Chapter 27
Garrion POV
I force my hand to move, gods, it feels like lifting stone and reach toward her. My fingers brush the curve of her cheek, barely a whisper of contact, but it’s enough
Her eyes snap open instantly. Her breath catches, then quickens, and before I can even form a word she’s leaning over me, her voice breaking on a gasp. “You’re awake.”
Then she’s kissing me.
Her lips are soft, trembling, full of relief and fear and something deeper that hits me harder than any wolf’s teeth. I can’t lift my arms, can’t pull her closer, but I feel everything, her warmth, her desperation, the way she pours days of worry into that single moment.
When she finally pulls back, her smile nearly steals the breath from my lungs. It’s radiant, unguarded, the kind of smile I never thought I’d see directed at me. “I knew you would come back to me,” she whispers, as if it were a promise she’d been repeating to herself for days.
Before I can speak, before I can tell her I heard her, that I felt her beside me even in the fever, she slips off the bed with sudden purpose.
“I’m going to get the doctor,” she announces, already halfway to the door, her voice bright with hope.
I watch her go, my chest tight, my hand still tingling from where it touched her.
She stayed. She cared. And she kissed me without hesitation, mask or no mask.
The world feels different now. Softer. More dangerous in a way I never expected.
Because now I know exactly how much I have to lose.
The doctor enters the room alone. Cora isn’t with him. A flicker of unease coils in my chest. Where is she?
“My lord, can you tell me how you are feeling?” he asks, stepping closer.
I clear my throat, the sound rough and unfamiliar. “My legs feel like they’re on fire,” I whisper.
He nods, unsurprised. “The wounds were deep. That is to be expected. I will change your bandages now.”
I grit my teeth as he unwraps the old fabric. The air stings against the raw skin, but then he applies some kind of ointment—cool, soothing, easing the burn just enough for me to breathe again. Fresh bandages follow, tight and secure.
He talks as he works, explaining what happened over the last few days, my fever, the delirium, the nights I hovered between waking and slipping away. But my mind drifts. I can’t stop thinking about Cora. She was here when I woke. Where did she go?
When the doctor finishes, he gives a respectful bow and leaves me alone in the quiet.
A moment later, the door opens.
Cora steps inside, carrying a tray. The rich scent of stew fills the room, warm and comforting. She sets the tray on the floor, then comes straight to me, her eyes soft and full of something I can’t name.
“You need to eat,” she murmurs.
Before I can protest, she begins adjusting the pillows behind me, lifting me carefully into a sitting position. The movement makes my head spin, and I sway. Her hands catch me instantly, warm against my cold skin, steadying me until the dizziness passes.
She retrieves the tray and settles beside me on the bed. Then she lifts a spoonful of stew to my lips.
I open my mouth, letting her feed me. The food is good, but I barely taste it. I’m too focused on her, on the way she watches me, unblinking, her gaze locked on mine as though she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she looks away.
And gods help me… I can’t look anywhere else either.
She breaks the silence first, her voice soft and unsteady. “I’m sorry… I had to take your mask off. You had blood all over you and…” Her words trail off, swallowed by uncertainty.
She reaches for the table, picks up the mask, and holds it out to me with both hands. The gesture is careful, almost reverent, yet there’s something else beneath it. Hesitation. Fear. Maybe even guilt.
My stomach tightens.
She wants me to put it back on?
The thought hits harder than the pain in my legs. After everything, after days of her sitting beside me, after the kiss she gave me the moment I woke, she still expects me to hide. Or worse… she wants me to.
Her eyes flicker up to mine, searching, unsure. She’s bracing for my reaction, for anger or rejection or whatever she thinks I might unleash. She looks like she’s preparing to lose me.
And that realization cuts deeper than any wolf’s teeth.
She didn’t hand me the mask because she wants the steel back between us. She handed it to me because she thinks I want it. Because she thinks she crossed a line. Because she’s afraid she violated something sacred.
She’s afraid of hurting me.
The mask feels heavy in her hands, heavier still in the space between us. And for the first time in years, I’m not sure if I want to take it.
“No,” I tell her softly, my voice rough but certain. “No more hiding.” I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth in my eyes.
She exhales, a small, shaky breath, and nods. She sets the mask back on the table with careful hands, as though laying down a burden she’s carried for too long.
“Is there anything you need?” she asks quietly.
“You,” I answer without hesitation.
Something in her expression melts, relief, affection, something deeper I don’t dare name. She moves toward me with slow, as if afraid of causing me pain. Then she settles gently against my chest, her weight warm and grounding, her touch feather?light.
