Chapter 16
Garrion POV
We step out of the house, the morning air sharp against my skin. I hand a small pouch of coins to the woman who cared for Cora. Mika is already helping her onto Zeus, though Cora fights him with that same stubbornness I’ve come to know, just as unyielding as the horse she rides.
I still cannot believe she offered to pay me back. At this stage, I would give my arm for her, my life without hesitation.
“Thank you, my lord,” the woman says softly. “But knowing I was able to help our lady is payment enough.” Her words carry the truth of my people; we are not greedy like the rest of the kingdom. We do not hunger for riches, only peace.
“My wife insists,” I reply, my tone firm. She nods, accepting, though I see the kindness in her eyes.
I mount my horse and lead Cora toward the inn.
When we arrive, she dismounts quickly, ignoring the doctor’s orders.
I bite back the urge to scold her, she has endured enough, though her defiance tests me.
The innkeeper greets us and ushers us to our room.
This place is cleaner, better kept than the one we stayed in at Bellon City.
Inside, the bath is already steaming, hot water waiting. I move to undress Cora, but she protests. “I can undress myself,” she says, her voice quiet but firm.
I do not listen. She is clothed in another woman’s garments, borrowed and ill-fitting.
Piece by piece, I strip them away until she stands bare before me, her back turned.
My hands rest on her hips, her skin still chilled from the river.
“Get in the water, Cora,” I command gently. She obeys without question.
“I will be back soon,” I tell Cora softly, brushing my hand against her cheek before stepping out.
Downstairs, the dining room is alive with noise, Mika already drinking with my men, laughter spilling from their table. He waves me over, but I ignore him. Instead, I head toward the kitchens.
The innkeeper is tucked away inside, sleeves rolled up, apron stained from the day’s work. As soon as she sees me, she rushes forward, wiping her hands hurriedly. “What can I do for you, my lord?” she asks, breathless.
“If you have any stew, bring it up to my room with hot tea,” I say. “My wife hasn’t eaten.”
“Right away, my lord,” she replies, bobbing her head.
I pause, then add, “Is there a seamstress in town? My wife needs new clothes.”
She shakes her head. “No, my lord. We all make our own clothing here. But…” Her eyes soften. “I have some of my daughter’s riding clothes. She barely wore them. I can bring them to your lady.”
I incline my head. “Thank you.” It is all I can manage, though the gesture means more than she knows.
As I turn, Mika finds me, grinning like a fox. “I asked the innkeeper to run me a bath,” he says, his tone dripping with mischief. “But it looks like you need it more than me.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?” The word snaps out sharper than intended.
He only chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows. “Take a bath, Garrion. Then go lay with your wife. You’ll feel better. Trust me.”
I glare at him, but his grin doesn’t falter. He knows me too well, knows the storm inside me, the weight of fear and relief. And though I won’t admit it aloud, he’s right.
“Just remember to take care of her needs first,” Mika calls after me, his voice laced with teasing. I ignore him.
He has dragged me into countless pleasure houses over the years, before he found his wife. I remember the women there, most of them dulled by contraceptive tonics, their eyes empty, their bodies offered to too many men. The thought of laying with them always turned my stomach.
I head to his room, stripping away the weight of the day. The bath waits, steaming, the water so hot it burns my skin as I sink in. I welcome the sting, it scours away the grime, the blood, the slaughter of bandits clinging to me.
I remove my mask, setting it aside, and plunge my face into the water. The itching drives me mad; I never wear it this long. It feels like a prison, a barrier between myself and the world. Between myself and her. But I'm not ready to be that vulnerable with her, not yet.
I sit in silence, the water lapping at my chest, my mind consumed by Cora. Her face, her voice, the way she clung to me as though I was her lifeline.
And I know, if I return to our room now, I will not be able to keep my promise. I will not be able to wait until we reach Nordvaar.
The thought of restraint feels impossible. The thought of her, so close, so vulnerable, so mine… it tears at me.
I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the bath, and whisper to myself: Hold. Just hold.
But my heart already knows, I will not last.
Cora POV
I sink deeper into the bath, the heat soothing the ache in my frozen body. The water wraps around me like a blanket, easing the stiffness in my limbs.
I scrub at my skin, the grime of the forest and the bandits finally washing away.
My wrists sting sharply in the heat, the burns raw and unforgiving, but I grit my teeth and keep going.
Next, I reach for the lavender soap, its fragrance rising in soft waves.
My hair is a tangled mess, knots pulling painfully as I work through them.
By the time the last snarl is gone, the water has cooled, no longer steaming but still a comfort.
