Chapter 15
Garrion POV
We walk, and the search feels endless. These bandits are clever, no fire, no smoke, nothing to betray their position. But then, through the trees, I catch it: the faint flicker of light. A candle.
I whistle low, sharp. Mika’s head snaps toward me, and I point. He nods, understanding instantly.
We move in silence, each step measured, careful not to wake them. Dawn is close, and with it, our advantage. As we reach the makeshift camp, I see them sprawled in sleep, oblivious. Fools. They truly believed I would not find them.
We strike. Steel flashes, death swift and merciless. In moments, all but one lie still. I seize the last by his collar, fury boiling in my chest. “Where is my wife?” I roar, my voice shaking the air.
His eyes widen, fear spilling across his face. “She… she was tied to that tree,” he stammers, pointing.
Mika strides over, crouching at the spot. He lifts the remnants of rope—one cut clean, the other charred and frayed. He looks back at me, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like she set herself free, my lord.”
Relief surges through me, sharp and fleeting. Clever wife, I think, pride mingling with desperation. I release the bandit, letting him fall to the dirt. “Kill him,” I order coldly. My men obey without hesitation.
I turn to Mika, my voice tight. “Where would she have gone?”
“North, of course, Garrion,” he replies, as though it should be obvious. He gestures toward the horizon. “Ravenmoor lies that way. If she went north, she’ll likely end up there.”
My chest tightens. “But she would have to cross the river,” I mutter, dread clawing at me. “It will be freezing. She could die from exposure.” My thoughts spiral, each possibility darker than the last.
The rest of my men arrive, leading the horses. Zeus thrashes among them, wild, frantic, searching for his mistress. His cries echo my own heart.
I swing into the saddle, my resolve hardening. “We ride for Ravenmoor,” I announce, my voice carrying like steel.
No one questions. They follow without hesitation.
And I swear to myself, until Cora is back in my arms, I will not stop.
As we ride, Mika’s sharp eyes catch movement ahead, riders approaching fast. My hand goes to my sword, but then I see the familiar armor. My soldiers.
They halt before me, bowing their heads. “My lord,” one says, breathless from the ride. “There is a woman who came into Ravenmoor, claiming to be your wife.”
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding. “Take me to her,” I command, voice low and dangerous.
We spur our horses forward, riding hard. The town rises before us, its walls crowned with the North Star banners. As we pass through the gates, people bow their heads, voices calling, “Welcome, my lord.” Their joy at my return means nothing, I ache only to find Cora.
A man steps forward, puffed with importance. “My lord, I am Arlo, mayor of Ravenmoor.”
“I was told my wife is here,” I cut him off, my tone sharp, unwilling to waste time on pleasantries.
“Yes, yes, this way,” he stammers, leading us quickly, Mika close at my side.
We stop before a small house. Arlo strides in without knocking, but a woman’s voice snaps from within. “Shhh, Arlo! You’ll wake the poor girl.”
Then she sees me. Her eyes widen, her breath catches. “My lord,” she whispers, fumbling to open the door wider.
I step inside, and the world falls away. There, by the fire, wrapped in blankets, lies Cora. Her face pale, her body still, her chest rising and falling in deep sleep. Relief crashes through me, so fierce it nearly brings me to my knees.
“See, Arlo? She was telling the truth,” the woman scolds.
I turn on him, my voice like steel. “You didn’t believe her?”
Arlo falters, guilt clouding his eyes. “My lord…” he begins, but the words die on his tongue.
The woman moves closer, her voice hushed. “Your wife has been through much. I’ve done what I can, but it would be best if she sees a doctor.”
My blood chills. If those bandits touched her, if they harmed her beyond what I see now, I will hunt them to the ends of the kingdom and slaughter them all.
“She has burns on her wrists,” the woman continues softly. “Her ankle is badly bruised, though not broken. And she swam across the river. I don’t know how she managed not to freeze.”
I nod once, curt. “Go and get the doctor,” I order. Then, louder, sharper: “Everyone else out.”
The room empties, leaving only silence and the crackle of the fire.
I kneel beside her, my hand trembling as I brush her face. “Cora,” I whisper, gentler than I’ve ever spoken.
Her eyes flutter open, hazy with exhaustion. “Garrion?” she breathes.
I pull her into my arms, holding her as though I will never let go again. Her body trembles against mine, and I wrap the blanket tighter around her, shielding her from the cold.
