Chapter 11 #2
She had no idea how much sleep he’d managed to get since leaving Esperance. He had many responsibilities, and she knew he was shouldering far too much right now. She was also learning he wasn’t particularly good at taking care of himself.
She moved to the chest at the foot of the bed and lifted a bundle of clothes. “Ahmi got these out of your wardrobe. She wanted to air them out a little before you wore them.”
“Thank you.” When he took the folded clothing, his fingers skated over hers.
Warmth radiated through her from that grazing touch.
She knew from the way Carver’s emotions flared that he was just as affected as she was. He took a small step back. “I’ll just be a moment,” he murmured.
She watched him enter the bathing chamber and nudge the door closed with his heel. She still heard the rustle of clothing, the sound oddly hypnotic. A muted splash soon followed, along with lapping water. The soft rasp of cloth dragged against skin.
Cheeks heating, Amryn turned—and was faced with the single large bed that dominated the room.
Her pulse tripped. For the first time, she truly realized that there was no separate sitting room, like there had been in Esperance.
There wasn’t even a settee. Which meant they would be sharing a bed tonight.
The revelation shouldn’t feel so monumental. After all, they’d been sleeping side by side in the small tent they’d shared. And yet, this felt utterly different. More real. Like they were actually married.
Sudden nerves fluttered in her stomach, but there was also an unexpected thrill.
She wanted to share a bed with Carver, she realized.
She wanted to fall asleep beside him, and wake with him, too.
She craved the nearness, even if she wasn’t ready for anything more quite yet.
The heat in their kisses was undeniable, and she’d felt his desire for her many times, but things still felt tentative between them.
They’d been married for over three months now, but the trust they’d built was newer.
It was a relief to know Carver would never pressure her.
From the very beginning, he had always been respectful.
He had given her the bedroom at Esperance, and he’d never made her feel uncomfortable—or expected the physical intimacy shared between a husband and wife.
Not for the first time, she was utterly grateful that Carver Vincetti was her husband.
She could not imagine ever trusting another man with her secrets, her heart, or her body.
All too aware of the muted sounds that drifted from the washroom, Amryn tried to busy herself by tucking away Von’s journal.
Then she wandered to the large bookshelf in the corner.
She’d noticed it in her initial look at the room, but now she took the time to study the book titles.
Most had to do with military history or strategy, but she found a couple of fictional works as well.
Her lips curved when she recognized a familiar children’s book.
The same adventure novel sat on one of her shelves at home, equally tattered.
The fact that she and Carver had both read about the orphaned boy from Vadir who went on adventures fighting pirates—only to learn he was a long-lost prince—made her chest warm.
She studied the clutter on the shelves. The seashells he’d collected, and the jar of white sand that she imagined had come from a beach in Westmont.
A dented dagger she was curious to learn the history of.
There was also a carved wooden panther, the sleek body polished until it gleamed.
The stack of drawings she’d glimpsed earlier were indeed signed by some of his younger siblings, just as she’d suspected.
She had just replaced the stack of them carefully on the shelf when she sensed Carver watching her.
Turning, she found him leaning against the doorframe of the washroom.
His dark hair was wet, the ends curling over his brow.
He wore dark breeches and a loose gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, baring his tanned forearms. His feet were bare.
His clean scent filled her lungs, his unique blend of spice and sandalwood drifting in the air between them.
Amryn felt like she’d been caught snooping. Because she had been. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched anything—”
“Everything I have is yours.”
The words were so simple, and yet they still had the power to stun her.
Carver didn’t wait for her to recover from them. “Are you ready to eat?” he asked.
She managed a nod, and he pushed off the doorframe to make his way over to the table. He held out a chair for her, which she took with murmured thanks.
Carver sat across from her, and Amryn plucked up a slice of thick brown bread. Slathering it with butter gave her hands something to do. Her stomach still felt too knotted to eat.
Carver had also grabbed a slice of bread, but he didn’t bother with the butter or any of the assorted jams. He just tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth.
She could feel the sharp bite of his hunger.
It made her wonder if he’d eaten anything since this morning.
“I think I’ve got a good excuse worked out so we can leave,” he said, breaking off another piece of bread and popping it in his mouth.
After swallowing, he outlined his conversation with his father, including the fact that Harvarian militants were attacking Westmont’s outposts along the shared border.
Amryn sensed the sharp edge of his anxiety. “Is Westmont in danger?” she asked.
“No. The skirmishes are small. But I think I can convince the emperor that my experience fighting in Harvari will make me particularly suited to overseeing the border’s security.
” His lips pursed. “With my reputation, just being at the border should intimidate them enough that they’ll think twice before attacking.
Something that will be especially important once word reaches Harvari about what happened in Esperance.
They might be emboldened by the Rising’s success. ”
Her stomach squirmed at how easily that could become reality. “Will you talk to the emperor tomorrow, then?”
He nodded, chewing another bite of the yeasty bread. “And I’m sure my father will support my request.” That was good news, yet unease niggled in Carver.
In response, apprehension rippled through her. “Is something wrong?”
Carver sighed. “There are some complications.”
Amryn froze, butter knife suspended above her slice of bread. “What complications?”
He dropped the rest of his bread onto his plate. “You and Samuel will both need to be interviewed by Morelli and Keats so they can learn everything you know about the Rising. Your interview will be tomorrow afternoon.”
Her heart started to pound. “But . . . I thought we’d leave after the emperor’s meeting.”
A weary sort of resolve settled inside him. “We’re going to have to stay another day.”
Panic flared, hot and fast. “We can’t. The knights are on their way.”
