The quaint home’s general disorganization evokes a physical reaction from the uptight warrior. His home in Skalor is a cold keep with bare walls and dead plants in the garden beds. The only creature comfort is his old friend, Argnier, whose connection to Aura is so spectacularly coincidental that he didn’t even share his destination before he left home.
The Princess’s bare legs stretch beside the table. Calder knows she is the most forbidden creature on the continent. Yet, imagining her tight ass snuggled onto his lap while he twists her body until she screams his name has his gaze darkening.
Dammit, this woman was crafted from every fantasy I ever had.
“Tell us.” Serk leans toward her. “What happened?”
She fiddles with a heel of bread before finally sharing the ordeal. Serk and Eivor offer a wonderfully captive audience as they gasp and exclaim at the correct moments. She relays the events with poise and dignity.
Yet, her shame is palpable to the Iss Drengr, who understands far more than she can ever realize.
“I warned you, Aurie, nothing good can come from these people.” Serk reclines in his chair.
“You will show them when you retake your Trial.” Eivor stands on her seat, brandishing a dagger.
These two don’t know.
Aura does not immediately respond. She pops a piece of bread into her mouth and chews far longer than necessary. Serk wraps his hand around her delicate wrist and squeezes until she meets his gaze.
“What?” Eivor demands. “What is it?”
“That was my only chance to become a Drengr,” She whispers to a collective hush in the shack.
Sigvid never permits second chances. Avina’s honorary status is unusual and involved all of us pledging our loyalty to her during the Treland War.
Serk leans back while Evior flops onto the floor.
A clack sounds from the table as Calder’s Drengr medallion appears. “I kept my word. A real medal.”
Eivor scrambles to inspect. She and her brother lift, poke, and trace it with reverence. Aura observes their excitement with a satisfied grin, even though her beautiful blue eyes hold a somber yearning for what she has been denied.
She clicks her tongue off the roof of her mouth while tapping the table with her tattooed forefinger. Four black runes are inked along the side, representing family, courage, dawn, and fate stacked atop each other. “I understand if that means my assistance is no longer wanted-”
“...at sundown!” Serk incorrectly finishes her sentence, but the sentiment of keeping Aura as a companion is apparent. “We prefer that you spend the day,” he announces, tucking his staff under his arm. “You are in luck, as I am about to whip up some more herbed bread loaves. This recipe can be a bit of a challenge.” He wags his brows, enticing her fierce determination.
She follows him into the kitchen, leaving Eivor craning her small neck to look at Calder with unamusement.
“You’re not from Treland, are you?” Her question is more of an accusation.
Calder raises a brow, taken aback at her directness. “I lived here in my youth.”
“Why did you leave?” She leans closer.
“Our King Sigvid required my skills elsewhere.”
“Did you want to leave?” She pokes at a particularly nasty scar visible along his upper arm.
“No. When a man you respect needs you to act, you do what needs to be done.”
She sways along the floor as if percolating on his words. “But he did not consider your wants. How can you follow him?” She looks up with a burning curiosity.
“Inquisitive little thing, aren’t you? I followed my orders as I pledged my life to his service.”
She shakes her head as if his words are absurd. “I wouldn’t listen to anyone who made me leave the place I love.” She pushes herself to her feet and pads out the open front door toward the creek.
That damn child asks a lot of questions.
His gaze roves to Aura, stirring dough in a giant bowl and laughing at Serk's words. Calder strides into the kitchen, having to duck through the dividing arch. As he watches the young man closely, it is evident that the two hold no fire for each other. They resemble a pair of siblings.
