She stumbles away from him. “You knew? And you still treated me like I was your mindless slave? How dare you! My only concern is keeping you, Frida, and Thora safe! Dammit, Sigvid, you have no idea the heartbreak you wreck over me,” her voice catches in her throat. “You know the desolate gloom I fight against. It's as if my own heart seeks my downfall. And I needed you more than anyone else during the last two weeks!”
“I never wanted this for you.” His adoration for her is betrayed in the longing of his words. “I needed to keep Thrain believing the lie.”
“But Thrain suspects! Your actions are why he assumes you may know this is not amicable. He knows war brews on the horizon and will do anything to avoid confronting you on the battlefield.”
That fucking spineless ass.
“I have done nothing but make you feel worse.” He closes the distance between them. “Avina, I,” his words catch in his throat this time, “never wanted you to feel this way.”
What damage have I wrought?
“All I want is to shield you from everyone, little one.” He clutches her upper arms, willing her torment to melt into his soul.
“Can you shield me from yourself?”
“I told you once, Avina, I am not a good man.” He swallows back his pain, “Icannotlet you go.”
She snorts. “What am I to you?”
“Everything. You are everything to me, Avina.”
Her features soften, and she drops her intense gaze to the floor. At last, she clears her throat.
“Maybe I should have trusted you to protect us from the beginning. My mind,” she sighs, “was drowning in the despair of losing you, Frida, or Thora. I couldn’t bear being the cause of such loss.”
“My Avina, if I could storm your soul and cast away the shadows that plague your steps, I would have done so already. I should have trusted your resilience.” He cups her cheek.
He watches the surprise flicker in her eyes. “I watch you from the second you rise to the moment your head falls upon the pillow. Even if I am not nearby, I know you are safe.” He wraps his arms tightly around his little Queen, savoring the beat of her heart. “When I say you are mine, I mean every single fucking fiber of you. From this point forward, I suggest we are completely honest with one another.”
She wiggles in her attempt to pull away, “I am hon-”
He presses his lips to hers to silence her lovely lies. “No more of these fucking half-truths or avoidance from either of us. We tell each other everything, understand? I need to know what is in your heart and mind.”
She fucking hesitates. “That is too much.”
“Did I fucking say I do not want to hear every breath of your day? When have I ever indicated I want a silent woman? I need your voice as a prominent fixture in my senses.”
She shakes her head. “You do not understand. Sometimes, I fear my spirit is broken. You could not possibly wish to hear of my struggles.”
He holds her against his chest, stroking her soft curls. “My Queen,” his lips linger in her hair, “If I could hold a mirror to your spirit, you would see a thoughtful mind and a heart bursting with compassion.When will you realize that every godsdamn person who crosses your path is undeserving of the air you breathe?” Without hesitation, he adds, “Including me.”
She catches his wrist and tugs his hand over her heart.
“You are not a soul broken beyond repair.” He clutches her chest as if she might fall away. “I relish your darkness as if it is the rays that keep a flower flourishing in the harsh fjords. If I must spend every waking moment of my life at your side so that you may reach into the crevices of your being and find the inner strength that I see in you,” he kisses the top of her head, “well then, I shall arrive in the Depths a fulfilled man.”
At the tip of his tongue lives that little word he burns to utter. She deserves to know that she is more than his pleasure slave. She deserves everything he can give her.
Sigvid pulls her lips to the crushing ferocity of his own, pouring all of the unspoken affection of the last two weeks into his physical touch.
45
SIGVID
December 15th, Year 100, 9th Era
Outside Toftlund City, Salt Province
Heavy branches hang overhead like a corridor of twisted, snarling arms encasing Sigvid in a corridor of pale moonlight.