Carver dragged a hand over the back of his neck as he released a slow breath. “I know, but—”
“You promised me we wouldn’t linger in Zagrev,” she cut in.
“I know,” he repeated, more firmly than before.
“But I also promised to keep you safe, and I can’t do that if we leave right now.
It would raise too many questions if we missed these meetings.
Just . . . give me another day at least.” She felt the edge of his frustration.
She just wasn’t sure if it was directed at her, or their situation.
Amryn’s gut rolled. She set down her bread and the butter knife, her hands trembling slightly. Her throat was painfully dry as she said, “I can’t spend another day here. We have to leave tomorrow.”
“I need at least that long to make the necessary arrangements and excuses,” Carver said. He met her stare, his blue eyes intense. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
“You won’t be able to keep that promise. Not against the emperor. Or the knights.”
Carver’s expression tightened. “I promised I would keep you safe, and I will. I swear to you, we’ll leave before the knights get here. I know you’re afraid, but—”
“You don’t know.”
He drew back.
She could feel his shock at her harsh tone, but she couldn’t focus on that.
A fine tremor skated through her voice as she said, “You don’t know what it’s like to live with this terror.
To spend every moment of your life afraid, wondering if you will do something that reveals your secret.
To constantly wonder where betrayal will come from, because you know it will come from someone eventually. ”
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what that’s like. And I hate that you do. But I would never betray you, Amryn.”
My own father betrayed me.
He didn’t know that, of course. She hadn’t told him.
And she couldn’t imagine doing so now, when jagged emotions tangled in her throat already.
But she needed him to understand why she couldn’t remain here.
“I told you my mother was murdered,” she said, fingers knotting in her skirt. “That she was killed in front of me.”
Tension filled him. “The night Tiras saved you.”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “But what I didn’t tell you was that my mother was killed by knights.”
Carver stilled. His emotions flashed rapidly—shock, horror, sympathy, dread.
Amryn’s very breaths felt fragile. “They tried to kill me, too,” she whispered. She still saw their crimson uniforms in her nightmares. Their hate-filled expressions. Tears burned in her eyes. “I can’t stay here, Carver. Please understand.”
Carver stood, rounding the table in long strides.
He crouched beside her chair, gently wrapping a large hand around both of hers.
She was still fisting her skirt, she realized.
Holding it so hard, her knuckles were white.
“I’m sorry, Amryn,” he said, his voice low and threaded with sorrow.
“Saints, sweetheart, I can’t . . . I don’t even know what to say.
” His free hand lifted to palm her cheek, his thumb brushing featherlight across her skin.
His throat flexed as he swallowed, his eyes filled with grief. “I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t make me stay here,” she whispered, hating the way her voice cracked.
Torment ripped through him, tensing his features. “Just give me one day. One day to settle everything so we can leave without drawing any suspicion.”
“What if the emperor won’t let us go?”
“Then we’ll leave anyway.” His fingers curled more tightly around hers. “I give you my word.”
She stared at him, her heart still beating too fast, her palms damp.
It was difficult to think clearly when fear clouded her mind, but .
. . rationally, she knew Carver was right.
If they fled now, or even at first light, the suspicion that might fall on them could be disastrous.
It could be all it took to make Zacharias point a finger at her instead of Sadia.
She could feel how torn Carver was. His need to protect her warred with his need to fulfill his responsibilities.
He was the emperor’s favored general, after all.
Amryn knew it must be difficult for him to even consider leaving the capital when there was so much chaos to untangle.
Argent was gone, Esperance had failed, and the Rising remained an active threat.
Carver’s loyalty was being tested, and Amryn knew what it cost him to put her first.
Amryn held his gaze, her voice hoarse as she whispered, “One day. But please don’t ask for more.”
He squeezed her hands in his large one. “I won’t.” His other palm still rested against the side of her face. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she whispered. Saints, hadn’t she proved that already?
Carver’s expression softened. His thumb coasted across her skin again, a whispering caress. The fine hairs on her body lifted. The sudden charge in the air was felt by both of them.
Amryn’s heart beat faster when his eyes dipped to her mouth. Anticipation winged through her—his or her own, she wasn’t certain. His large palm shifted to hold the back of her neck as he rose up just enough to press his lips to hers.
The kiss was soft, slow, and infinitely gentle. Filled with promise and assurance.
It was exactly what she needed.
Tension melted from her body as his mouth moved over hers.
She held his face in her hands, the bristled scrape of his stubble against her palms a soft rasp.
The sensation grounded her. After being flooded with fear, it was a welcome comfort.
She wasn’t alone. Whatever came, she didn’t have to face it on her own, because Carver was with her.
The fingers at her nape tightened as Carver deepened the kiss, his other hand now at her waist. The spicy scent of his soap teased her senses, further wrapping her in this moment—in him.
This incredible man who was somehow her husband.
A warrior with scars on his body, but a pure heart.
A general with a dark reputation, but who was capable of such gentleness and loyalty it staggered her.
She could have easily been lost in the kiss, but Carver had a better hold on his emotions. She felt that hold flex, and though there was a pulse of reluctance, he pulled away.
Their breaths were thin and fast, and when he set his forehead to hers, his voice was a little rough. “There are other things we need to talk about.”
She wanted to deny that, but she couldn’t. Exhaling a bit shakily, she nodded.
He drew back, flashing her a small smile that threatened to stop her racing heart.
He pressed a final, promise-filled kiss to her lips, then he stood with a soldier’s fluid grace.
Even though his hands fell away from her, the warmth of his touch lingered as he retook his seat on the other side of the small table.
His eyes met hers. In them, she saw the general take over. “I need to know how it works.”