Chapter 30
Garrion POV
I wake alone again.
The space beside me is cold. Cora must already be out with Mika, training before dawn. A small, sharp pang of jealousy twists in my chest. Irrational, perhaps but real. I want her here. I want her to myself. If my body weren’t failing me, I’d be the one training her, not Mika.
Before I can sink too far into that thought, the doctor walks in without knocking, he never knocks and begins tending to my legs. I keep my eyes fixed on the far wall as he unwraps the bandages.
“Your wounds are healing well, my lord,” he says, inspecting the angry lines across my thighs.
“Can I have a bath?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies, “but I will need to apply a thick ointment to keep the water out.”
“Do it. And ask Soma to prepare the bath.”
He nods and begins spreading the ointment over my legs and up my thigh. It’s cold at first, then warms, then hardens into something like a protective shell. I don’t know what concoction he’s used, doctors guard their secrets like dragons hoard gold, but it seems to work.
When he leaves, Soma and two others come in to fill the bath. Steam rises in soft curls, filling the room with warmth. The moment they’re gone, I brace myself on the table and push to my feet. My legs protest, but I ignore the pain and begin the slow, stubborn journey toward the water.
I’m halfway there when the door opens.
Cora steps inside and immediately rushes to me. “What are you doing?” she scolds, slipping an arm around me before I can fall.
I meet her eyes, unashamed. “I want to have a bath with my wife.”
She blinks, startled, and I gesture to my leg. “The doctor said it’s fine. He applied some sort of ointment.”
She studies the hardened layer, then nods, her expression softening. Carefully, she helps me lower myself into the bath. The moment the hot water envelops me, my entire body loosens, tension melting away like frost in sunlight.
I watch Cora as she loosens the braid in her hair, fingers working through the strands until they fall freely around her shoulders.
She moves slowly, carefully, and every time she lifts an arm or bends to unbuckle a strap of her leathers, she winces.
A small, sharp sound escapes her, one she tries to hide.
“Was Mika hard on you?” I ask, unable to keep the concern from my voice.
She huffs a breath that’s half?laugh, half?groan. “You have no idea.”
She steps into the bath across from me, lowering herself into the steaming water with a long, exhausted exhale.
The tension melts from her shoulders as the heat sinks into her muscles.
For a moment, she just sits there, eyes closed, letting the warmth undo the punishment Mika clearly put her through.
Then she begins to wash, slow, deliberate movements as she runs the cloth over her arms, her collarbone, her throat. She tilts her head back to wet her hair, and the candlelight catches on her skin, turning every droplet into gold.
I can’t look away.
She is strength and softness, fire and gentleness, all wrapped into one impossible woman. And she’s mine. Somehow, she’s mine.
The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and unguarded. “I love you.”
The soap slips from her fingers and splashes into the water. She freezes, then lifts her gaze to me, those beautiful blue eyes wide, startled, luminous.
She moves toward me with slow, deliberate grace, the water rippling around her. When she reaches me, she carefully swings a leg over and settles into my lap, light as a whisper, mindful of my injuries, holding her weight off my legs. Even so, the closeness steals the breath from my lungs.
Her hands rise to my face, warm and steady, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones as if she’s memorizing me by touch alone.
She leans in until her lips hover just above mine, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath, the faint tremble of her exhale.
The small distance between us aches, a sweet, unbearable tension that coils low in my chest.
Then, in a voice barely more than a breath, she murmurs against my mouth, “I love you.”
The words hit me with the force of a blade sliding between armor plates, clean, precise, devastating in the best way. Before I can speak, before I can even breathe, she closes the last sliver of space and seals her confession with a gentle, lingering kiss.
My hands rise instinctively to her waist, holding her as if she might vanish, and for a moment the world narrows to nothing but her lips, her warmth, her heartbeat pressed so close to mine.
I pull her closer, tightening my arms around her without thinking, just wanting her near, wanting to feel her warmth against me. Instinct takes over and I shift her onto my lap.
Pain explodes through my body.
White?hot, sharp, immediate.
I grit my teeth, trying, foolishly, to hide it. But Cora feels the tension in me instantly. She pulls back, her eyes searching mine for half a heartbeat before she moves away, settling on the other side of the bath where she won’t hurt me.
I exhale sharply, frustration burning in my chest. I hate this weakness. I hate that my own body betrays me when all I want is to hold her properly.
Cora rises from the water, steam curling around her as she steps out. She dries herself quickly, then returns to me. She kneels behind me and begins washing my hair, her fingers gliding through the strands, massaging my scalp with slow, soothing circles.
The tension drains from me almost instantly. My eyes close. My breathing steadies. Her touch is gentle, patient, like she’s reminding me that I don’t have to be strong every second of the day.
