Chapter 19
Cora POV
Garrion’s words linger in my mind, echoing with a weight I can’t shake.
I’m the only one he’s touched. The thought coils around me, impossible to ignore.
Am I truly the first woman he’s been with?
Surely not. The way he claimed me in Ravenmoor, the certainty in his hands, the way he knew exactly where and how to touch me, it all spoke of experience.
And what he did to me while we rode together… no novice could have known such things.
Yet the question burns inside me, too sharp, too dangerous to voice. I am embarrassed to ask, afraid of what the answer might be. Afraid it might shatter the fragile trust we’ve built.
There are so many things I don’t know about him, about his past, his home, the shadows he carries. So instead, I reach for something safer, something that might open a door without breaking me.
“Where are your parents?” I ask softly, my voice careful, almost tentative, as though the wrong word might send him retreating back behind the mask.
He stiffens as though my words struck him. His gaze hardens, and when he speaks, his voice is clipped, stripped of softness. “My mother died when I was six. The doctors never found the cause. My father died of old age when I was twenty.”
“I’m sorry, Garrion,” I whisper, the ache in my chest tightening.
“I’m not,” he replies, his tone sharp, unyielding. “My father was a cruel man. He married my mother at fifty-seven, only to secure an heir. Once I was born, she ceased to exist for him. Forgotten. Cast aside.”
His words hang heavy between us, and though I try to steady myself, a darker thought coils inside me, gnawing at the edges of my heart. Will Garrion forget me too, once I give him a son?
The question claws at me, but I cannot bring myself to ask it aloud. I don’t have the strength to face the answer. Not now.
“Did you ask Bastion to teach you how to fight and hunt?” Garrion asks, his tone curious but edged with something I can’t quite place.
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “It sort of happened. He left his bow and arrow on the ground, and I picked it up out of curiosity. My first shot hit true, and he saw the potential. So he taught me. It’s served me well so far.”
“Yes… it certainly has,” Garrion says. I can’t tell if it’s meant as a compliment or something else, and the uncertainty gnaws at me.
“Does it bother you that I can fight?” I press, my voice quieter now. “It’s frowned upon. Not considered… ladylike.”
He leans closer, his mouth brushing against my ear so his men won’t overhear. His voice is low, rough, intimate. “I find it arousing,” he admits.
Heat floods my cheeks, the confession striking me harder than I expect.
“Perhaps we could spar together?” he offers, his tone shifting, playful but sincere.
“What will your people say?” I ask, hesitant, imagining the whispers, the judgment.
“They won’t care,” Garrion explains, his voice steady. “Most northern women know how to hunt, how to defend themselves. It’s part of life here.”
I nod slowly, the weight of his words settling over me. For the first time, I feel the possibility of belonging, not just as Lady Darkmoor, but as myself.
“Can I go with you on the border patrol?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.
“Absolutely not,” Garrion replies, his tone harsh, leaving no room for argument. “The forest is filled with wolves, bears, and wild boars. It’s too dangerous.”
He doesn’t stop there. “I won’t be able to do my checks efficiently if I have to worry about your safety.”
The coldness in his voice cuts deeper than I expect. His brutal honesty stings, even though I know he speaks the truth.
Dusk begins to creep across the sky, shadows stretching long between the trees. I swallow my pride and ask softly, “Can we stop for the night, please?”
“Yes,” he answers, signaling his men to halt.
He helps me down from the horse, his hands steady, and I turn away, limping toward the edge of the clearing to gather kindling for the fire. The simple task steadies me, though my chest still aches from his words.
Garrion follows, his presence heavy behind me. “What’s wrong, Cora?” he asks, his voice quieter now, less sharp.
I know I shouldn’t be angry with him for being honest, but the truth has teeth, and it bites.
“My foot hurts,” I say, the excuse half true, half shield.
He doesn’t press further. He just stands there, watching me, his silence heavier than any reprimand.
Garrion POV
I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. Cora turned away from me, gathering kindling with a quiet determination, and I let her be. My chest tightens, but instead of pressing her, I stride toward Mika.
He already knows what I’m about to ask, he heard every word of our exchange. His eyes narrow, and his voice snaps like a whip. “You speak to her like she’s your subject, not your wife.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded, the rebuke hitting harder than I expected.
“If I spoke to my wife like that,” Mika continues, his tone sharp with disapproval, “she’d beat me over the head with her cooking pot and refuse to let me touch her for a month.”
“I only told her the truth,” I argue, my voice low, defensive.
“You called her a liability,” he fires back without hesitation. The word stings, echoing in my mind. Liability. I hadn’t meant it that way. Cora is strong, capable, more resilient than most men I’ve fought beside. But patrol is no place for her. The dangers are real, and I cannot risk her safety.
