Chapter 28
Cora POV
I stop by the kitchens on my way back. The great hearth is already glowing, embers shifting into flame, and the smell of warm grain lingers in the air.
There’s still porridge left in the pot, thick and steaming, so I ladle two generous bowls and set them on a tray.
I add a pot of tea, still hot from the kettle, and balance everything carefully before heading upstairs.
As I approach our room, I hear low voices, one of them the doctor’s.
He must be checking Garrion’s wounds again.
I slip inside quietly and set the food on the table, then lean against the wall, arms folded, waiting for him to finish.
Garrion’s eyes flick toward me, but he stays still while the doctor works.
When the doctor finally leaves, closing the door behind him, the room falls into a soft, private silence.
I take the tray and move to the bed, sitting beside Garrion. His gaze follows me with a mixture of curiosity and something warmer.
“Where were you, Cora?” he asks.
He told me no more hiding. So I give him the truth.
“I was out on the training fields with Mika,” I say simply.
A faint crease forms between his brows. “Cora… you are safe here. You no longer need to fight for survival.” His voice is gentle, almost pleading.
Maybe he believes that. Maybe he wants it to be true. But safety is not something I take for granted.
“You need to eat,” I say instead, steering the conversation away before he can press further. I lift a spoonful of porridge to his lips, and he accepts it without argument. His eyes stay on me the whole time, steady and searching.
Soma arrives a few minutes later with steaming water for my bath. I thank her, and once she leaves, I begin to undress. There’s no point in pretending modesty, we’ve shared too much fear and closeness for that.
Still, I hear Garrion’s breath hitch as he watches me, his eyes widening just slightly. Not with hunger, his body is far too weak, but with something tender, something reverent.
“Can I join you?” he asks, half hopeful, half teasing.
I turn toward him, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “Not with your injuries,” I tell him gently. “And even if you tried, I’d never be able to get you out of the bath.”
He lets out a soft huff of laughter, though disappointment flickers in his eyes. I cross the room and brush my fingers along his jaw, letting my touch reassure him.
“Rest,” I whisper. “Heal. Then we’ll talk about baths.”
His expression softens, and he settles back into the pillows, watching me with quiet devotion as I slip into the warm water.
“I want to ask you something, Cora,” Garrion says as I step out of the bath, water still dripping from my hair.
I wrap myself in a bath sheet and move to the bed, settling beside him. He looks… uncomfortable. Almost nervous. I take his hand so he knows I’m here, that he can say whatever he needs.
“What is it?” I ask gently.
He swallows, eyes fixed on the blankets instead of me. “Have you had your monthly bleed?”
The question catches me off guard, but I answer honestly. “Yes. I have.”
He exhales, long, shaky, relieved.
Then, quietly, “Cora… please don’t hate me, but I don’t want children.”
The words sting. Not because I had been planning for them, but because of the fear behind his voice. “Why?” I ask, needing to understand.
He finally looks at me, eyes shadowed. “If we had children, they would be bound to this duty. Summoned to do the king’s bidding. Or worse, married off like pieces on a board. I won’t condemn them to that. I won’t let our bloodline be used the way we were.”
A slow, familiar fire rises in me, not anger at him, but at the chains wrapped around his life. At the crown that thinks it owns him.
“So,” I say carefully, “if the king’s power were gone, if his hold over you ended, you would consider children?”
He hesitates only a moment before nodding. “If our lives were truly our own… yes.”
And that is all the answer I need.
Not vengeance. Not rebellion. But freedom.
For him. For us. For whatever future we choose.
I take his hand again, squeezing it gently. “Then I will make sure no one ever has that kind of hold over you again.”
Garrion POV
Cora’s words unsettle me long after they leave her lips. She would be mad to go against the king. Reckless. Dangerous. And all this… for the idea of a child?
Does she truly want one so badly? Or is it something else, something fiercer, something rooted in that fire she carries like a second heartbeat?
She begins to dress, and I watch her quietly.
Her gown is simple but beautiful: dark blue wool, long sleeves, a soft fur collar to guard her from the cold.
She moves with purpose, with certainty, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve pushed her away somehow.
That by admitting the truth, my fear, my refusal, I’ve created a distance she doesn’t know how to bridge.
“Where are you off to now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. It comes out softer than I intend, edged with something vulnerable. It feels like she doesn’t want to be near me, not after everything I confessed.
But she turns, closes the space between us in three quick steps, and kisses me before I can say another word. It’s firm, grounding, full of reassurance I didn’t know I needed.
When she pulls back, her breath brushes my cheek. “I have a few things to attend to for the winter preparations,” she says gently. “And when I’m back, we’ll tend to your beard and hair.”
Then she slips out of the room, leaving the door to click softly behind her.
