Chapter 37
Cora POV
I find Garrion in his study, the firelight casting long shadows across the shelves of books and maps. He’s bent over a parchment, brow furrowed, the weight of command etched into every line of his face.
“I thought you might be hungry,” I say softly, breaking his concentration.
He lifts his head, and the moment his eyes meet mine, the frown eases. He looks at me as though I’m the only person in the world who matters, the only one who can pull him from the endless tide of duty.
He nods, and I set a bowl of stew and a slice of bread before him. He takes it without hesitation, eating quickly, as though only now realizing how long he’s gone without food.
Curious, I reach for the parchment he’d been studying. “What’s this?”
“Latest border patrol reports,” he replies mid-chew, his voice roughened by fatigue.
I scan the lines, my heart lifting. “This is good news, no more sightings of bandits?”
“Yes,” he says, though his tone is cautious. “Sounds too good to be true.”
I smile faintly, moving behind him. “Or perhaps you did your job securing the north for winter, my lord.”
My hands settle on his shoulders, kneading gently at the knots of tension.
His muscles are rigid beneath my touch, but slowly they begin to yield, the burden of command easing if only for a moment.
Soma’s secret gnaws at me, heavy and insistent, until I feel I can’t keep it to myself any longer. The ache of it presses against my chest, and part of me wants to see how Garrion will react, whether he’ll meet it with seriousness or with warmth.
“Garrion,” I murmur, my hands still working gently at his shoulders, kneading the tension from them. “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself for now?”
He stiffens beneath my touch, the muscles in his back tightening as though bracing for impact. Still, he nods slowly, his silence granting me permission to speak.
I draw in a breath, lowering my voice. “Soma suspects that she is with child.”
For a heartbeat, the room is quiet, the fire crackling in the hearth the only sound. Then Garrion lets out a low laugh, the sound rich and unexpected. He turns his head slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Mika will be happy,” he says simply, his tone carrying both amusement and certainty.
The tension eases from his frame, and I feel my own shoulders relax.
His reaction is lighter than I expected, but it warms me nonetheless.
In his laugh, in his words, there is no fear, only joy for his friend.
And I wonder, quietly, if he would meet the same news from me with that same unguarded happiness.
Garrion POV
I’m happy for Mika. He’s been harping on about wanting another child for months, and now it seems his wish may finally be granted.
The thought makes me smile, though it stirs something deeper in me, an ache I try to bury.
Cora’s hands glide over my shoulders, easing the knots of tension, and for a moment I let myself imagine what it would be like to have that kind of future with her.
A child. A family. But I know better. We are not free from the King’s rule, and I will not allow myself to indulge in fantasies that could bring danger down upon us both.
I clear my throat, pushing the thought aside. “What did you do today?” I ask, needing to hear her voice, needing the distraction.
“I told Soma about our wedding date,” she says, her tone calm, certain. “And that I want it simple, just us and your people.”
Her words catch me off guard. I’m still taken aback by how little she cares for finery, how unlike other ladies she is. She doesn’t crave jewels or silks or grand halls. She is content with what she has, with what we are building together. That humbles me more than I can say.
“Is that all?” I tease, glancing back at her with a faint smile.
“Yes,” she replies, “Bira is making my dress.”
I can’t resist another jab, my voice light with mischief. “Is it going to be like the one your family shoved you into?”
Her reaction is immediate, horrified. “Gods, no! That was a monstrosity!”
Her exclamation makes me laugh, the sound breaking through the heaviness of the day.
In her presence, the weight of duty feels lighter, the shadows less oppressive.
She is my anchor, my true north, and though I may not yet allow myself the dream of children, I know this, our wedding, our bond, will be enough to carry me through whatever storms lie ahead.
Cora’s hands still against my shoulders, her voice steady but quiet. “I’m going to get a doctor to prepare me a contraceptive tonic,” she says, the words carrying both practicality and sorrow.
The truth of it cuts deep, though she still accepts me, accepts all that I am, even knowing the weight I carry. My chest tightens, and the only words I can manage are, “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she turns toward me, her eyes fierce with conviction.
“One day we will be free, Garrion,” she whispers, as though daring the gods themselves to deny her.
She settles into my lap, her warmth pressing against me, and her lips find mine in a kiss that is both promise and defiance.
I surrender to her completely, my arms wrapping around her as though I could shield her from the world.
In that moment, I pray, pray to the gods that her words are true, that the chains of the King’s rule will one day break, and that the life we dream of, the life we dare not speak aloud, will finally be ours.
Cora POV
Soma has finally told Mika that she is with child, and he has been walking around beaming like the sun itself.
His joy is infectious, and though we’ve missed the last two morning training sessions, my body is quietly grateful for the reprieve.
