“I’ll nae go far,” he whispered, his heart in his voice. He could feel her heat. It pulsed against his palm like a living thing. “And I’ll nae be long.”
Her brows drew together. She looked small against the furs. “Harald?—”
“I’m nae leaving ye,” he cut in. His voice was a low vibration. “Never again.”
She searched his face. Her eyes were wide, tracing his scars, weighing the truth of him.
“I’ll be right there,” he promised. He angled his body toward the adjoining door.
The tension in her shoulders finally broke. She let out a jagged breath.
“All right,” she whispered.
Something shifted. The air between them tasted different.
She trusts me.
Harald felt the weight of it settle in his marrow. He knew then that if he failed her, he would be a dead man walking. He moved toward the door, his heart a heavy drum in his chest.
He stepped into the smaller chamber. The low murmur of the jarls died instantly. They were gathered around the table, Leo standing among them with eyes like flint. Their faces were grim shadows in the flickering candlelight, etched with a shared worry that mirrored his own.
Erik stood first, his scarred face softening just a fraction when he saw him. “Is she?—?”
“She’s alive, Erik,” Harald said, his voice dropping the jagged edge. He didn't offer details, but he gave the man a short, firm nod of reassurance. “She’s shaken, but she is well.”
Erik exhaled, a heavy sound of relief, and sat.
They crowded the table, but Harald stayed on his feet. He took his post with his back to the solar door, a shield between the politics of men and the woman he loved.
“The threat is inside the walls,” Harald said. His voice was ice, but it was the ice of a shared war. “There’s an infiltrator. Someone who kens how tae move through the castle in the dark.”
A heavy silence dropped over the table. No one spoke. Across the table, Erik’s hand drifted to the map, his fingers curling into a fist that crinkled the parchment.
“We double the patrols,” Ragnar growled, hitting the table with a fist. “The coast must be a wall o’ steel.”
“Aye,” Harald said, his voice steady and appreciative. “And I want silent signals. Nay horns, nay lights tae guide the enemy. If we move taenight, we move like shadows.”
The meeting was short. He dismissed them, and they vanished into the corridors. Harald turned to head back toward the solar, his boots already pivoting when the heavy oak door crashed open, the iron hinges screaming in the silence.
A guard stumbled into the light, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. He clutched his helmet to his ribs, the metal rattling against his leather harness like a frantic heartbeat.
“Me jarl,” he gasped, the words stumbling out. “The king’s convoy. They’re at the gates. They’ve arrived.”
Harald didn't move. He felt the blood turn to lead in his veins. Of all the nights. The air in the room suddenly felt thin, as if the king’s shadow were a rope tightening around his throat.
Harald’s gaze stayed fixed on the guard, but his mind was in the next room, imagining the look on Enya’s face when she heard the news.
“They’re demanding an audience,” the guard gasped. “Right now.”
Harald’s jaw creaked. “They’ll wait.”
The guard hesitated. He looked like he wanted to bolt. “They say they’ve come fer the union, me laird. There are rumors o’ unrest.”
“The rumors have fast legs,” Harald spat. He took a slow, burning breath. He forced his rage into a cold, sharp blade. “Fine. Bring them up. But there will be nay formal Council. They will speak tae me here, wi’ Lady Enya present.”
The guard straightened. “Aye, me jarl.”
As the man left, Harald stayed in the doorway. He looked at the shadows on the wall. The night had already bled Enya dry. He wouldn't let the king’s men take the rest of her.
