palace, and much like a dream would create. My stomach cinched at the screams. Anguished sobs of pain and desperate pleas rattled against the shadows of the nightmare.
To witness it through Jonas’s perspective was odd and unsettling. Panic thrummed in my blood. Fear came so fierce it doubledme over. In the dream shadows flung at me from all sides, trying to fight me off, trying to pull me back.
I cursed and fought until the corridors shifted to an open, dark cavern.
A gasp slid from my throat. In the center of the cavern was me, naked and chained to the ground. Deep, bloody lashes adorned my skin. Endless strikes from familiar hands added new wounds.
Faces came into focus—Arion, Eldirard, Dorsan, even Cian—all struck at me, cursing me, shouting that I was unworthy to live.
“Skadi!” Jonas’s voice was loud and soft all at once. A cry given in his own mind, but witnessing it this way, I could hear it rattle to my soul. He struggled against unseen tethers, pleaded with shadows. “Leave her.”
Over and over the prince shouted for them to stop, offering himself in my place. My pulse raced with his, a feeling of affection, of loyalty, of desire collided with the fear of losing it all until a final lash fell and the dream form of me no longer cried out.
Pain lanced through my belly when the realization that he’d failed to protect me took hold.
Through a rush of wind, the walls faded, and the nightmare began again, a constant cycle of wretched helplessness and fear.
The memory of the nightmare faded halfway through a second round of the vision.
My shoulders slumped and tears heated down my cheeks. Jonas remained on his knees, focused on our clasped hands.
With a gentle brush of my fingertips, I urged the prince to look at me. Torment lived in his eyes, and a need to take it away bloomed in my chest. “Forgive me for running from you before speaking to you.”
Jonas dropped his chin. “Run if you must clear your head, but always return to me. When I learned of the possibility you could return to your former betrothal, I merely decided I would offer you a safe home. I did not anticipate getting close to you. But it all changed the moment you kissed me for the first time.”
I snorted. “No, you were the one who absolutely kissed me at the vows.”
“I believe it was you. I saw those stones glowing, and I’m surprised you did not kiss me before that old bore finished his confusing speech.”
A laugh broke free, wet and tight with emotion. I used the heel of my hand to wipe a stray tear. “You are an arrogant sod. I had no desire to kiss you in that moment.”
“Because your heart was racing and you knew I would destroy you with passion and longing if you did. It’s all right, Wife. You are safe to admit it now.”
“I admit nothing.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
Jonas leaned closer, hovering his mouth over mine. “For I might do things to make your heart race again.”
I kissed him sweetly. “You are unexpected, Jonas Eriksson.”
“Trust me, Skadi Naganeen . . . Eriksson, you are as well.”
“You just gave me your house name.” My thumb tugged on his bottom lip.
“Do you want it?”
A strange heat built in my chest. I had felt wholly accepted by the alver clans after the sparring, but this truth went deeper—they were mine and I was theirs. Always.
I offered a brief, jerky sort of nod, then kissed Jonas in response instead of words. I kissed him, held him, trusted him.
