Chapter 11
The flap of the tent rustles, and someone shakes my shoulder. I groan, rolling over, expecting my turn for watch. But dawn is already creeping in through the canvas, soft and gray.
I blink up into Lowan’s silver eyes. “What happened? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed the rest,” he says flatly.
“Maybe so, but so does everyone else.” I push myself upright, scowling. “That’s not really fair—my snoozing all night while everyone else had to take their turn.”
“No one else took a turn.” His tone is maddeningly calm. “It’s fine.”
I gape at him. “You stayed on watch? The entire night?”
He doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“You didn’t sleep at all?”
“Again—it’s fine.”
Heat surges in my chest. It’s not fine. But I can’t admit the truth: that I care he might suffer for it, that I don’t want him worn thin for our sake. So instead, I let the anger come out sideways.
“I don’t need you to baby me, Lowan. It’s the first night, for gods’ sake. You can’t just swoop in and decide for everyone that you’ll play the noble martyr and exhaust yourself while the rest of us get pampered sleep.”
His jaw tightens. Then he leans closer, voice low, eyes like steel.
“You’re right. It is the first night. Which means you’ll have plenty of opportunities to sit out here by the fire and prove your point.
But last night, everyone needed rest. So I took watch.
And unless you’ve mastered turning back time, it’s already done. Get up. We’re leaving in five.”
Fury spikes in me. I fling the blankets back without thinking—only to feel the chill of air against mostly bare skin.
I glance down and realize that at some point I’d stripped out of my clothes, too warm to sleep in them.
Now I’m left with nothing but the band binding my breasts and the thin undergarments clinging to my hips.
Not exactly modest, but not uncommon either.
Still, under Lowan’s gaze, it feels like I might as well be naked.
Lowan goes still. His nostrils flare, eyes darkening, predator-sharp—my heart thunders.
I should snatch the blankets back and cover myself like before.
But I don’t. Instead, I lift my chin, daring him.
And then—slowly, deliberately—I shift my hips, angling just enough that he can see more. A choice: Look.
The muscles flex along his jaw, breath sharp. The silence hums, taut and dangerous. Finally, he drags his gaze away. “Five minutes.” His voice is rougher now, scraped raw. He turns sharply and strides out of the tent.
I sit frozen, pulse racing, heat pooling low in my stomach. I should feel embarrassed. I should feel furious. Instead, I feel powerful. Five minutes. Gods help me.
Five minutes isn’t enough, but I make it work.
I slip down to the stream, splash cold water on my face, take care of business, and pull myself together.
I pull my clothes back on, cloak tight, braid knotted over one shoulder.
By the time I return, the camp is gone as though it never existed—tents packed, fire snuffed, the clearing bare.
Selene is already astride her pale mare, bow slung across her back. Zillah lingers on the ground, her hand running briefly down Selene’s thigh as they murmur to one another, smiles soft and private.
Lowan waits on his warhorse, posture frozen and rigid, silver eyes flicking briefly toward me before snapping away.
And suddenly my stomach twists. Gods. What was I thinking?
I can’t just climb onto that horse with him after what happened in the tent.
After the way I shifted, the way he looked. It’s too raw, too obvious.
I didn’t think this through. This is going to be unbearable.
And yet… I had wanted him to look. So help me, I did.
Some reckless, shameless part of me wanted to know what it would feel like to be seen that way by him.
To imagine his hands instead of just his eyes.
But that’s ridiculous. I don’t even know him, though sometimes it feels like I do.
In two weeks, I’ll probably never see him again.
The thought strikes like a blade, terror spiking through me before I can breathe.
The idea of being separated from him is unthinkable, gone before I can even unpack it.
I reach the horse before I can talk myself into bolting. Lowan’s gloved hand extends down to me, steady and unyielding. I place my palm in his, and he pulls me up as if I weigh nothing.
The moment I settle against him, the tension snaps back into place, thick and suffocating.
His chest solid against my back, his breath warm against my temple.
His scent surrounds me—intoxicating, equal parts erotic and comforting.
The urge to lean into him, to tilt my head back and feel the scrape of his stubble against my neck, is overwhelming.
“Why so tense?” he murmurs near my ear, the words low, almost playful. Almost seductive.
My throat tightens. “No reason.”
He chuckles—a sound that coils down my spine. Then he leans even closer still, his lips brushing the air just above my hairline. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Heat explodes in my cheeks. Fury follows, sharp and hot.
