Chapter 18
Garrion POV
I linger by the bedside, watching Cora sleep. Her breathing is soft, steady, and for a moment I allow myself the rare luxury of peace. Reluctantly, I rise. We are close to home now, and there is much to prepare before winter sets in, too much to ignore.
I dress quickly and make my way downstairs. Mika is already waiting, sliding a mug of ale into my hand with a knowing look. “Better?” he asks.
I know exactly what he means. I nod, pulling the mask from my face.
“You should just show her now” Mika says, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’ll be worse if you wait any longer.”
“How?” The word snaps out of me, sharper than I intend.
“She expects scars, horror beneath it. Not this.” He gestures toward my face.
I fall silent. He’s right, of course. But the mask has become more than a shield, it’s armor, a barrier between myself and the world. Without it, I feel exposed, vulnerable. I want her to love me for who I am, not for what I look like.
Mika senses the turmoil twisting inside me. “Just don’t leave it too long, eh?” he says quietly.
We spend hours after that talking of patrols, supplies, and the endless demands of leadership. Winter will not wait, and neither will the dangers pressing at our borders. I will need at least two weeks to ride the patrol routes, to check the neighboring villages, to ensure safety.
Which means leaving Cora behind. Lady Darkmoor, walking the streets of Nordvaar again after twenty years, it will not go unnoticed.
“She’ll understand,” Mika says calmly. “She knows your people come first. Their safety matters to you.”
I drain my mug, and the innkeeper brings another. Mika continues, businesslike as ever. “The last report from home says we’re running low on meat. Hunting parties will need to be organized.”
“When I go on patrol, you’ll stay,” I tell him. “Arrange the hunts. And keep an eye on Cora.”
“Works for me,” Mika grins. “I think it’s time to put another baby into my beautiful wife anyway.” His excitement is genuine, uncomplicated.
But his words strike me like a blade. How do I tell Cora the truth, that I don’t want children? I told her I wasn’t ready, but the truth is deeper, darker. I don’t know if I ever will be.
If we had a son, he would inherit my place, bound to the crown’s bidding, a dog summoned at the king’s command. If we had a daughter, the king would see her as a pawn, eager to marry her off to one of his sons or grandsons.
I cannot bear the thought. I would not be able to live with myself if that became their fate.
But would Cora accept this? Would she be content with just us, no heirs, no children, only the life we carve together? Or will she see my refusal as weakness, as selfishness?
The ale burns down my throat, but it does nothing to quiet the storm inside me.
“Go to bed, Garrion,” Mika orders, his tone firm but casual, as though he’s scolding me like a younger brother. I give him a pointed look, unwilling to be dismissed so easily, but he only waves me off with that infuriating grin.
I leave him and head back upstairs. Cora is still asleep, her body curled beneath the blanket, her face soft in the candlelight.
I slide in beside her, pulling her against my chest.
The scent of her hair, lavender, faint but lingering, fills my lungs, grounding me.
The warmth of her body seeps into mine, and before I realize it, exhaustion drags me under.
When I wake, the first light of dawn filters through the window, painting the room in pale gold. I brush a hand gently against her shoulder. “Cora,” I murmur, coaxing her awake.
“Mmmm,” she hums, half-asleep, her voice thick with drowsiness.
“It’s time to get up. We need to be on our way.”
“Few more minutes,” she groans, stubborn even in sleep.
I let her be, rising quietly so she can rest a little longer. Downstairs, Mika and my men are already gathered, their laughter mingling with the clatter of plates. I grab a plate myself, piling it with meat and bread before heading back to the room.
Cora is awake now, balancing carefully on her good foot as she dresses. Her determination makes me pause, she refuses to let weakness show, even when her body betrays her.
“Need some help?” I ask, stepping toward her.
“I got this,” she replies, her voice firm, her chin tilted in defiance. Stubborn woman.
I hold out the plate. “Breakfast?”
Her expression softens, and she gives me a warm smile that cuts straight through my armor. “Thank you.”
“You will ride with me” I tell her, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She meets my gaze, then simply nods.
We ride through town, Cora seated in front of me, her back pressed against my chest.
The rhythm of the horse carries us forward, and I feel the warmth of her body through the layers of cloth and leather.
People line the streets, waving, calling greetings.
Cora lifts her hand in return, offering them smiles that seem to brighten the morning.
I watch her, proud and protective, knowing how quickly she has captured their hearts.
Once the town fades behind us and the forest canopy closes overhead, silence settles in, broken only by the steady beat of hooves and the rustle of leaves. Then, at last, she speaks.
“I woke up in the middle of the night, and you weren’t there.”
Her words make me stiffen. I tighten my grip on the reins. “I was with Mika,” I explain, keeping my voice even. “There’s a lot to organize before winter sets in.”
She tilts her head slightly, her voice softer but steady. “What can I do to help?”
