Torgan
At dawn, I ride north. Ghenn catches me at the lower gate.
“Hunting?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
I look at him.
He sends the huntsmen back to their beds.
We take two horses and climb into the high moor. Frost turns the grass white. Wind tears the last warmth from my clothes.
None of it reaches the heat under my skin. Iona touched my hand yesterday. One finger. Barely the weight of it.
My body remembers as if she climbed into my lap. I push the horse faster. Ghenn keeps pace without speaking.
The black tarn lies beyond the ridge. An old stag drinks at the far edge, heavy-bodied, antlers wide enough to catch the dawn.
I am out of the saddle before it lifts its head.
The stag runs.
I follow.
For a short distance, old blood is faster than any stag. After that, endurance and knowing how prey turns when it tires do the rest. Across rock. Through heather. Down into the shallows.
I catch it by the antlers.
Water explodes around us.
The stag fights. Its hooves tear mud from the bank. I hold it until the struggle slows and its breath comes hot against my arm.
Then the ache in my fangs surges. My mouth closes on the thickest antler.
Bone cracks.
Relief tears through me.
I groan around the splintered beam and bite harder. For three heartbeats, the pain is gone.
Then it returns.
Worse.
I release the stag.
It stumbles up the bank with half an antler and disappears into the brush. I stay in the water.
Blood runs from my gums. Bits of bone grind between my teeth. Iona’s throat is softer than the antler.
I wade out and spit the splinters onto the shore. Ghenn holds my horse’s reins. “Feel better?”
“No.”
“Good hunt, then.”
I take the water flask from his saddle and rinse my mouth. He watches the blood run over my hand.
“How long?” he asks.
“Since she reached the pass.”
“And you have slept?”
“No.”
“Eaten?”
“Enough.”
“That means no.”
I throw the empty flask back to him. Ghenn catches it. “You cannot send her home and call the problem solved.”
“I can send her home.”
“Yes.”
“I can rule in pain.”
“Yes.”
His agreement irritates me more than argument would.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing. You’ve decided. I’ll make sure nobody expects you to enjoy it.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “You dislike advice.”
“I dislike speeches.”
“Then here is a short one. Tell her before someone else does.”
“No.”
“She is already asking questions.”
My head turns.
Ghenn sees it. “The grooms heard the fangs. The servants saw the throne. Vess has probably started a wagering pool.”
“Close it.”
“I said probably.”
“That means she started two.”
He almost smiles.
I mount.
At the lower ridge, a scout waits with fresh mud on his horse.
“Majesty.” He bows from the saddle. “Lord Osk left by the north road at sunset. Turned east after the second watch. He’s riding for his cousins.”
Not home, then.
“How many with him?”
“Twelve.”
“He’ll have two hundred by the week’s end.” Ghenn looks toward the eastern hills. “More if he promises them Serathi land.”
“He will.”
The scout waits for orders.
“Watch him,” I say. “Do not stop him. I want every lord who answers.”
The scout rides.
Ghenn says, “You look pleased.”
“Osk is simple.”
“Unlike the envoy.”
I turn my horse toward home.
“Do not become tiresome.”
“Too late.”
We reach the hold before midday. Iona is crossing the lower yard with Perr and a stack of rolled maps. She sees us and stops.
Her gaze moves over my soaked clothes, the mud, the blood at my mouth. She hands the maps to Perr.
“Go ahead,” she tells him.
Perr goes reluctantly.
I dismount.
Iona walks toward me.
“Stop.”
She does.
Three paces between us.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I hunted.”
“What did you hunt?”
“A stag.”
“Did it win?”
“No.”
Her eyes go to my mouth again. “That is not stag blood.”
“It is mine.”
She takes another step.
“I said stop.”
This time the command comes out wrong.
Lower. Rougher.
Her body reacts at once. Her pupils widen. The scent between her thighs turns hot. Every claw on my right hand extends.
I close that hand into a fist. She looks at it, then back at me.
“You can smell me.” She does not make it a question.
“Yes.”
Her cheeks color, but she does not look away.
“How much?”
“Everything.”
The word leaves me before I decide to give it.
Her breath changes.
I hear Ghenn lead both horses away behind me. Sensible man.
Iona’s voice drops. “And right now?”
I should leave.
Instead I tell her.
“You like being ordered to stop.”
Her lips part.
“You liked watching me put Osk on the floor.”
The pulse in her throat jumps.
“You are wondering what my claws would feel like against your skin.”
She takes one slow breath.
“Would they cut me?”
“If I lost control.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
The truth frightens her.
It excites her more.
I can smell both.
I step close enough to make her tilt her head back.
“Go inside, Envoy.”
The title comes out lower than I intend. Her whole body stills.
I walk past her before I say anything else.
At the doors, I look back. She is still standing where I left her, maps forgotten, watching me.
Three hours later, we meet for the second formal session in the smaller treaty room. After Osk’s interruption, I moved routine negotiations out of the audience hall. She stays in her chair as ordered. I stay at my end of the table.
The split in my gum opens on the first answer. I taste blood. Iona sees it and loses her place in the fort schedule for half a breath.
Every time she bends over a map, her scent reaches me.
Every time I answer too sharply, her pulse quickens.
We settle the two disputed river forts: Serath keeps them, caps both garrisons, and grants my inspectors access twice a year.
Neither side may expand a pier or wall without written notice. Nothing else moves.
A red drop lands beside Wrenford Fort. I fold the map before she can offer me a cloth.