He turned and went to her, his steps heavy.
Enya looked up as he approached. Even now, exhausted and battered by the night, she forced her spine to straighten.
But the firelight carved out the hollows beneath her eyes and turned her skin to translucent porcelain. She was still drownedin his heavy wool cloak. The garment was vast on her, making her look agonizingly small, like a bird caught in a winter storm.
He crossed the room in three strides, stopping so close his knees brushed hers. He wanted to reach out and check for a pulse, just to be sure she was still here.
“The king’s men are here,” he rasped, the words feeling like shards of glass in his throat. “They arrived wi’ nay warning.”
She tilted her chin up, her eyes searching his face in a way that made his heart ache.
“Well,” she huffed, a spark of that sharp fire flickering behind the fatigue. “The night should finish the way it started, aye? In a crowded mess o’ uninvited guests. I suppose someone gave them the news?”
“I dinnae ken.” His mouth twisted into a snarl he tried to hold back for her sake. “Vultures always find the scent o’ blood.” Henry and the other men had left shortly after their last discussion, but now they were back. Would he ever rid himself of them?
He looked down at her, and the sheer force of what he felt nearly buckled his knees. She was hanging on by a thread, yet she still had enough defiance in her tongue to mock the king's timing.
He had never seen anyone so beautiful, or so terrifyingly brave. He wanted the world to leave them in peace, to hold her, but instead, he remained standing, his body a wall of muscle and heat between her and the door.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. It was the gentlest he had ever been. Then, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“We’ll face them taegether,” he whispered into her skin.
Her breath caught. She nodded.
The door groaned on its hinges—Henry stepped across the threshold, the polished leather of his boots clicking sharply against the stone. He bowed, but it was a shallow thing, stiff with arrogance.
"Me jarl," he intoned.
Harald stood, his hand white-knuckled on the back of Enya’s bench.
"Ye’ve arrived unannounced," he said, his voice dropping low.
"We were concerned," Henry replied. His gaze slid downward, landing on Enya, tracing the mess of her hair and the paleness of her skin.
His eyes lingered there and Harald felt a red tide of fury rise in his throat. He wanted to reach across the space and tear the man's eyes from his head for daring to look at her ruin.
"There are always whispers," he snapped, the words cutting through the air like a whip. "Speak what ye came tae say."
The envoy hesitated, unsettled by the raw violence simmering just beneath Harald’s skin. “The wedding. After the... disturbance... taenight, His Majesty will need reassurance. He needs tae ken the alliance stands.”
Harald didn't look at the envoy. He turned his head slowly, fixing his gaze on Enya. He wanted her to see the truth in him. He wanted her to know that she wasn't a piece on a board to him. Not anymore.
“She will nae be married unless she wishes it,” Harald declared.
The words struck the room like a broadaxe buried deep in oak, their finality.
Harald watched the color drain from Enya’s face. He was tossing away the crown’s favor, his lands, and his neck, all to give her the one thing she’d never had: a choice.
Her hand, clutching his cloak, began to tremble. He saw the flicker of disbelief in her gaze, a silent question that cut deeper than any blade. She looked back at Henry, then back at him, her eyes searching his.
He didn't care about the treaty. He didn't care about the king. He only cared about the way her fingers suddenly tightened around his hand, an anchor in the storm around them.
“The treaty has been signed, the pact cannae be broken,” Henry exclaimed.
Harald didn't blink. He just watched Enya, his heart thundering against his ribs, waiting to see if she would take the door he had just kicked open for her.
“Nay alliance is worth her sufferin’,” he said. Every word was a blade. “Nay crown commands me in me own halls. Her safety outweighs yer timelines. Dae I make meself clear?”
