Chapter 4
Aeryn woke wrapped in warmth. When she shifted, it moved with her—solid, unfamiliar. An arm lay heavy across her waist. Realization dawned. In the night, she had rolled toward Khaeric, and now they lay tangled together beneath the furs.
Far too close. Aeryn jerked away. The movement drew a low sound from him, and she froze.
The borrowed tunic had hitched up during the night. His chest rose and fell against her cheek, solid and warm. One of his legs had slipped between hers, anchoring her close.
The fur had fallen low on his hips, and her gaze betrayed her before she could stop it, following the fur’s edge across his body. What lay beneath was… impressive. She swallowed.
Heat pooled low in her belly. At court, she’d been taught that a lady’s desire was something to be concealed, controlled, prettily packaged for a husband’s convenience.
She’d learned to recognize attraction in others, the lingering looks, the careful touches, but she’d never felt it herself.
Not like this. Not this sudden, visceral awareness of a male body that made her want to look closer, to understand the planes and ridges of him, to know what that strength would feel like under her hands.
Carefully, Aeryn tried to ease herself out of his embrace. But as she shifted, he made a low, indistinct sound and drew her back against his chest. “Goin’ somewhere, princess?”
Mortification climbed her spine. “I was just—” She faltered. “The hour must be late.”
His chuckle vibrated against her. “Early, no’ late. The mountain’s only just stirrin’.” His arm remained draped over her waist. “Did ye sleep well, lass?”
She hesitated. “Well enough.”
Aeryn hadn’t slept this soundly in years. She ought to pull away, to reestablish propriety and space. Yet her body refused to give up the strange, steady comfort of him. “Is it always this warm here?”
“Aye.” His voice was a low rumble against her hair. “The mountain keeps its heat, even in winter. The springs beneath see to that.” His hand lifted, untangling a knot from her hair that had formed during the night. “Our ancestors learned where heat rises on its own.”
She tensed beneath the casual brush of his fingers, even as she found it soothing. “You should let me go,” she said, though her voice betrayed her, coming out far too soft.
“I’m no’ holdin’ ye, lass.” His hand stilled in her hair. “Ye’re free to move if ye wish.”
“It’s just not… proper,” she said. How could she explain she wasn’t used to being touched like this? Or that his warmth made it difficult to think? They’d met only the day before, yet her body had accepted a closeness her mind hadn’t learned to navigate.
Khaeric’s sigh stirred her hair. “Proper again. Ye cling to that word like armor.”
Aeryn bristled, pulling back. “My upbringing isn’t something to be mocked.”
He leaned back to look at her. “I’m no’ mockin’. Just observin’.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“No?” His brow furrowed as his fingers resumed their work in her hair, freeing another knot. “Then, why do ye tense when I touch ye, yet when ye woke, ye didnae pull away?”
He’d been awake the whole time. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she looked away, grasping for a retort. A sharp knock at the chamber door cut her off.
Khaeric sighed and stood, moving toward the door, utterly unconcerned with his lack of clothing. Her gaze followed him despite herself, catching the strong lines of his back tapering to narrow hips, the firm curves of his buttocks flexing as he strode across the chamber.
He looked back at precisely the wrong moment. Aeryn snapped her eyes downward, face burning, as he shook his head with a low chuckle.
The mortification should have been absolute—caught ogling her husband like a starving woman at a feast. His amusement rather than censure didn’t ease the heat in her cheeks, but it loosened the guilt in her chest.
Then, Khaeric opened the door.
“Yer things have arrived,” he announced, stepping aside to allow two orcs to enter, each carrying wooden trunks she recognized from the palace. They kept their eyes averted from her, set the trunks down, and departed with brief nods to Khaeric.
“You answered the door like that?” Aeryn hissed as she sat up, gesturing sharply at the door.
“Like what?” he asked.
She kept her eyes firmly on his face—gods help her, she would not look lower. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Completely naked!”
“Why would I cover myself to greet my own in my hall? No shame in skin, lass.” Khaeric shrugged one shoulder. “They’ve seen worse of me.”
She stared at him, baffled. “I’m not accustomed to this.”
Khaeric blinked, then nodded once. “Aye, fair enough.” He reached into his chest, pulled out a pair of leather breeches, and stepped into them. “Better?”
She gave a stiff nod, unwilling to voice the small relief loosening her chest.
He lifted the lid of her trunk. “These’ll be yer clothes, then?”
