Chapter 11
Garrion POV
Cora’s revelation boils my blood. My father was cruel, but hers…
hers has taken cruelty to another level entirely.
Who raises a whip against a child? Who scars their own daughter for stealing food?
The thought makes my jaw clench, rage simmering in my chest.
One day, Tharion will pay for this. I swear it.
I rise from the bed, the weight of the night pressing against me. Dawn is not far off, and I want us on the road before the sun breaks. Home calls to me, the cold stone halls, the silence of the north, the place where I can shield her from the reach of men like her father.
I dress quickly, fastening my cloak, then turn to her.
Her leathers lie folded at the foot of the bed.
I pick them up and hand them to her, my voice steady though my mind still burns with fury.
“There is a faster way north,” I tell her.
“But there will be no inns, no towns to stop at. It will cut two days off our journey.”
She takes the leathers from me, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. She begins to dress, her movements calm, unhesitating. “I’m okay with that,” she says simply.
I watch her, struck by her quiet resilience. No complaint, no hesitation. She has endured far worse than the hardships of the road. And though she may not realize it yet, she is stronger than most soldiers I command.
I approach her as she pulls the strings of her top, fastening it with quiet precision. “Wear your hair down,” I tell her, my voice low, almost an order but softened by something else. I reach out, twisting a strand between my fingers, the silken texture catching me off guard.
She nods without protest, and for a moment I fight the urge to lean closer, to press my lips against hers. The temptation is sharp, but I master it, forcing restraint.
I lift her cloak and drape it over her shoulders, fastening it myself. The gesture feels intimate, protective, though I disguise it as practicality. Then I guide her downstairs.
Mika and a few of my men are already gathered, their voices hushed as they rise to acknowledge me. I take my seat at the long wooden table, and Cora slides in beside me, her presence quiet but steady.
The innkeeper arrives with a plate of bread and steaming cups of tea, setting them down with a respectful bow.
Cora doesn’t hesitate; she reaches for the bread, spreading butter and jam with practiced ease.
There is no trace of the spoiled daughter I imagined, only a woman who eats without fuss, who takes what is given without complaint.
I watch her in silence, noting the small details: the way her hair falls loose around her shoulders as I asked, the calm confidence in her movements, the quiet resilience that seems to radiate from her.
I look at Mika and speak with finality. “We will take the shortcut north. It will save us two days.”
He nods immediately, as do the men gathered around him. Their eyes flicker with relief, six months away from home has worn them thin, and the thought of returning sooner is a balm none of them will refuse.
But Mika’s gaze shifts to Cora, lingering with a hint of concern. “Some of those roads are treacherous,” he warns, his voice steady but edged with caution. “Narrow passes, broken paths. Not easy for someone untested.”
Cora meets his eyes without hesitation. Her chin lifts, her voice calm and certain. “I will manage.”
The confidence in her tone silences the room. My men exchange glances, some skeptical, others quietly impressed. I study her, noting the steel beneath her words. She does not flinch at the thought of hardship, nor does she shrink under Mika’s scrutiny.
In that moment, I realize she is not the fragile bride I imagined. She is willing to face the same roads we do, willing to endure the same dangers. And though I do not say it aloud, a flicker of pride stirs in me.
As soon as we finish eating, we leave the inn and step into the chill of the morning air. The stables are alive with the sounds of restless hooves and snorts, our horses already being tended to by the stable hands.
The sharp cry of a stallion cuts through the noise, Zeus, Cora’s horse, thrashing against his tether, ears pinned back, nostrils flaring. His defiance echoes through the wooden beams, a beast unwilling to be contained.
Cora doesn’t hesitate. She walks straight to him, her steps calm, her presence steady.
She reaches up, running her hand along his head, her voice soft and soothing.
“It’s okay, my love,” she whispers, her tone gentle yet commanding.
The stallion quiets under her touch, the tension bleeding away as though her words alone have tamed him.
At my side, Mika smirks, his eyes flicking between Cora and me. “Maybe she was born to tame beasts” he says, the words laced with amusement. I know the comment is aimed at me, not the horse.
I readjust my mask, the metal shifting against my skin, and turn away without answering. My hand finds the reins of my own mount, steady and controlled. Mika’s jest lingers, but I bury it beneath silence. Let him think what he will.