“I missed you,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of my collarbone with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.
“I missed you as well,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can second?guess them. They feel raw, honest, unguarded.
I lift my hand, still weak, still trembling and tilt her chin upward so she’s looking directly into my eyes. For a heartbeat, we simply breathe the same air, suspended in the quiet between us.
Then I lean in and kiss her.
It’s slow, deep, unhurried, an anchor after days lost in darkness. Her eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a soft, involuntary sound of relief, her hand curling lightly against my chest as if to reassure herself that I’m truly here.
Heat coils through me, instinctive and immediate, but my body is too weak, too battered to follow where that need wants to go. Reluctantly, I pull back from the kiss, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers for a moment before she settles against my chest again.
She lets out a soft sigh, her cheek pressed over my heartbeat. “You are never leaving my side again,” she murmurs, fierce and tender all at once.
“Really?” I tease, my voice low, brushing my fingers through her hair.
She lifts her head just enough to look at me, eyes blazing with certainty. “If you go to war, I’m going with you.”
A laugh rumbles in my chest, quiet, surprised, warmed by her possessiveness rather than threatened by it. I press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, letting the moment settle around us like a blanket.
Her protectiveness is almost disarming. Her devotion… even more so.
And as she curls closer, careful of my injuries, I realize how deeply I’ve missed this, missed her. The weight of her against me, the sound of her voice, the way she claims me without hesitation.
For the first time in my life, I feel at peace.
Cora POV
Garrion thinks I’m joking. He thinks my words are just the ramblings of a woman relieved to have him back in her arms.
He has no idea.
I’m not letting him go. Not again. Not for a king, not for a kingdom, not for any duty carved into his bloodline. If the king dares to summon him once more, if he even tries to drag Garrion away from me, I will end him. I will tear down every stone of this kingdom with my bare hands if I must.
Because Garrion is mine.
Not as a possession, not as a trophy, but as the man who has carved himself into my heart so deeply that losing him would destroy me. I would burn the world before I let anyone take him from me again.
He belongs with me. He belongs to me, just as I belong to him.
And if the world wants to test that, then let it come. I will show them exactly what I am capable of.
Garrion is still asleep when dawn breaks, his breathing deep and even. But my body is fueled by something far stronger than restlessness, purpose, fire, the fierce need to never be helpless again.
Quietly, I slip from the bed and change into the leathers Bira crafted for me. They fit snugly, warm and flexible, made for movement. I pull on a cloak and draw the curtains closed so the morning light won’t disturb Garrion. He needs every moment of peace he can get.
I step into the corridor and head straight for the training grounds, my steps quick and certain. I already know Mika will be there, he’s always up before the sun, always swinging a blade at ghosts only he can see.
When I arrive, I grab one of the training swords from the rack. The weight surprises me, heavier than I expected for wood, but it feels right in my hand. Solid. Real.
Mika spots me immediately. His brows lift, and a teasing grin spreads across his face. “I thought you’d be with your husband, now that he’s awake,” he calls out, wiping sweat from his brow.
“He’s asleep,” I say, marching toward him with the sword in hand. “And you are going to teach me how to handle one of these.” I lift the wooden blade slightly for emphasis.
His grin widens into something downright delighted. “As my lady commands,” he says with an exaggerated bow, though there’s a spark of respect in his eyes, real respect, not the polite kind.
He straightens, rolling his shoulders, and gestures for me to step onto the packed dirt of the training ring. “Let’s see what fire you’re carrying this morning.”
And gods help anyone who tries to take Garrion from me again, because I intend to learn exactly how to wield this fire.
I lose count of how many times Mika disarms me. The sword hits the dirt again with a dull thud, and he shakes his head, exasperated.
“You keep treating the sword like a dagger, Cora,” he scolds, planting his own blade into the ground.
“I will learn,” I snap back, breathless but unyielding.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, studying me with that infuriatingly calm expression. “Not with arms like those. We need to strengthen your shoulders and your grip.”
My temper flares. “And how do you propose we achieve that?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Tomorrow, you start with push-ups. Then lifting bags of sand. Once your muscles stop screaming, we’ll work with swords again.”
I glare at him, but the truth is he’s right. I need this. I need to be strong enough to protect Garrion.
“Fine,” I say, catching my breath. “Thank you, Mika.”
He gives a short nod of approval, the closest thing to praise I’ll get from him. I wipe the sweat from my brow, retrieve the fallen sword, and place it back on the rack.
Then I turn and head back towards the fortress, my steps quickening with every stride.
Garrion is waiting. And I intend to be ready for whatever comes next.