“You should apologize to her,” Mika says firmly.
“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it. I’ve never apologized for honesty in my life. Truth is truth, and I’ve always believed it better to be cruel than to lie.
“Because you’re being an ass,” Mika snaps. “You hurt her feelings. You don’t need to soften the truth, Garrion, but you do need to learn how to be gentler with her. She’s not a soldier. She’s your wife. Treat her like it.”
I glance back and see her crouched near the fire she’s already coaxed to life, the flames licking at the kindling with steady determination. Zeus stands close, his massive frame protective, as though he knows she needs guarding from more than the forest.
Mika presses bread and dried meat into my hand. “Go to her,” he orders flatly.
As I turn away, I catch his muttered word “Idiot.” He’s the only man alive who could speak to me like that and walk away unscathed.
I cross the clearing, the weight of his rebuke heavy on my shoulders. Sitting beside her, I offer the food.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice quiet, distant.
I draw a breath, forcing the words past my pride. “I’m sorry for being harsh, Cora.”
Her eyes flick toward me, sharp and searching. “Did Mika tell you to apologize?”
“Yes,” I admit without hesitation.
She nods once, a small, measured gesture. The firelight dances across her face, and though she says nothing more, I feel the distance between us like a blade.
“Look, I’ve never had to soften my words,” I tell her, my voice steady though I know it isn’t the full truth. “I will always be honest with you, Cora.”
“But you’re not,” she counters, her eyes sharp, seeing through me with unsettling clarity.
Her finger lifts, pointing to the mask that hides me from her. The gesture is simple, but it cuts deep. I draw a breath, forcing myself into a place I rarely tread, vulnerability.
“I’m not ready to show you all of me yet,” I admit, the words heavy, raw. “But soon. I promise.”
“Okay,” she says softly, and though the word is small, it carries weight.
A shiver runs through her, and instinct takes over.
I pull her into my arms, wrapping my cloak around her, shielding her from the chill and the world beyond.
She settles against me, her body fitting into mine as though it belongs there.
Her breath brushes against my neck, warm and delicate, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.
In that moment, the mask feels heavier than ever. Yet with her pressed against me, I wonder how long I can keep its secrets before she demands to see the man beneath.
She drifts into sleep in my arms, her breathing soft and steady, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as though she’s caught in some gentle dream. I sit there, unmoving, watching her, wondering what visions hold her in their embrace, if they are of me, of us, or of some place far beyond this forest.
The ache in my back grows, a dull throb from holding her so long, but I endure it for a while longer, unwilling to disturb her peace.
At last, I shift carefully, lowering her onto her side with all the gentleness I can muster.
I draw my cloak around her, tucking it close so the night air cannot reach her.
For a moment, I simply watch, her face softened in sleep, the firelight painting her features in gold. A rare calm settles over me, fragile but real, and I guard it as fiercely as I would guard her.
Cora POV
The next three days pass in a blur. Garrion and Mika speak often of the winter preparations, supplies, patrols, hunting, and though I am not part of their planning, I listen closely, memorizing every detail. Each task becomes a thread I tuck away, determined to weave myself into their world.
When Mika mentions that they frequently run out of candles, my mind sparks with purpose.
Aliah once taught me how to make them; I can do that here.
I can help with curing the meat for the winter as well.
I will make myself useful. I need to make myself useful.
And when Garrion leaves for two weeks on patrol, I will need the distraction, something to keep me from counting the days until his return.
We stop to rest the horses, letting them drink from a stream that winds through the forest.
I tend to Zeus, stroking his mane, grateful for his patience.
He has followed us faithfully, though he has not carried me these past days.
“I will ride you soon, my love,” I whisper to him, pressing my forehead against his strong neck.
Footsteps approach, and I know them instantly. Garrion’s presence is unmistakable, heavy and commanding even before he speaks.
“If it’s alright with you,” he says, his voice low but direct, “we want to ride through the night. That way we’ll reach Nordvaar by sunrise.”
“Sure,” I answer without hesitation. The thought of arriving fills me with eagerness. I long for a bath, for the chance to shed these travel-worn clothes and slip into something that feels like mine again.
I nestle against Garrion, his arm firm and protective around me, a shield against the night. The steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves becomes a lullaby, rocking me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I don’t know how long I drift beneath that comforting cadence, but it’s his voice that pulls me back, low, warm, and close to my ear. “We are almost here, Cora.”
The words stir me awake, and for a moment I linger in the haze between sleep and waking, wrapped in the safety of him.