I watched as he crossed the distance between us in three long strides, until he stood before me. The smell of smoke from the fire pit clung to his clothes. Instead of soothing me, it only made my heart hammer more violently against my ribs.
“I don't have a choice, do I?” I asked, my shoulders sagging. Despite what he said, about the belief we had to show of being equal it was not true.
“No,” he murmured, “you do not.”
His hand rose, warm fingers brushing against my cheek, the heat of his skin mingled with the warmth of the fire. For a moment neither of us moved, stuck in a moment neither of us were sure of.
Eventually, he let his hand drop and began to busy himself around the camp, as if nothing had happened. He prepared food and even went into the tent, adjusting the bedding so that both beds were combined into one space.
I refused to watch that part. Instead, I returned to the fire, sitting down and staring into the flames. When this journey had begun, part of me had been excited. It had offered adventure, freedom, and a chance to finally leave Vaetharyn.
Instead, I was travelling beside a King who had tied his life to mine and planned to push me to my limits. I was expected to share his bed, wear his scent, and pretend that we were happily bound together, so a pack of wolves would not tear us apart.
It was humiliating, and I hated every moment of it.
Dinner tasted like ash. Still, I forced it down, chewing each bite far longer than necessary. Determined to make the meal last as long as possible, in hopes that exhaustion would claim me before I had to crawl into the tent.
The forest was eerily quiet by the time Rhael finally stood. Despite the quiet, the feeling ofbeing watched remained. The shadows seemed to hold their breath as he moved past me.
“I really think this is a bad idea,” I whispered, one last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind.
“Elara,” he warned, my name curled from his mouth like smoke.
“Rhael!” I replied stubbornly, mimicking his tone as a lasting act of defiance.
“Do not test me tonight,” he warned as he stood at the edge of the tent. The fire died out making the air colder than it had been in hours.
“Why not wrap me in your cloak?” I tried. “Would that not accomplish the same thing?”
“It would be weaker, less convincing,” he countered, his eyes narrowing as I stood to join him at the tent's entrance.
“So, my skin has to touch yours” I assumed. The words left my mouth quietly as I stepped inside, standing beside the makeshift bed.
The truth was far simpler than any argument I could make. I had never shared a bed with a man like this before. Some masters had used my body, discarding me afterwards. But I had never simply slept beside someone. It unsettled something deep within me.
“I won’t touch you any more than necessary. I have no intention of taking this further tonight,” he said as he pulled back the blankets.
“You keep saying that.” I whispered as I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
“You keep doubting me,” he smirked, his tongue brushing briefly against the metal ring in his lip.
“Someone has to,” I muttered.
A quiet breath escaped him, half laugh half curse, as he climbed into bed and shifted to one side, leaving a space beside him. There was no point arguing anymore. I knew that, and had resigned myself to it.
So, I turned my back, slowly removing my riding leathers and stripped down to the white cotton underdress, giving Rhael a chance to get ready for bed also.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to slip inside the covers before I could talk myself out of it once more. Warmth enveloped me and I found some small comfort in the fact that I at least would not freeze.
I had barely settled before Rhael shifted closer. Heat radiating from his body through the thin layer of fabric I had to sleep in. My breath caught as his arm slid around my waist, pulling me firmly against his chest.
He was shirtless, I could feel the ropes of muscle beneath my fingers as he settled. I tried not to think about it, shifting my legs and arms until I could find a comfortable position.
“You are wound tighter than a bowstring,” he murmured, his breath running over my shoulder.
“I am uncomfortable,” I lied. The bed was warm, comfortable, and Rhael’s presence was not nearly asunsettling as I feared.
Rhael chuckled as his breathing eventually slowed, deepening as sleep claimed him. Soon the quiet rhythm filled the tent, along with the faint sound of his snoring.
