Chapter 22
Garrion POV
I wait until she reaches me. Tara bows quickly, murmurs “my lord,” and disappears inside, leaving us alone.
I take Cora’s hand, careful not to make a scene with so many eyes upon us. My grip is firm but not harsh, guiding her back toward the fortress. Each step reminds me she’s been walking on that ankle when she should be resting. The thought burns, I will scold her for that later.
Once we are inside our chambers, the restraint I held outside fractures. “Where were you?” The words snap from me, sharper than I intend, but I cannot hold them back.
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she meets me head-on, her voice cutting back with equal force. “Tara showed me around. We went to see Bira, the seamstress. She’s going to make winter clothes for me, what I have won’t withstand the chill.”
“You could have waited until I woke,” I counter, frustration lacing every syllable. “I would have called her here.”
Her eyes flash, her tone firm, unyielding. “You needed rest, Garrion. And I didn’t want to sit idle. I am not a child to be scolded.”
Her words strike harder than I expect, not because they wound, but because they remind me, she is not fragile, not someone to be caged. Yet the thought of her wandering without me, vulnerable, unsettles me more than I can admit.
She doesn’t stop there. Her voice rises, sharp with conviction. “When you’re on patrol, do you expect me to sit in this room waiting for you?”
The words strike me harder than any blade. Where is this fire coming from? I am stunned by her boldness, by the challenge in her tone. Yet beneath the shock, something stirs, an undeniable pull.
Her defiance should anger me, but instead I find it… appealing. This blaze in her eyes, this refusal to be caged, awakens something I hadn’t expected. She is a force, and part of me cannot help but admire the strength that rises against mine.
I close the distance between us, unable to resist the gravity that draws me in. My mouth claims hers in a fierce kiss, the force of it born from frustration, desire, and something deeper I cannot name. She meets me with equal fire, her response igniting the storm inside me.
Her hands move with urgency, fingers working at the buttons of my shirt until the fabric slips away, falling forgotten to the floor.
I take hold of the cloak draped around her shoulders, pulling it away in one swift motion. Turning her gently, my fingers find the ties of her corset, working them loose until the fabric yields. The dress slips from her frame, pooling at her feet like water.
I draw her to me, unable to resist, and guide her toward the bed. Every movement is deliberate, charged with the weight of desire.
I push her onto her stomach and bring her hips to mine. I slide into her with ease; her folds already slick for me. Take her hard, my dick hitting her womb with every thrust.
The sound of our skin colliding fills the room.
A sound escapes her, low and raw, reverberating through me like a claim I cannot ignore.
It is more than a moan, it is a surrender, a yielding to the bond between us.
In that moment, she is mine, and the power of it surges through me, fierce and undeniable.
I watch as my dick disappears into her, how greedily her body claims mine. I move my hands to her shoulders, taking her harder. "You are mine Cora, you belong to me" I tell her.
"Yours" she moans.
I reach between us, my fingers gliding though her wetness and I start massaging her sensitive bud.
She moans again, the sound raw and unrestrained, vibrating through me like a spark to flame.
Her fingers clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, as though anchoring herself against the storm I’ve unleashed. The sight drives me further.
I pull her back to my chest, still pumping hard into her. My hang wraps around her neck as I hold her against me. With my free hand I take hers and guide her fingers through her folds, till her fingers feel my dick moving into her. She gasps but doesn't pull away.
I move her hand back to her sensitive bud "Touch yourself Cora" I order her and she abides. Her walls tighten around me instantly, and I'm trying to wait for her.
Her hips move with mine in perfect rhythm. She moans as her orgasm rips through her body, her walls squeezing me tight. I push her back down on the bed, taking her hard, chasing my own release. It tears violently through me as I get lost in the sensation of her body.
I realize what I've just done, I released inside of her. There is no tonic that will undo this now, if she gets pregnant that's on me.
I ease out of her and watch my seed run through her folds.
Idiot. The word lashes through my mind, sharp and merciless. I scold myself even as I force my voice steady. “Don’t move,” I tell her, the command low, almost rough.
I cross to the basin, hands tight, and take a cloth. The simple act feels heavy, inadequate. I return to her side and begin to clean her with care, each stroke deliberate, gentler than the storm consumes me.
But no matter how carefully I wipe away the traces, it cannot erase what I’ve done. The cloth removes the surface, not the weight. The truth lingers, etched into me, etched into her.
When she finally sits up, her eyes search mine with concern. “Are you alright? You look pale,” she asks softly.
