Chapter Nine #2
“What’s going on with you?” Hilduin asks under her breath, her hard eyes full of concern.
Everything about Hilduin is severe, from the sharp angles of her face to the short crop of spiky black hair and horns she always keeps filed to a point.
But right now, she looks softer, and that’s what really shakes me out of it.
“You don’t lose it like that. Out of all the Wardens, you’ve always been the best at keeping your cool.”
I’m still trembling with fury, trying to take measured breaths so I don’t go back to finish what I started. What’s going on with me? I wish I knew.
“Have you been sleeping?” she accuses, hands going to her hips. “You’ve got a whole castle of people who can stay up late and keep watch. It’s not on you to stay sentry while everyone else rests.”
I don’t answer, but that alone is answer enough.
Sleeping would involve going to my chambers.
Where Ingrid has been staying. Where I am sure to be surrounded by her scent and distracted by her delicate beauty.
Sleeping would mean missing whatever reports come in from the border, urgent developments that need immediate response.
Without me having to say a word, Hilduin frowns, shaking her head.
“The Wardens will never turn on you, you know that. But if you want to win over these guys? If you want the reach to accept you? You need to be on the top of your game, not prone to rages and easily instigated. You think courtiers won’t try to use her to get under your skin?
It might be made of stone, but if they find a soft spot, they will exploit it. ”
“Focus on training the guard. Leave matters of the Crown to me,” I answer, harsher than I should be.
Hilduin’s right. I have no doubt that she is, but I can’t slow down.
If I stop for even a moment, my thoughts begin to catch up to me.
Fears about the throne rejecting me, my bride abandoning me, Emerald Reach deteriorating into a frozen wasteland under my watch…
No matter how much I bury myself in work, how many hours a day I spend sparring until my body collapses, I cannot outrun those thoughts.
It doesn’t matter how busy I keep myself, the instant I pause for a breath or a beat, those thoughts are back, plaguing the back of my mind, taunting me.
Whispering the dark truths I’m not willing to admit.
Truths I refuse to let come to fruition.
I will find a way to save the reach, even if it destroys me in the process.
I spend longer than usual bathing under the falling water.
The dirt and sweat have long been washed off, the traces of the guard’s blood all gone, yet I feel as wretched as I did when I started.
Sparring was supposed to clear my mind, help me to forget some of my worries.
Instead, I’ve given myself more cause to worry about my standing with my own guard.
By the time I’m heading back to the castle keep, the first light of dawn is beginning to paint the frosty sky in soft hues of pink and orange.
For a moment, the whole icy reach glows with the pink reflection, frozen trees glittering, dense mist hugging the ground like a woollen blanket.
My chest tightens. As beautiful and quiet as it is, it’s all wrong.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders as I move through the waking castle, endlessly greeted by different staff members, each obligated to acknowledge me.
It’s hard to believe that not too long ago I resented being ignored.
Now I long for the days when my appearance made people look the other way.
Hilduin’s admonishment comes rushing back; if I was getting proper rest, I wouldn’t be so easily bothered.
Apparently the castle agrees with her. While I fully intend to find my way back to the war room, I’m suddenly looking down the hallway that leads to my chambers.
And all at once, my legs feel like they can no longer support me.
I don’t know the last time I stopped, and now that rest is within sight, every part of me moves with the same, singular purpose.
I couldn’t stop the avalanche if I tried.
It’s not until I open the door that I remember why I’ve avoided this for so long.
She’s here.
In my bed.
Soft and small, curled up among the plush bedding I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to. She looks perfectly at-home there, though, golden hair falling out of a braid to caress her freckled cheek. A gentle, delicate thing born for a soft life.
A life that, against all odds, I’m in the position to give her.
Is that what the Dealmaker was thinking when he put us together? I still can’t make sense of it. We could not be more different. It would be so easy for me to hurt her without meaning to… Don’t I have enough on my shoulders without having to guard a bride made of glass?
And yet… I can’t find it within me to be angry with the Dealmaker.
I move closer to the bed, memorizing her round face, the dark sweep of lashes—fluttering slightly while she dreams—her full, rosy lips parted to accommodate the heavy breathing of a deep sleep.
I don’t know where this sense of loyalty to her has come from.
Is it the contract? The nature of the bloodsworn bond?
I only know that I have an overwhelming need to never let her out of my sight, to keep her close and protect her.
To make sure her life is as soft and beautiful as she is.
Hesitating, I loom over the opposite side of the bed, both wanting to savor this moment and too cowardly to step into the next.
Eventually, the avalanche wins, and I slip into bed alongside her.
There’s plenty enough space between us, but the sweet, enticing scent of my delicate flower is intoxicating.
It’s something she’s put in her hair, I think, some of the loose tendrils spread far enough to reach my pillow, too.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve reached up and I’m twirling one of those silky threads around my claw, completely awed by being this close. I’m a beast in the pasture, and somehow the flock sleeps soundly. Does she not understand the danger she’s in?
My mouth dries, every fiber of my being urging me to get closer to her. To stroke more than just her hair.
It’s not even a thought that fully forms, but a deep, primal need. Something my body acts on before I can respond, shifting myself closer to her, careful to angle my upper body in a way that she won’t get hurt.
Ingrid stirs a bit, murmuring gibberish in her sleep, her brow furrowing with a frown that shouldn’t be there.
Sleep is already beginning to drag me under with proximity to my bride, tension slowly melting out of me. “Shh, you’re safe,” I whisper, a tendril of her hair still wrapped around my claw.
Ingrid takes in a quick breath, startling awake with a panicked shriek as she leaps out of bed, putting as much distance between us as possible.