I want to elbow him in the ribs, to snap some witty retort.
Instead, I sit stiff as a rod, teeth clenched, seething.
He chuckles again, quietly and infuriatingly, and with a nudge of his heels, the warhorse surges forward, carrying us into the shadowed trees.
We ride in silence until I feel it—an invisible line, like a ripple of air against my skin. My stomach tightens. “We just left the Veynar lands, didn’t we?”
Lowan’s head tilts. “You can feel that?”
“Yes.” It hums in me, subtle but sure.
He exhales through his nose. “Must be the Thread of power I gave you. It has my family’s boundary wards woven into it.”
The woods seem different now. Darker. Heavier. The air tastes of damp earth and shadows. The winter feels colder here.
I swallow, then glance at the warhorse beneath us. “I should probably confess… I know nothing about horses. I assume this stunning fella has a name?”
Lowan’s lips twitch, the faintest almost-smile. “He does. This is Kairas.”
“Kairas,” I repeat, patting the horse’s muscled neck. “A noble name.”
Lowan shifts slightly behind me, his voice low near my ear. “I could teach you to ride.”
I glance back at him, startled. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
“It’s a skill you can take anywhere,” he says matter-of-factly, “And one you’ll need, no matter where you end up.”
I bite my lip, then nod. “Alright.”
His gloved hands slide over mine on the reins. His chest presses against my back as he murmurs instructions in my ear. “Loosen your grip. Feel the rhythm in your hips. Let the reins guide, not pull…”
It should be purely practical. But with his breath on my neck and his arms around me, every word shivers down my spine. After a while, I feel steadier, more confident. My hands stay on the reins, though his still bracket mine, ready to correct at any moment.
To distract myself from the heat in my skin, I say, “I spent a lot of time with Sirona before we left. She told me about Kyler, but she said he was your friend first.”
Lowan hums, thoughtful. “He was. At first, when I noticed something blossoming between them, I thought it was a tragedy waiting to happen. Kyler always had wild oats to sow. I didn’t want her hurt. So I tried to… discourage it.”
I smirk. “Imagine that.”
He ignores my jab. “But when he and his sister were recruited to become King’s Guardians, I thought it would end things. Distance has a way of killing young affections. But Sirona kept writing. And he kept writing back. It was real. Eventually, I had to accept it.”
“Well,” I say softly, “that was probably the right choice. From Sirona’s point of view, he’s clearly the one.”
“Yes,” Lowan says simply.
I hesitate, chewing my lip. What I want to ask is about Remli. My whole body is burning with the need to know. But I don’t want it to be obvious why I care. So I play it carefully. “Sirona mentioned Kyler is a shapeshifter. She mentioned that this was rare. He… and his sister.”
Lowan glances at me sidelong, seeing straight through me. He sighs. “Yes. Kyler shifts to a hawk. Remli is a lynx.”
“A lynx.” I try to sound casual, but my chest squeezes. “That’s… impressive.”
“Impressive,” he murmurs, the word edged.
I swallow. “What else about Remli is impressive?”
His silver eyes flick to mine. “I assume you want to know what my relationship with her was.”
My stomach lurches. “Me? No, I mean—if you want to talk about it while we’re riding, I’ll listen. But I don’t care.”
“Right,” he says dryly.
I glare at the reins, waiting.
He finally continues. “Kyler, Remli, and I grew up together. We were always around each other. My relationship with Remli grew out of that. Mutual attraction. Proximity. Things like that.”
“Things like that,” I repeat, jealousy simmering.
“Yes, things like that.” His voice is flat.
“And now?” I press.
“Nothing’s happened between us in a long time.”
“And you’re…okay with that?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate.
I stare hard at the path ahead, throat tight, furious with myself for asking. Infuriated that his calm, unbothered tone stings as it does.
We’ve been riding for hours, the forest pressing closer, darker, when Selene suddenly goes rigid and throws up a hand. Kairas halts beneath us as if struck. At the same instant, I feel it—Zillah’s shield snapping into place around us, an invisible dome humming against my skin.
Lowan’s thighs clamp tight around me, protective, braced, and I jolt at the sheer strength of it. His hand tightens on the reins. Then I hear them—voices, faint but unmistakable, carried on the frosty air. My stomach twists. Why would anyone be out here? This close to the Veynar border?