CHAPTER 17 Torj
CHAPTER 17
Torj
‘The relationship between bodyguard and principal depends on trust’
– The Guardian’s Handbook: Principles and Practices of Personal Protection
T HE NEXT DAY, his ward was back to her usual self.
‘How am I meant to “stay safe” without a door on its hinges?’ she said darkly, surveying the damage.
‘You won’t be needing one,’ Torj told her coolly, his back aching from sitting in an uncomfortable chair all night. ‘You’ll get ready in my cabin.’
Wren glanced up again. ‘Get ready?’
‘We’ll arrive in Naarva within the hour. Then we’ll be at the academy welcome gala by sundown.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You couldn’t have told me this sooner?’
‘Oh, so we’re telling each other things now?’ Torj replied, trying but failing to keep the edge from his tone. He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath but Wren paid him no more heed.
She was looking from her pack tucked away in the corner to her tattered apron and grey gown. ‘I...’
It was the first time he’d seen her lost for words, without a sharp retort poised on her tongue. Here stood the woman responsible for losing him his dream posting, for tarnishing a once-stellar Warsword reputation. He should have relished her discomfort, should have savoured her apparent distress.
Instead, he asked, ‘What is it?’
Wren’s shoulders sagged, her cheeks flushing. ‘I don’t have anything to wear.’
‘Oh,’ he said, shifting on his feet. ‘Farissa thought of that.’
Wren’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Torj motioned for her to follow. ‘Come with me.’
In his much smaller cabin next door, he shoved a parcel wrapped in brown paper towards her. ‘Farissa said that was for the welcome gala.’
Wren took it with unsteady hands. ‘Thank you.’
Shocked at her courtesy, Torj remained rooted to the spot, long enough that Wren blinked at him.
‘Do you mean to watch me change?’ she asked, incredulous.
‘I’ll turn my back like a gentleman,’ he replied.
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘As much as I’d like to throw you overboard myself, I don’t joke about your safety, Embervale.’
‘Why do you care?’ she sniped.
‘It’s my job.’
With a smug sense of satisfaction, he saw the muscle working in her jaw as she ground her teeth. Though no bolts of lightning danced across her skin, he could feel the storm crackling in the air around them.
‘Rage all you want,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He turned his back to her, facing the porthole. ‘Now get dressed.’
Behind him, Wren made an aggravated noise before the paper rustled.
A beat later, she shoved a wax-sealed envelope into his hands. ‘That’s addressed to you.’
Torj recognized the Guild Master’s sigil in the wax instantly. He turned it over, but movement in the reflection of the porthole glass made him freeze.
His breath caught as the reflective surface revealed the curve of Wren’s bare shoulder, and the elegant slope of her long neck. He gripped the envelope, crumpling the edges as he drank in the sight of her smooth skin, desire blooming in his abdomen against all reason. Mouth dry, his hardening cock tenting the front of his leathers, his gaze trailed down her naked spine, to the narrowing of her waist and the swell of her hips.
She’s the reason you’ve been stuck in the midrealms for two years , he chided himself. She’s why you spent weeks explaining how Edmund Riverton died in your custody.
But no amount of willpower could stop the longing that coursed through him. Gods, what he’d give to trace the contours of her body with his hands, with his tongue...
Suppressing a groan, Torj tore his eyes away. He just needed a good fuck, that was all. Between brawling at the Laughing Fox and the briefing at Thezmarr, there hadn’t been time for any tension relief.
Adjusting his near-painful erection in his leathers, he cracked the seal on the envelope to give himself something else to focus on. As he was greeted by Audra’s precise handwriting, it was as though a bucket of ice water had been tipped over him.
He scanned the contents of the letter twice, then a third time, a pit of dread yawning wide within him as the last three lines blurred in his vision.
Under no circumstances are you to warn Elwren.
Under no circumstances are you to intervene.
Outside threats only.
Swallowing the lump in his throat and ignoring the swish of fabric behind him, Torj rubbed the ache setting into his scars. Silently, he cursed Audra.
‘You can turn around now,’ Wren muttered.
Torj did – and the wind was knocked out of him.
Wren was breathtaking.
The pale green-blue of her gown matched her eyes and complemented her smooth complexion. It was simple in its design, modest even, but that was just as well, for nothing could compete with her beauty. Torj’s heart hammered against his sternum as he drank her in. The bodice hugged her curves in a way that made his balls tighten; her breasts and shoulders were covered by a shimmering gauze.
‘You look...’ Words were lost to him. He cleared his throat. ‘You look adequate.’
‘Adequate?’ Wren stared back at him for a moment before she seemed to come back to herself, reaching for her belt of tools and fastening it around her waist. ‘You really know how to make a girl feel special, Warsword.’
‘A well-honed skill of mine, to be sure,’ he replied without thinking, still staring at her.
‘Those lucky ladies,’ Wren retorted, though there was an edge to her voice.
That, more than anything, wrenched Torj from his trance. ‘I’m not sure that matches,’ he said, pointing to the tool belt over the formal gown.
‘Who asked you?’
Thankfully, a shout sounded from the upper deck and the bells began to ring, signalling land ahead.
Clearing his throat, still clutching Audra’s letter, Torj shouldered both their packs and his war hammer before motioning to the door. ‘There’ll be a carriage waiting ashore.’
Under no circumstances are you to warn Elwren.
Under no circumstances are you to intervene.
There was nothing he could do. The Guild Master had tasked him with protecting the heir of Delmira, only to have him dress her up and throw her to the wolves.