He felt Enya shift. She stood up slowly, like she was gathering the pieces of her soul.
He held his breath.
“I choose the marriage,” she said. “It proceeds tomorrow. As planned.”
Harald felt a jolt of pure, terrifying electricity surge through him, making the hair on his arms stand up. His heart suddenly kickedagainst his ribs with a fierce, aching pride. She was iron. She was a wildfire he had no hope of containing.
He was falling for her so hard it made his head spin. It was a vulnerability more dangerous than any blade he’d ever faced.
Henry looked at her, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. He searched for a rebuttal, found none, and finally inclined his head.
“Then the matter is settled,” the envoy muttered, his voice tight with swallowed pride.
The doors shut with a heavy, final thud as he left. The room seemed to exhale, the shadows receding as the suffocating presence of the Crown vanished.
Harald turned to her fully. His chest felt so tight he could barely draw air. The silence between them was thick, charged with the weight of what had just been traded.
“Enya...” he began, his voice cracking. He reached out, his hand hovering near her cheek before he pulled it back, terrified of his own emotions. “Ye didnae have tae dae that.”
“I ken,” she said. She stepped into his space, forcing him to look down at her. The fragility was gone, replaced by a terrifyingly beautiful clarity. Her mismatched eyes burned into his. “I wanted tae, Harald. I chooseye.”
The raw honesty in her words stripped him bare. He felt raw and exposed in the firelight.
Harald stood frozen, the silence of the room ringing in his ears. He nodded once, a sharp, jerky movement. He didn't trust his voice; the surge of affection he felt for her was a physical ache in his throat.
“Well,” she whispered, her voice trembling but her wit still razor-sharp. “If I’m tae be a bride tomorrow, I’d best get me beauty sleep. I look a fright, and I’ll nae have the kingdom saying the Hawk married a ghost.”
A startled, husky laugh broke from Harald’s chest.
“Ye’ll nae be sleeping alone taenight, Enya,” Harald said, his voice dropping into a low, unshakable rumble. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing her. I’ll nae be letting ye out o’ me sight after this.”
“Is that a command, me laird?” she asked, a touch of fire flickering in her gaze.
“Aye,” he rasped. “It’s the only one I’ll nae let ye break.”
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He swept her up into his arms.
She instinctively looped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder. He carried her up the stairs to his chamber, his heart a heavy drum against his ribs.
Harald set her down on the bed as if she were made of spun glass, watching her sink into the furs.
He didn't hesitate. He climbed in beside her, kicking off his boots but keeping his blade within reach. He stayed on his side at first, an offering of safety rather than an intrusion, until she moved. She inched back through the dark, seeking his heat, until her spine settled firmly against his chest.
Harald wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush against him. He felt her shudder—one long, jagged breath that finally let the terror out—before she melted into his strength. He tucked his chin over her head, his eyes fixed on the door, his body aliving fortress. If the world wanted her, they would have to tear her out of his very marrow.
Outside it was dark. But inside, she was safe. And if the world wanted her, they would have to go through him first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The pale light of the morning filtered through the narrow windows, a soft, silver veil that quieted the world.
Enya was anchored to the mattress by the heavy, comforting solidness of Harald’s arm. His heat was a steady, radiating sun against her back, seeping through her clothes until the chill of the room was forgotten. She felt a strange, liquid warmth in her chest as she listened to the slow, rhythmic thrum of his heart against her shoulder blades.
It felt like hope. And for a woman who had spent years in the cold, the sheer, golden weight of that hope was the most beautiful thing she had ever known.
She felt his breath stir the fine hairs at her nape, a gentle ghost of a touch.
“Ye’re awake,” he rasped.