Still, I cannot ignore the truth in his words. She calmed Zeus with nothing more than a touch and a whisper. And perhaps, without realizing it, she is beginning to do the same to me.
We ride for hours beneath the pale autumn sun, the rhythm of hooves steady against the earth.
Cora does not complain, not once. She keeps pace with us, her posture straight, her eyes forward, as though the long miles are nothing to her.
By noon, we halt at a stream, letting the horses drink and rest.
I watch Cora as she moves through the meadow, her steps light, unhurried.
The tall grass bends around her, wildflowers swaying as her fingers trail across their delicate petals.
She doesn’t pluck them, doesn’t disturb their fragile beauty, she simply touches, as though acknowledging their existence is enough.
The sunlight catches in her hair, turning it into strands of gold, and for a moment she looks less like the daughter of a lord and more like something untamed, born of the land itself. Radiant. That is the only word that comes to mind, though even it feels too small to capture her.
My men speak in low voices nearby, tending to the horses, but I barely hear them. My focus is fixed on her, on the way she carries herself with quiet strength, as if the weight of exile and scars has only sharpened her light instead of dimming it.
She turns her head slightly, catching me watching. For an instant, her lips curve into the faintest smile soft, fleeting, but enough to stir something deep within me. I adjust my mask, hiding the turmoil that rises in my chest. She is not mine, not yet. But God help me, she feels like she should be.
I follow Cora toward her horse, watching the way her hair falls loose as I asked, the quiet confidence in her stride. Before she can take Zeus’s reins, I catch her arm and draw her into the shadows of the trees, away from the eyes of my men.
She gasps softly, startled, but I don’t give her time to question. My mouth claims hers, fierce and unyielding. She responds instantly, her lips parting, her hands pressing against my chest as though she has been waiting for this moment as much as I have.
The taste of her, the heat of her body against mine, it ignites something primal, something I have fought to keep buried. God, I want to take her here, now, consequences be damned. The urge claws at me, demanding release.
But I force myself to wait. Not yet. Not like this. She deserves more than stolen passion in the shadows.
I pull back, my breath ragged, my mask heavy against my skin. Her eyes meet mine, wide and luminous, and for a heartbeat I wonder if she sees the war raging inside me.
I steady her as she mounts her horse, my hand lingering at her waist longer than necessary.
She doesn’t need my help, her movements are sure, practiced but I take the excuse anyway.
The brief contact is enough to stir something in me, a reminder of how close she is, how easily she fits into my world.
Once astride, she rides by my side, her pace perfectly matched to mine.
The hours pass in silence, the steady rhythm of hooves carrying us deeper into the forest.
She does not falter, does not complain, and I find myself glancing at her more often than I should, noting the way the fading light catches in her hair, the way her posture remains strong despite the long day.
As the sun begins to sink, the sky bleeds into shades of amber and violet.
Shadows stretch long across the forest floor, and the air cools with the promise of night.
I raise my hand, signaling the men to slow.
Together, we scan the trees, searching for a place to make camp, a clearing wide enough for the horses, sheltered enough to keep us hidden.
The forest hums with quiet life, the rustle of leaves, the distant call of birds returning to roost.
It feels almost watchful, as though it knows we are intruders passing through.
I glance at Cora again. She meets my eyes, and for a heartbeat, it feels less like duty and more like something else, something I cannot yet name.
She kneels beside me, her hands steady as she helps stack kindling and coax the fire to life. Sparks catch, flames lick upward, and soon the warmth spreads against the chill of night. Nearby, Mika busies himself with a small tent, his movements efficient, practiced.
Darkness settles fully now, the forest alive with distant sounds. Cora turns to me, her eyes luminous in the firelight. “Will you stay with me?” she asks softly, the words carrying more weight than she knows.
I nod without hesitation and follow her into the tent. Inside, the world feels smaller, quieter, as though it belongs only to us. She settles close, resting her head against my chest. I feel the press of her warmth, the rhythm of her breath, the way she pulls her cloak tighter around herself.
My body hums with need, every nerve alive beneath her touch. The closeness is intoxicating, dangerous. I tighten my arm around her, listening to the fire crackle outside, and let the weight of her trust sink into me. For now, it is enough.