He listens to her offer, stroking his beard. Her attention flips to a cat darting across the street. In that blip of a moment when her concentration focuses elsewhere, Sigvid’s features betray everything.
I know she needs this—an appearance of freedom, even if the reality is anything but so.
Sigvid is not an honorable man, and the dark taste he has acquired for her is exquisite. No amount of running can keep herfrom his grasp.
Once her focus returns to him, he levels an indifferent expression. As if she is nothing more than a meaningless collection of holes for him to fuck.
As if she does not matter to him.
As if she is not his secret obsession.
“You have a deal, Avina.” He lies.
26
AVINA
November 5th, Year 100, 9th Era
Blackwood Inn, Salt Province
Avina is on a rare high after he agrees to her deal. Now, her existence is on her terms, not his. What a strange freedom to feel in control of something in life.
During this time, she can learn more about Sigvid and finally understand the man who exists amidst the fire and fury.
Once she returns to Timber, she plans to handle Samson and rule alone, fixing the province how it deserves.
She sits on the horse before Sigvid as they wind their way out of the city walls.
After confronting his brother, Sigvid insisted they stay the night at an inn, claiming Hest–his stallion–needs rest. However, when he nearly passes out in the tavern over a pint of ale, she wonders if the stop is for him to sleep finally.
“Home.” He gestures ahead of them.
Up a long hill and snuggled along the treeline of what appears to be a vast blackwood forest set the residence of the Prince of Salt. Although, a mere residence is the understatement of the era.
An A-frame of floor-to-ceiling windows is the center point of a damned lodge. Unlike the stucco architecture of many Toftlund homes, the lodge monstrosity is a dark hardwood. Smoke swirls into the early morning sky from one of the many chimneys.
“The Blackwood Inn. Named for the rare Salt Blackwood Forest you see around us. I purchased it long ago and have yet to take the time to furnish every room.” He whispers in her ear. His hot breath sends butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
Her mouth suddenly feels dry.
Who is staying here? Had he lied about having another person living with him? Why does this trouble me?
“Why is there smoke swirling from a chimney?”
He does not answer while he eases her to the frozen ground.
“Hest, go home.” He instructs the horse, who nods and returns to the stables.
They climb along a beaten path to a set of steps leading to an expansive wrap-around porch that must embrace the entire estate. An overhang shields the porch from the rain or snow as it overlooks the hilltop.
She snorts at the single rocking chair facing the city of Toftlund and the South Sea. He sets out no other furniture on the porch.
He meets her amusement with a half grin. “What are you laughing at?”
The rocking chair creaks under her weight as she sits on the oversized chair. She sighs as she leans back and receives a stunning view of the calm sea and movement in the city to her left. “Just imagining you sitting alone, overseeing your people.”
“This is one of my favorite places to sit after a long day.” He leans on the railing carved in matching knots to many of the buildings in the city. “I like to bring some bottles of mead out and watch the waves of the South Sea.”