The ache in my muscles has eased, leaving me lighter as I make my way through town.
I walk to Jonah’s workshop, anticipation thrumming in my chest. The air smells faintly of smoke and metal, and the sound of hammering fades as I step inside. Jonah looks up from his bench, his face lighting with enthusiasm.
“My lady, I have everything ready for you,” he exclaims, his voice warm and eager.
I move closer, my heart quickening. He gestures to a sketchbook laid open on the table. “Now, your ring, my lady, is very delicate,” he explains, “so I was thinking more of a signet style ring for Lord Darkmoor.”
He turns the page, and there it is, the design that will bind Garrion to me in symbol as much as in spirit. A bold signet ring, the northern star carved into its center, its edges encircled by obsidian stones that gleam like fragments of night sky.
My breath catches. It is strong, commanding, yet filled with meaning. Garrion’s ring will mirror mine, but in a way that speaks to his power, his legacy, his role as my true north.
“It’s perfect,” I tell Jonah, my voice steady though my heart is racing. “Please, go ahead.”
He smiles warmly, pride flickering in his eyes. “I will send for you when it is ready, my lady.”
I nod, reaching into my cloak to produce a pouch of coin. I set it on the table. “Let me know if it is not enough.”
Jonah bows his head slightly. “Thank you, my lady.”
As I leave the workshop, the image of the ring lingers in my mind. Soon Garrion will wear it, and with it, the weight of generations and the promise of our future.
Tara finds me just as I step through the fortress gates, snow still clinging to my boots.
“My lady,” she says, slightly breathless, “your presence is requested at the training field, and be prepared to train.” Her tone makes it clear she’s repeating someone else’s exact words.
I nod and head straight for my chambers.
In moments, I’m out of my gown and pulling on my fighting leathers, the familiar weight of them settling over my body like a second skin.
The cold air bites at my cheeks as I make my way toward the field, each step quickening with a strange mix of nerves and anticipation.
When I reach the training grounds, I stop short. Garrion is there, standing in the center of the snow-dusted arena, arms folded, watching the entrance as though he’s been waiting specifically for me.
A spark of excitement runs through me, warming me from the inside out. Is he here to spar with me? The idea sends a thrill through my chest. Training with him will never be just training, it’s a dance, a challenge, a test of strength and trust all at once.
And gods, I want that.
“You’re late,” he teases, though his smile betrays his amusement.
I draw my blade, the leather of my gloves creaking. “You’ll survive.”
We circle each other, the air between us charged. When our swords meet, the clash rings out, echoing across the empty field. His strength pushes against mine, but I hold, refusing to yield.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost intimate.
I smirk, breath misting in the cold.
He lunges, and I parry, the force of his strike sending a shiver down my arms. He presses closer, the heat of his body cutting through the winter chill. Our blades lock, faces inches apart, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Careful,” he whispers, his tone both warning and promise. “If you let me too close, I’ll win.”
My heart races, but I push back, twisting free and spinning to strike. He blocks easily, laughing under his breath, the sound rich and unrestrained.
We move like dancers, steel flashing, boots sliding across snow, each strike and counter a rhythm only we know. Every touch of blade is a conversation, every glance a confession.
Finally, he disarms me with a swift twist, my sword clattering into the snow. Before I can reach for it, his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“You fight beautifully,” he says, his voice roughened by exertion, his forehead resting against mine.
I breathe hard, my pulse pounding. “You cheat beautifully,” I retort, though my lips curve into a smile.
His laughter rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me. For a moment, the sparring is forgotten, the intimacy of our closeness eclipsing the fight. His hand lingers at my waist, mine resting against his chest.
“Unfortunately, my lord… you lose,” I whisper against his lips, my breath mingling with his. My eyes flick downward, the dagger in my hand poised with deliberate mischief between his legs.
Garrion’s smirk spreads slowly, unbothered by the steel or the threat. His gaze locks on mine, dark and amused. “Be careful, my lady,” he teases, voice low and rich. “Sometimes I think it’s the only part of me you truly like.”
I laugh softly, the sound caught between scandal and affection. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I happen to like your shoulders too… and perhaps your stubbornness, though only on rare occasions.”
He leans closer, lips brushing mine as his chuckle rumbles through his chest. “My shoulders and my stubbornness? Gods, I’m spoiled.”
I tilt the blade just enough to remind him who’s in control, my smile wicked. “Spoiled, yes. But not safe.”
His hand closes gently over my wrist, guiding the dagger away with deliberate slowness. “If this is how you declare victory, my lady, I may start losing on purpose.”
The tension breaks into laughter, the moment sharper than any blade. Between us, danger and desire blur into something that feels entirely ours