I step out, wrapping myself in the bath sheet. It is the only thing I have to wear. Just as I settle, a knock comes at the door. “My lady?” a woman’s voice calls.
I open the door just enough to see her. She smiles kindly, holding a tray. “Some rabbit stew and tea?”
“Oh yes, thank you so much,” I say, gratitude flooding me. My stomach twists with hunger, and the sight of food nearly makes me weak. She enters, setting the tray on the table.
“And some clothes as well,” she adds, holding out folded garments. “They are not as luxurious as what you are used to, but they will get you home to Nordvaar.”
I clutch the fabric, humbled. “It’s perfect. Thank you for your kindness.”
Her eyes soften. “The whole region rejoices that our lord has found a wife.”
Her words linger as she leaves. Mika was right, the people here are kind, unshaken by wealth or grandeur. They value peace, not riches.
Alone again, I sit at the table and begin eating. The stew is hot, burning my throat, but I don’t care. Each bite feels like salvation. It is the best thing I have tasted in days.
I settle into the bed, pulling the blanket snugly over my legs.
The warmth seeps into me as I cradle the cup of tea, sipping slowly.
The steam curls upward, soft and fragrant, easing the chill that still lingers in my bones.
It’s been some time since Garrion left, and I find myself wondering what he is doing, whether he is pacing, planning, or simply brooding in silence as he so often does.
As if he has heard my thoughts, the door opens and he steps inside. His hair is damp, dark strands clinging to his temples. Did he bathe? The sight surprises me, though his mask remains firmly in place, the barrier between us still unbroken.
He crosses the room with that quiet, commanding presence that always fills the air around him. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice low, threaded with concern.
I smile at him, the warmth of his question settling deeper than the tea. “Better,” I reply softly, my eyes lingering on him.
And for a moment, the world feels steady again.
He takes the cup gently from my hands, lifting it to his lips. The way he drinks, slow, deliberate, feels less about the tea and more about steadying himself, soothing nerves that even he cannot hide. When he sets the cup down on the floor, the air between us shifts.
My pulse spikes, heat rushing through me as I meet his gaze. The hunger in his eyes is unmistakable, raw and unrestrained, and I know I am ready to give him everything he craves.
With deliberate movements, he undoes his cloak, letting it fall away. Beneath, he is covered only by the bath sheet, the fabric draped low across his hips. My breath catches as I take him in, his body sculpted, powerful, every line carved with strength and command.
The sheet clings to him, accentuating the breadth of his chest, the tautness of his abdomen, and the unmistakable evidence of his erection pressing against the fabric. The sight sends a shiver through me, anticipation coiling tight in my chest.
He leans over me, his hands cradling my face with surprising gentleness. His thumbs brush along my cheekbones, sending shivers down my spine. Then his mouth claims mine, hungry, consuming, as though he has been starved for this moment.
Xenia’s words echo in my mind, her warnings and truths about men’s desires. Yet instead of fear, I feel only certainty. I want him. I want to taste him, to give myself to him in the way he craves.
Deliberately, I reach for the bath sheet that clings to his hips. My fingers curl into the fabric, tugging it with purpose. He gasps, the sound sharp and raw, startled by my boldness.
For a heartbeat, the world stills, his breath caught, his eyes blazing with both shock and desire. And then I know: I have crossed the threshold, and there is no turning back.
I wrap my hand around his dick and start moving my hand up and down.
I meet his eyes, and they are wide, surprise and shock flickering in their depths. His mouth is parted, his breath coming fast and uneven, as though the air itself has turned heavy between us.
The sight sends a thrill through me, and before I change my mind, I pull him into my mouth.
“Cora…” he breathes, my name spilling from his lips like a prayer, heavy with desire and edged with surprise.
His hands slide into my hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as though he needs to anchor himself to me. The sensation sends shivers down my spine, a mix of tenderness and hunger.
I watch his eyes flutter closed, as his head tips back. A low sound escapes him, pleasure, raw and unguarded.
The sight steals my breath. To see Garrion, always so controlled, undone in my presence. I want to give him more, to keep him in this place where restraint no longer exists, where it is only us and the fire we’ve ignited.
I take him further into my mouth moving faster and faster. His breathing is now ragged, head still rolled back and his hips matching my rhythm.
"Cora" he moans and I feel him grow harder in my mouth. Without a warning he releases into my mouth and I try to swallow every drop.
His eyes are wide, filled with shock, the raw edge of disbelief flickering in them.
His lips part, breath ragged, chest rising and falling as though he’s been struck by something far greater than desire.
“How did…” he tries to speak, the words breaking, unfinished, as he struggles to catch his breath.
I watch him, my own pulse racing, knowing I’ve unraveled the control he always carries so tightly.