And I’m left alone with my thoughts, heavy, tangled, and impossible to ignore.
She isn’t running from me. She isn’t angry. But there is something in her eyes now, something determined, unyielding, that both terrifies and captivates me.
Whatever she’s planning… I have the sinking feeling it’s for us.
Mika shows up not long after Cora leaves, pushing the door open with his shoulder like he owns the place. “I couldn’t leave you here to brood on your own,” he says, grinning as he drags a chair to my bedside.
I roll my eyes, but the truth is… I’m grateful for the company.
“I’m glad you finally took that damn mask off and showed Cora,” he adds, relief clear in his voice.
“She’s the one who took it off,” I admit.
He barks out a laugh. “Then she’s braver than you are.”
I glare at him, but he only smirks, settling in as if he plans to stay awhile.
He fills me in on everything I missed, patrol rotations, supply issues, the early frost, and, of course, Cora.
Apparently she stepped into command without hesitation, making decisions, organizing winter stores, handling disputes. Mika sounds almost impressed.
“She’s taken to running this place faster than any of us expected,” he says.
I hesitate before speaking. “I want you to stop training her.”
His head snaps toward me. “Why? She’s capable, and she wants to learn.” There’s an edge to his voice, protective, almost offended.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter. “I told her I don’t want children. And I told her why.”
Mika’s expression softens a fraction. “How did she take it?”
“Better than I expected,” I say. “But then she asked… if the king had no power over us anymore, would I reconsider?”
Mika leans forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “And?”
“Of course I would,” I say quietly. “If we were free… I’d want that future with her.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “So let me get this straight. You think your tiny, stubborn, terrifying wife is going to assassinate the king because I’m teaching her how to swing a sword?”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “I don’t think she’s planning to assassinate anyone.”
Mika raises a brow. “Garrion… she’s Cora.”
I let out a long breath.
And that, unfortunately, says everything.
“Let me keep training her,” Mika says, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly casual confidence. “Maybe I can figure out what’s going on in her head.”
I want to refuse. I want to keep Cora close, where I can watch her, where I can stop her from doing something reckless. But a part of me knows the truth, she will never tell me everything. Not her full intentions. Not the fire driving her. She guards her purpose the way I once guarded my face.
Before I can respond, the doctor enters. He moves briskly, setting down his satchel and peeling back the blankets. I look away as he unwraps the bandages. I can’t bear to see the damage again, the torn flesh, the angry red lines, the reminder of how close I came to losing everything.
“I would recommend you move about a bit more, my lord,” he says as he applies fresh ointment. “Just around the room. Get your body moving again.”
I nod, though the thought alone makes my legs throb. The doctor finishes and leaves us with a polite bow.
Mika stands and stretches, then extends a hand toward me. “Come on, old man,” he teases, though there’s warmth beneath the jab.
I take his hand and push myself upright. Pain flares instantly, sharp, burning but I grit my teeth and persevere. My legs tremble under my weight, but I refuse to sit back down. Not in front of Mika. Not when Cora is out there preparing for gods?know?what.
One step. Then another.
It’s agony. But it’s movement. And right now, that feels like the first step toward taking back control of my life.
Cora returns just as Mika is easing me back into the bed. She pauses in the doorway, one brow lifting. “What’s going on here?”
“Doctor told him to move instead of sitting on his ass all day,” Mika says with a grin.
Cora nods, though her eyes flick to the bucket of steaming water she’s carrying. Mika notices it too and takes it as his cue to leave. He claps my shoulder, far too hard, then slips out with a muttered, “Try not to fall apart while I’m gone.”
Cora sets the bucket beside the bed and rolls up her sleeves. There’s a quiet determination in her movements as she gathers a cloth, a blade, and a small pot of soap. I haven’t shaved since before patrol; I can only imagine how wild I look.
She dips her fingers into the warm water and begins lathering my face with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask, half teasing, half genuinely concerned for my safety.
“Just stay still,” she instructs, her tone firm but gentle. Her touch is steady, practiced, far more confident than I expected.
“You’ve done this before?” I murmur.
“I watched Bastion shave,” she says simply, as though that explains everything. And somehow, it does.
She works carefully, guiding the blade with precise, patient movements. I watch her as she concentrates, her brows slightly furrowed, her lips pressed together in focus. There’s something strangely intimate about it, her tending to me like this, her hands so close, her breath brushing my cheek.
When she finishes my face, she moves to my hair next, combing through the tangles with warm water and gentle fingers. By the time she’s done, she steps back, satisfaction brightening her expression.
A smile curves her lips. “Now you look like a lord” she teases.
I can’t help the warmth that spreads through my chest. Not because of the shave. Not because of the hair.
But because she did it. Because she wanted to. Because she stayed.