“I’m fine,” I answer quickly, dismissing the question as I move back into the bed. “Come here.”
She hesitates, then settles against me, her body tense, uncertain. Her voice is quiet, almost fragile. “Was it not to your satisfaction? I will be better next time.”
The words hit me like a blade. Is she serious? My chest tightens, a storm of disbelief and anger at myself rising. How could she think that?
“That was incredible, Cora” I murmur, my voice low, still caught in the haze of her closeness.
She nods against me, her head resting lightly on my chest. Then, almost hesitantly, she asks, “Is it better than what you had before?”
The words jar me, pulling me out of the moment. Confusion flickers through me, I hadn’t expected such a question, not from her, not now.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my brow furrowing as I tilt her head to look at me.
Her eyes search mine, and I feel the weight of something deeper behind her words, an insecurity, a doubt, a need for reassurance I hadn’t realized she carried.
Will she think less of me if I tell her the truth, that she is my first? That all my life I kept myself apart, refusing intimacy, holding back from every touch, every temptation… until her.
The thought claws at me, a mix of fear and longing.
To admit it would strip me bare, reveal the weakness I’ve hidden behind armor and command.
Yet part of me aches for her to know, to understand that what I gave her tonight was not routine, not practiced, but something wholly new.
Something only she could draw out of me.
I swallow my pride, the words heavy on my tongue. “I’ve never been with a woman before you, Cora.”
She stiffens at my revelation, her eyes widening. “Then how do you know how to do all this?” she presses, suspicion lacing her tone.
“I don’t think you want to know,” I answer, my voice low, reluctant.
Her gaze sharpens, her scolding immediate. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask Mika.”
I curse inwardly. I know Mika, he would tell her the truth without hesitation.
“When we were younger,” I begin, forcing the words out, “he took me to pleasure houses, thinking that was what I needed. Every indecent thing was on display there. I watched… but I never participated.”
The memory stirs unease in me, but I hold her gaze, needing her to understand. What I give her is not born of practice or indulgence, it is born of restraint, of years of denial, and of the fire she alone has kindled in me.
Cora POV
I am stunned by his admission. Most men would never show such restraint, never hold themselves back the way he has. It unsettles me, yet at the same time, it makes me see him differently, more deeply.
“Is there anything else you would like to know?” he asks, his tone teasing, as though daring me.
But the only truth that still hangs between us, sharp and unspoken, is what lies behind the mask. That secret hovers like a blade, suspended, waiting. If I ask, I doubt he will indulge me. He guards it too closely.
So I redirect, forcing my voice steady. “When are you leaving for patrol?”
“Day after tomorrow,” he admits. His hand tightens around mine, his voice softer now. “I will be as fast as I can, so that I can get back to you… to this.”
Before I can reply, his lips find mine, sealing the moment, silencing the questions that still burn inside me.
My stomach growls loudly, unapologetic in its demand. Garrion chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Come on,” he says, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Let’s get something to eat.”
I slip my dress back on, and he steps behind me, tightening the corset.
I pull his cloak around my shoulders, its weight and warmth a comfort.
I watch him as he dresses in his leathers, every movement deliberate, before he crosses to the chest on the far side of the room and retrieves another cloak for himself.
When we reach the dining hall, the air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread.
Dinner is in full swing; tables lined with simple fare: meat, bread, vegetables.
Nothing extravagant, only sustenance. Garrion’s words echo as he gestures toward the spread.
“We eat to live, not live to eat like most.” And I understand what he means.
Mika and Soma have saved us a seat, and we settle beside them. Soma leans closer, her voice quiet, careful. “Is everything alright? He wasn’t hard on you for leaving the fortress?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” I reply, placing meat on my plate.
But Soma’s eyes linger on me, sharp and knowing. She gives me that look, the one that says she sees more than I want her to. She knows what happened in the room.
“Mika is right, you have a knack for taming wild things,” Soma teases, her smile sly.
I choke on my wine, sputtering as the heat rises in my cheeks. Saints, she’s just as bad as him.
She pats my back lightly, feigning innocence, but her eyes flick toward Garrion. The look she gives him is deliberate, a silent message: She’s fine. Back off.
“I’ll give you a proper tour of Nordvaar once his lordship is off on patrol,” Soma says, her tone light but the jab deliberate.
I bite back a smile, swallowing it before it can escape. She’s bold, unafraid to tease him just like Mika. I like that. There’s a spark in her, a kind of mischief that feels like a balm.
I hope we will become friends.