I curled the end of her hair around one finger and spoke with the other hand.You planned to leave without a word?
Lyra’s smile faded. “You were injured in battle. I wanted you to rest.”
I slept better than I have in seasons. Rest can wait.
“This won’t be accepted, Roark. You know it. Damir will consider it a distraction from your protection of the prince, and my duty as his melder.”
A king’s word will not stop me wanting you.
Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip, the corners tilted in a small grin. “Treasonous talk, Sentry Ashwood.”
I kissed her, my fingers tangled in the hair at the base of her head. A dozen words I wanted to whisper against her lips danced in my mind—she brightened my heart, my damn soul. I wanted her to know now that I’d had her taste, no one would satisfy but her. Her touch was still burned on me like it had burrowed into my skin and would never leave.
I didn’t want it to.
“I truly must go,” Lyra whispered against my mouth. “But I truly want to stay.”
It was a cruel reality. We had our duties, and I had strayed from my purpose here. There’d be no returning. From the moment I met the fiery gaze of Lyra in the jarl’s house, what I thought I knew of my life, of my existence, had unraveled.
One thread at a time.
After Lyra left, escorted bya young Stav to the palace, I managed to slip on a clean tunic by the time a heavy-handed knock pounded on my door with a summons to the great hall.
A smaller crowd had gathered than expected. The prince without his bride. Edvin, his hands on the shoulders of a small mousy boy. I did not know why the bone crafter was in the hall; he mattered little to the king.
Damir and Ingir were both seated on the dais, and Hundur had taken his place, but Yrsa’s mother was absent.
The Myrdan king kept rubbing his melded claws, a feral gleam in his gaze. Baldur stood in the center of the hall, reporting on his unit’s actions last night. Tension was palpable and sour on the tongue.
No one knew who’d welcomed the ravagers into our gates. I felt the same, but for reasons different from the king’s. He wanted his posterity and power protected. For me, I wanted to pluck out the bones of the traitor for the risk they put on Lyra’s head.
“Good morning. Enjoyable evening?” Emi’s voice came from behind.
I spun around. Emi and Darkwin, two wraiths in the corner, stood side by side. Both were pressed and clad in their Stav uniforms. Kael in his black tunic with the white wolf head, Emi in a crimson cloak she’d worn in Skalfirth.
My cousin wore a cunning sort of grin. Kael appeared to be made of stone; only his shadowed gaze followed me.
I settled next to Emi, unnoticed for a moment.Were you injured?
“Darkwin made it out with shallow cuts, but I nearly met Salur. It is good bone tonics favor crafter blood and worked swiftly.”
Damn the gods. I was an ass. While she’d suffered last night, I’d hardly had a fear for her. I’d tangled myself up, thought of my wants, my heart, of Lyra, and no one else.You are well?
Emi smiled softly. “I’m all right.” My cousin looked me up and down, settling her attention to the side of my neck. “And you?You seemed to have had an…enjoyable night after ravagers were chased away.”
Darkwin faced forward, the muscles in his neck pulsed.
The night was fine. I schooled my expression into something flat.
Emi clicked her tongue. “Disappointing. Sounds utterly adequate and dull. I expected more.”
I pierced my cousin in a cutting glare, then faced the dais as Baldur stepped aside for Edvin and his son.
“Darkwin.” King Damir waved his fingers, summoning Kael forward. “I understand you were in the market.”
Kael dipped his chin. “A few scattered ravagers managed to slip past the line. They were set on breaching the palace. My fellow Stav, myself, and Mikkal Jakobson caught them.”
“Yes. I heard the Jakobson heir was wounded.” Damir rubbed his chin and looked to Edvin’s son. “And you, boy. You are here since I understand you were present when my Berserkir was slaughtered.”