Aeryn watched as he surveyed the folded dresses, gowns, and delicate underthings with casual interest. “I… I’ll need to dress.”
“That ye will.” He stepped aside but didn’t leave.
“By myself,” she added. “In private.”
“This is our chamber, lass. Where’d ye have me go?”
Aeryn bit back her dread. “Just… turn and face the wall.”
He chuckled, but obliged, turning his back. “We’ve a meeting wi’ the council,” he said. “And I’ve a mind to show ye the mountain today. Get dressed—somethin’ practical, if ye have it.”
She hummed absently while she climbed out of bed, sifting through layers of clothing in her trunk until she found a riding dress near the bottom.
Aeryn dressed with quick, practiced motions, but when she reached the back laces, her fingers faltered.
Ordinarily, this would have been a task for her handmaiden.
Aeryn swallowed her pride. “I need assistance… with the laces.”
Khaeric turned and approached. “Green suits ye.” His hands closed around the cords, drawing them together. The quiet slide of laces through fabric stirred a memory she wished would stay buried—her father behind her, tightening a gown so harshly she could barely draw breath.
“Hold still,” he’d said, calm as ever. “A princess’s gown should remind the world who commands it.”
The same pressure caught at her ribs, and her body reacted before her mind could—shoulders tensing, breath turning shallow.
Khaeric stopped. “Too tight?”
The memory shattered at the sound of his gentle voice. It was nothing like her father’s.
“No,” she blurted.
He loosened the cords anyway. “Ye tell me if I overstep.”
The difference struck harder than the memory itself. One man had used control to assert ownership; this one eased his grip the moment she flinched. He secured the final knot with a measured pull, his fingers grazing the small of her back a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Aeryn turned and found herself close to his bare chest. “We should… go,” she said, stepping back. “If you’re showing me the mountain.”
Khaeric nodded. “We’ll start wi’ the mornin’ meal.” He fastened a leather belt. “Come on, then.”
The corridors beyond their chambers hummed with activity. Orcs moved with purpose, carrying tools, baskets, weapons. Some slowed as they passed, eyes lingering on her with curiosity or thinly veiled suspicion. Just as they had the previous night, when they’d arrived at the mountain stronghold.
Aeryn kept her chin high despite the stares tightening her chest. Among the gray and green-skinned orcs, her pale complexion and gold hair marked her like a torch in the dark. As she followed Khaeric through the winding halls, a thought pressed at her awareness.
They entered a vast dining hall with long tables, most already filled with orcs breaking their fast. Conversation dimmed as they entered; heads turned.
Aeryn’s stomach dropped. She’d assumed—foolishly, perhaps—that they would take their meal in private. A quiet breakfast in their chambers, or perhaps a smaller hall reserved for the Clanlord and his… wife.
Khaeric continued forward, seemingly unbothered by the scrutiny, and she forced herself to follow.
“Khaeric.” She kept her voice low. “I thought we would be dining alone.”
He glanced back at her, surprise crossing his features. “Alone? The clan takes its meals together, lass.”
“At court, meals were taken in smaller groups. By rank.” The words sounded hollow even to her own ears, a desperate attempt to make sense of what she was seeing. “The royal family dined separately from—”
“We’re no’ at court, lass.” Khaeric’s voice held no judgment. “The clan eats as one. Always has.”
“Why?”
He paused, studying her. “Why what, lass?”
“Why does the clan eat together?” she asked. “Surely you have private rooms. Places where—where the Clanlord and his family could dine without…” She gestured vaguely at the crowded hall, unable to finish the thought without admitting how exposed she felt.
“The Clanlord eats wi’ his people because he is of his people,” Khaeric explained, his tone patient. “How can I lead those whose tables I willnae share? How can I ask them to trust my judgment if I set myself above them?”
She’d always assumed leaders separated themselves to maintain authority, to preserve the mystique that made command possible. Her father had certainly believed it. But Khaeric spoke as though the opposite were true, as though leadership required proximity, not distance.
“Sit yerself. I’ll fetch the food.”
She lowered herself onto the bench, glancing around. Still all men. Before she could dwell on it, a voice spoke from across the table. “Khaeric’s alliance bride arrives at last.”
Aeryn looked up to find an orc settling himself opposite her. He was slimmer than most she’d seen so far, his build lean rather than hulking, with pale green skin and dark hair pulled back in a loose tie. His tusks were modest, less pronounced, and his gray eyes were sharp with curiosity.