The question catches me off guard. I hadn’t expected her to ask, hadn’t thought she would want to shoulder the burdens of my world.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Mika will oversee the hunting parties to make sure we have enough meat for the winter. I’ll need to ride patrol, check the outposts, and ensure everything is in order.”
Her next words come quietly, but I can hear the weight behind them. “How long will you be gone?”
She already knows. I can feel it in her tone.
“At least two weeks,” I say, bracing myself for resistance, for the protest I half expect.
But instead, she straightens, her voice firm. “Alright. Then you’ll have to make me a promise.”
I lean closer, my lips near her ear. “If it’s in my power to grant it, it’s yours.”
“Promise you’ll return to me safe.”
Her request cuts deep, sharper than any blade. I swallow hard, the ache in my chest almost unbearable. I press a kiss to the delicate curve of her neck, breathing her in.
“I will do my best, wife,” I whisper, the words both vow and prayer.
We ride all day, the steady rhythm of hooves carrying us forward. Zeus trails behind obediently, as if he understands that Cora is in no condition to ride him. She shifts slightly against me, her back pressed to my chest, and I lower my head.
“Is something wrong?” I ask quietly.
“I’m sore from last night… it’s a little uncomfortable,” she admits, her voice soft but honest.
Guilt twists through me. I scold myself silently, I should have waited, should have been gentler. She deserved patience, not the force of my hunger.
But my mind betrays me, drifting back to yesterday, the way she felt in my arms, the way her body responded to mine, her tightness that drove me past reason. The memory ignites something in me, arousal rising despite my effort to push it down.
Before I can stop myself, the words slip out, low and rough. “Where did you learn to do that… with your mouth?”
She stiffens at my question, her voice hesitant but clear. “Xenia… my brother’s wife. She told me about giving pleasure.”
“Did she now?” My curiosity sharpens, pulling me closer. “And what else did she tell you?”
Cora shifts uncomfortably in my arms, her body betraying both shyness and the weight of my words. I lower my lips to the line of her neck, tracing the delicate curve with a whisper of touch.
“Does the thought of what we did last night… arouse you, Cora?” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with need.
Her breath catches, and then the word slips out, unguarded, trembling but true. “Yes.”
Cora POV
The way Garrion speaks to me sets my whole body alight. His words alone ignite a heat inside me, leaving me trembling, though he hasn’t even touched me.
“I can’t wait to discover what else she taught you, Cora,” he whispers, low and seductive, his breath brushing my ear. A shiver runs through me, my body responding to him instinctively.
I want him, his closeness, his mouth against my skin, the consuming intensity of his presence.
He draws his cloak around me, shielding my body from the world. He reaches for my pants, undoing the buttons. His movements are deliberate, controlled, and his voice comes again, rough and commanding. “You’re going to stay very still and very quiet, Cora.”
And his fingers slide though my folds. I bite down on my lip, desperate to hold the sound back, the moan trembling at the edge of release. His breath brushes hot against my ear, a command wrapped in a whisper.
“Sshhh…” he murmurs, the word low and intimate, sending a shiver racing down my spine.
His fingers trace slow circles around my bud, and I close my eyes.
His fingers press harder, and a whimper escapes me before I can hold it back.
The sensation overwhelms, too much and yet not enough, pleasure winding tight through every nerve.
It coils inside me, building, twisting, until my body begins to tremble beneath the weight of it.
“Garrion… please,” I breathe, the words spilling out like a plea I can’t contain.
His lips brush against my ear, his voice a hushed command wrapped in tenderness. “Sshhh, Cora…” he whispers, the sound low and intoxicating, silencing me with nothing more than the weight of his presence.
His fingers stroke me faster, and my head falls on his shoulder.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the release tears through me, sharp and consuming.
My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek, a desperate attempt to trap the sound rising in my throat.
The moan trembles there, aching to escape, while my body shudders under the force of it.
His fingers slip away from me, retreating from the shadows of his cloak. When he brings them to his lips, his mouth closes around them, slow and deliberate, as though savoring me. The gesture is achingly intimate, a claim and a confession all at once.
“You taste so good, Cora,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, each word sinking into me like fire.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” I ask, my voice hushed, still trembling from the memory of his touch.
“I’ve seen it somewhere,” he replies casually, almost too casually, as though the answer should be enough. But something in his tone makes me doubt, makes me search his face for truth.
“Have you done this to another?” The question slips out before I can stop it, curiosity consuming me, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.
He tilts my head with a gentle but unyielding fingers until my eyes lock with his. His gaze is steady, unflinching, as though he is daring me to doubt him.
“No,” he says, his voice low, stripped of all pretense, every syllable carrying the weight of truth. “I’ve only touched you, Cora.”
The bluntness of his confession steals the breath from my lungs. My heart stutters, caught between disbelief and the fragile hope that he means every word. Against all reason, against the shadows of his mask and the secrets he guards so fiercely, I believe him.