“You drive me mad, woman,” he muttered, and Silla wasn’t sure if it was praise or a complaint. “Did you enjoy kissing me in front of all those warriors?”
“Y-yes.”
Rey’s eyes flared wide at her response, his hips surging forward with yet more speed.
“I wanted them to know—” Silla gasped as he again reached the deepest part of her.
His hand slid behind her nape, drawing her gaze back to his. “Tell me.”
“You’re mine.”
Rey’s low groan was all it took—pleasure crashed over Silla with violent intensity. Tremors burst through her, her spine arching off the bed. Her fingers grew bloodless with the force of her grip on Rey’s arms, and he pumped into her with a crazed desire she’d not yet seen. Silla could not find her voice, could only gasp, could only hold on through wave after wave of sharp, brutal pleasure that darkened her vision.
Rey made a throaty sound as he found his own pleasure, but he seemed distant—as though Silla were underwater and he was above. Wrung out, Silla’s mind was a hazy, drifting thing. Wings ruffled gently within, a low deep purr that softened her further.
“Silla.”
But it wasn’t a purr, it was a low, deep snarl. It was talons sinking into the mind of an old, weak king. It was weathered fingers wrapping around a white-hilted dagger. It was a blade, tearing into the flesh of the young, but notdeepenough…
“Silla!”
Her eyes flew open to Rey hovering over her. Sweat slicked his brow, and his tattooed chest heaved with his exertion, but his eyes were filled with concern.
“Where did you go?” he asked, smoothing a tendril of hair from her forehead.
“I’m right here.” Was she? Her heart and mind raced as she tried to shake off the echoes of the dream—had that been a dream?
Rey collapsed onto the bed, then rolled to face her, fingertips skimming along her cheek. “Are you certain?” he prodded, studying her face. “For a moment, I thought Myrkur—”
“He’s not there,” she assured him, sliding a fingertip along the tattooed dragon’s taloned wing. Inwardly, she probed for the god, trying to detect any hint of His presence. But as He had for weeks on end, the god of chaos remained curiously silent.
“Good,” Rey replied, though the line between his brows lingered.
They stayed like this for some time, naked and content and enshrouded in silence. Silla hadn’t fully appreciated the solitude of Kalasgarde—the peace and simplicity of it all. And she hadn’t anticipated that in Kopa, they’d each have duties keeping them apart. Rey’s day was filled with meetings with the Uppreisna chieftains as they scrambled to salvage his careful integration into Magnus Hansson’s network. Silla, meanwhile, had gown fittings and tutoring sessions on top of her daily etiquette lessons with Jarl Hakon’s friend and confidante, Lady Tala.
And then there were the meetings she had with Jarl Hakon and his advisers. There were endless discussions on how best to capitalize on the sudden reappearance of Eisa Volsik. There was talk of raising banners for the Volsiks once more; talk of marching south and driving the Urkans from the kingdom.
Silla found herself disagreeing from time to time. She wanted to ask of their plans for the people of the north in the face of the poisonous mist and a grain shortage. And yet she was only a placeholder for Saga. The truth was, Silla didn’t want to get too invested in the affairs of ruling. Aside from the fact that she was completely unsuited, getting too involved would only make it more difficult to let go when her sister arrived.
But she hadn’t been able to refrain from asking Jarl Hakon what course of action he’d take regarding Rökkur.
“One thing at a time,” Jarl Hakon had reassured her.
Though Silla and Rey had told Jarl Hakon everything they knew about Rökkur, it was clear he was not fully convinced. Silla didn’t blame Jarl Hakon. Violence on his eastern border; the Urkan enemy in the south—these were tangible things. Problems to be solved with solid solutions. The twilight of days was too big, too murky, simply toomuchto consider all at once.
After countless meetings, Silla, Rey, and Jarl Hakon had agreed their priority was to unify the north. Silla would play the role of Eisa Volsik, and when the jarls arrived for the feast of the Shortest Day, she would be formally presented to the most powerful leaders in the north. Then Eisa would meet with the jarls and convince them to raise their banners for her sister.
Jarl Hakon thought that Rökkur and the bargain living inside Silla ought not to be mentioned. Once the jarls were won over, then they would tackle these more challenging topics. Though her insides rebelled at keeping such details hidden, she could see the merit of this plan. And so, for the time being, Silla’s goal was to mold herself into the kind of leader the hardened jarls of the north would follow.
But news of Istré had knocked her plans astray. Silla wanted to go to the Western Woods—wanted to fight with her friends. And yet she knew that was not Eisa’s fate. Silla knew without a doubt that Rey was aware of this. Was certain he, too, had been avoiding this topic.
She released a weary exhale and forced the words out. “I cannot go to Istré.”
“I know.” Rey twined her curls between his fingers. “Your work with the northern alliance is too important. And you must continue your search for a cure for Myrkur’s bargain.”
Silla smoothed a finger between his brows. “And your place is in Istré. I know this job has haunted you. Know you must see it through.”
Rey nipped at her finger. “It is only for a time.”
