Page 16 of When the Sky Breaks

Neal stood paralyzed, stunned.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You don’t get to have it both ways,” I repeated. “Either this marriage is a political arrangement, or it isn’t. Either you’re doing this to protect the Outer Court from Iksura’s influence and prevent someone from assassinating me, or you’re doing this because you actually have feelings for me. So decide. Do you care? Are you going to hold my hand and share a bed and clean this out and kiss it better? Are you going to let me sleep with my head in your lap and hold me when it storms? Or are you going to be a good soldier and ignore me like you’ve been doing?”

I didn’t give him a chance to reply, just stalked over to my horse, untied the mare, and mounted bareback.

“Sorcha, we’re not heading back for another . . .” Neal tried to protest, but I just urged the horse onward and trotted away.

“Why is she bleeding?” Ansel asked when he opened the door, glaring at Neal.

“Drop it,” I ordered, pushing past him and into the house.

“I take it you had a very romantic honeymoon?” Ansel asked Neal as he followed behind. We were both dusty, sweaty, and generally disheveled.

“Later,” Neal said gruffly.

“Did you get anything else from Iksura while we were gone? Any more suitors show up?” I asked, picking up one of the ranch cats and heading toward my office. The last thing I wanted to talk about was our disaster of a honeymoon.

“I did,” Ansel replied. “Do you want to look at that . . . right now?”

“I think asking about it made my goals pretty clear?” I snapped in response.

“Just get the papers, Ansel,” Neal encouraged, leaning back against the door and rubbing his temples.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” Ansel said, once we’d convened in my office. He hadn’t stopped moving from the moment we got back to the ranch and was now pacing back and forth in front of my desk.

“So it’s more of the same,” I said. “My claim is illegitimate. I need a noble husband or to let her choose a regent?”

Ansel nodded. I swallowed hard and glanced up at Neal. He stood against the far wall—head leaned back, eyes closed, brow furrowed. Weeks ago now, he’d said he thought we could both do worse than marrying one another. I’d been inclined to agree. He was dedicated, patient, willing to listen. He was clever when he wanted to be, and his touch was always warm, doting, gentle. I prayed silently that my outburst out at the cabin would prompt some kind of commitment, some real display of affection. But no, even like this, even a marriage he swore had to be loveless, I could still do far worse—for a husband, and to father an heir.“So are we conceding?” Neal asked after a while. “We haven’t consummated. You could end it now and marry someone of her choice.”

Ansel snorted. “And destroy how many generations’ work protecting humanity from things that go bump in the night?”

I shook my head. “No. We don’t concede. We hold our ground. We do our damn job. We strengthen the Outer Court imperial line. And we find proof that she’s lying and can’t take control.”

Ansel perked up. Neal opened his eyes and stood to full height.

“So you’re saying . . .” Neal trailed off.

“That we should have a baby,” I finished. “Yes.”

“Knew you’d see the logic soon enough,” Ansel said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. “I’ll be sure to tell the staff you’re both indisposed tonight.”

Seven

Sorcha

Isat on my bed and unlaced my boots. Neal was looking everywhere except my face, eyes darting over the whitewashed adobe walls of my bedroom, the ruddy-stained, wood-beam ceiling, the light-pine bed frame and handwoven blankets, and the Madonna and child icon above my headboard as though he’d never so much as set foot in the room. It was just barely dusk, and a few rays of sunlight still trickled in through the heavy tree cover outside the window.

“Do you want to . . .” I gestured vaguely at my mattress and trailed off. I half hoped this would be what tipped the scale—that now he knew I was committed, knew I wanted him enough to carry his child, he would open up like I so desperately wished he would. That he would love me.

“Of course.” Neal’s voice was flat, disinterested. “Let’s get this over with.”

He swallowed hard.

“You could attempt to make it sound like this isn’t a chore,” I suggested.

“I didn’t . . .” Neal paused. “I just don’t want things to be uncomfortable.”