“You escaped?” I murmur, awe and pride mingling in my voice.
She nods faintly, her strength nearly gone.
“Clever wife,” I tell her, my lips brushing her hair. And in that moment, nothing else in the world matters but her.
Cora POV
Garrion found me. I knew he would. Even through the darkness, the pain, the endless miles, I never doubted him.
And now he is here, his arms wrapped around me, holding me so tightly I can scarcely breathe.
I don’t want him to let go. I cling to him like a lifeline, as though his strength alone can keep the world from swallowing me whole.
His voice rumbles low against my ear, steady and commanding. “As soon as the doctor looks at you, we are going home. You will ride with me, and you are not leaving my side.”
The words are not a request, they are a vow. A promise that I will never again be torn from him. My throat tightens, and I whisper, “Yes, my lord.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes fierce but softened by relief. “And stop calling me that,” he snaps, though the edge is dulled by teasing warmth.
A faint smile tugs at my lips despite the ache in my body. His tone is light, but beneath it I hear the truth: he doesn’t want titles or distance between us. He wants me, just me.
I press my forehead against his chest, breathing him in, the scent of leather and steel mingling with the warmth of his skin. For the first time since the bandits dragged me away, I feel safe. Truly safe.
There is a knock at the door. Garrion lifts me easily, setting me gently onto the chair as though I am made of glass. “Enter,” he calls, his voice clipped with authority.
An elderly man steps inside, bowing first to Garrion. “My lord.” Then his gaze shifts to me, and he bows again. “My lady.”
Garrion steps back, though I feel the reluctance in him, his presence hovering close like a storm waiting to break. The doctor kneels before me, his hands steady as he removes the bandages from my wrists. The skin beneath is angry red, swollen, the burns deep.
I glance at Garrion. His eyes are dark, thunderous, a storm contained only by sheer will.
The doctor dips his fingers into a balm and spreads it across the wounds.
Cool relief seeps into my skin, the scent of aloe and chamomile rising like a gentle breath of summer.
He wraps my wrists in fresh cloth, neat and firm.
“Please change this dressing at least once a day, my lady, to avoid infection,” he instructs softly.
He moves to my ankle next. The bruising is vivid, purple and raw. He tests the joint, wriggling it carefully. Pain shoots up my leg, and I wince, biting back a cry. I avoid Garrion’s gaze, not wanting him to see the weakness.
“It is not broken,” the doctor says, “but I recommend you put no weight on it for at least a week.” He binds it tightly with leather straps, securing it in place.
“Are you hurt anywhere else, my lady?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper. “Just cold.”
He bows his head respectfully and departs, leaving the room quiet once more.
Garrion follows him out, and for a moment I sit alone, the fire crackling softly, exhaustion pressing down on me. Then he returns, his presence filling the space like armor.
“We will be staying in Ravenmoor tonight,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “Mika is arranging us a room at the inn.”
“This town is too small to house all of your men,” I protest weakly. “I can keep going. I don’t want to delay them from returning home to their families.”
His eyes soften, but his voice is firm, final. “A handful will remain here. The rest will ride for Nordvaar. You need rest, Cora.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the weight of his words settles over me. He is right. My body aches, my ankle throbs, and the thought of a hot bath feels like salvation. I nod, surrendering to his care.
For tonight, I will rest. Tomorrow, I will be strong again.
I force my boots on, biting back a cry as the leather squeezes against my swollen ankle. Pain shoots up my leg, but I will not let him see it. I rise, steadying myself, and limp toward the door.
Garrion moves instantly, reaching to lift me, but I shake my head sharply. “Don’t. I will not look weak in front of your people.” My voice is firm, though my body trembles. His eyes darken with disapproval, but he says nothing, the silence heavy between us.
I glance back at him, softening my tone. “Can you pay Nyra for her hospitality? She was kind to me.”
He gives a curt nod, his jaw tight.
“When my things arrive from the farm, I will pay you back,” I add, wanting to keep some measure of independence, some sense of myself.
In an instant, he closes the distance, pressing me gently against the door. His hand is firm, his voice a hiss of possessive fire. “You are my wife. What is mine is yours. Understand?”
The intensity in his eyes leaves no room for argument. My breath catches, my heart pounding at the closeness, the command wrapped in tenderness.
“Okay, Garrion,” I whisper, surrendering to the truth of his words.