“I’m sorry, Cora,” I murmur, voice low. “There are so many things I want to do to you right now. And I can’t.”
Her fingers pause for a moment, then resume their soft, comforting rhythm.
“We have all the time in the world now, Garrion,” she says, her voice warm and steady. “Heal and then you can do whatever you want with my body. I’m not going anywhere.”
I groan at her words, the frustration sinking deeper into my bones than the pain ever could. I hate feeling helpless. I hate that she has to do this for me. But she doesn’t hesitate, not for a heartbeat.
Cora helps me to the edge of the bath, steadying my weight with quiet strength. She lifts my useless legs over the rim with careful hands, as if I’m something precious rather than broken. Once I’m seated, she takes a towel and begins to dry me, slow, gentle strokes that make my chest tighten.
“Tell me again,” I whisper, the plea slipping out before I can stop it.
She pauses, then lifts her gaze to mine. Those blue eyes hold steady, warm and unwavering.
“I love you,” she says.
And gods, the way she says it, soft, certain, without fear, makes the frustration ease, just a little.
She walks me back to the bed with slow, steady steps, her arm firm around my waist. Once I’m seated, she helps me settle against the pillows, adjusting them until I’m comfortable. I hate needing the help, but gods, I love the way she does it. Calm. Certain. Without a hint of pity.
She pulls a clean white cotton shirt over my head, guiding my arms through the sleeves with gentle hands. Then she drapes the fur over my legs, tucking it around me as if she’s afraid the cold might steal whatever strength I have left.
After adding another log to the fire, she begins dressing herself. I watch her move, still sore from training, still determined. She slips into a light green wool gown, the color soft against her skin. Then she turns her back to me.
“Do you mind?” she asks.
I know she can lace her own corset. She’s done it a thousand times. But she’s offering me something normal, something that makes me feel like her husband, not her patient.
I tighten the corset for her, pulling the laces with careful precision. She breathes in, steadying herself, and I tie the final knot.
She turns back to me, smoothing her gown. “Breakfast?”
I nod, grateful for the simplicity of the moment, grateful for her.
As we eat, Cora sits close enough that our knees brush beneath the blankets. She eats quickly; her mind is already on the day ahead. Between bites, she glances at me.
“Mika will be here shortly,” she says, wiping her fingers on a cloth. “He wants to go over the patrols for the week and a few other matters that need your attention.”
Of course he does. Life here doesn’t pause just because I’m stuck in this bed. The world keeps moving, snow falls, supplies run low, disputes flare, and the borders still need guarding. My body may be useless, but my responsibilities aren’t.
Cora stands and gathers the dishes, her movements still stiff from training. “I’m going to check on the horses,” she continues. “And make sure the roof repair is still holding now that the snow’s here.”
I watch her as she speaks, this woman who stepped into my world and immediately began tending to it as if she’d always belonged here. She’s already thinking three steps ahead, already taking on tasks that should be mine.
And gods, I love her for it.
She ties her cloak around her shoulders, snow?light hair falling forward as she fastens the clasp. “I’ll be back soon” she adds, giving me a small, reassuring smile.
I nod, though a part of me aches to follow her, to walk the grounds at her side, to be the man I was before these wounds dragged me down.
But for now, all I can do is watch her go and be grateful she’s here to hold everything together while I heal.
Mika spends hours with me, going over border?patrol reports, supply shortages, and the usual winter complications. I try to focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Cora, how exhausted she looked this morning, how she winced every time she moved.
Finally, when Mika pauses to shuffle through another stack of parchment, I ask, “How was training with Cora?”
“Fine,” he says in that maddeningly plain tone of his. “We focused on her body strength.”
“That’s it?” The words come out sharper than I intend. He told me he’d try to get a sense of what’s going on in her head, why she’s pushing herself so hard, what she’s planning.
He looks up, unfazed by my irritation. “She was quiet. Determined. Didn’t complain. Whatever she’s thinking, she’s guarding it well.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach.
Cora doesn’t hide things from me. Not like this. Not with that kind of intensity.
And the fact that Mika, who can read a soldier’s mind from the way they breathe, couldn’t get a glimpse of her thoughts unsettles me more than I want to admit.
Because if Cora is guarding something that fiercely… it must be something dangerous.
“I think you’re overthinking this, Garrion,” Mika says, his tone maddeningly calm. “She wouldn’t start a war just to have a child… would she?”
The question lands heavier than he intends.
Because that thought has crossed my mind, more than once. Cora is capable of terrifying resolve when she sets her mind to something. And the idea of a child… of a future… I’ve seen the way it lights something fierce and unyielding in her.
Part of me, some reckless, curious part, wants to give in just to see what she would do. To see how far she would go. To see the fire, she keeps banked behind those blue eyes unleashed.
But the rest of me… the wiser part… knows I might not be able to face the consequences.