Chapter 6
Six
Sorcha
Iwoke at dawn. I’d barely slept. Neal was already up and tending the fire, back in his coat and boots.
“Once you’re up and dressed,” he said, not turning away from the fire, “I thought we could head back to the house to fetch a few things then saddle up and head to my da’s old cabin.
It’s up on the river near Taos. We can spend a few weeks there.
I’ll get you up to speed on some self-defense.
It’d be traditional for us to go away, and I think it’d be worthwhile. ”
“Because nothing says newlyweds like survival tactics in some dusty old fishing cabin,” I muttered to myself as I laced my corset back up and pulled on a petticoat. “Did Ansel say he can handle the Court while we’re gone? I don’t need to come back to another crisis.”
Neal nodded as I paused, looking at my discarded wedding dress and then glancing around the room—realization dawning.
“Did you and Ansel remember that I need clothes other than my wedding dress?” I snapped. Neal turned to face me suddenly, face reddening. He was still in his pale grey suit from last night.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I said, picking up the pile of silk and ruffles and starting to put things on. “Serves me right for letting men do a woman’s job.”
I got as far as I could then tossed my bodice on the bed in front of him. “I’ll need help putting this back on.”
“I just want you to be prepared,” Neal said as he refastened the buttons.
“This about the horrifyingly underwhelming honeymoon you have planned?” I asked.
He muttered something in agreement.
“I’m prepared,” I said. “I can defend myself. Your father had me carrying a knife since I was barely walking. Besides, I can summon a bear. Or a wolf. Or a jaguar. And they’ll do it for me.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Neal said, fastening the last button and turning me to face him. “It’s my job to teach you, to keep you safe.”
“You don’t believe I can actually summon?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have concerns the reports may be exaggerated and that you may have an overabundance of confidence,” Neal said. “Sorcha, you’re young.”
I pulled away and took a step back. “I’m not some project. I am not your student. And while I will happily play nice if you respect me? I’ll also remind you that I’m your sovereign.”
The nineteen days of our honeymoon were undoubtedly some of the worst in my life. I counted myself lucky, really. Glad I hadn’t pushed Neal any harder on our wedding night.
He had us up before dawn every day, spending hours on end in the scrublands. He taught me how to build controlled fires at a campsite, rig up lean-to shelters with pine branches, find water out in the desert.
Bushcraft. Navigation.
There was one night, about a week in, when I thought maybe things were going to change.
We were camping—because apparently that was important—and instead of lying down across from me on the other side of the fire, I watched as Neal seemed to fight an internal battle—lose—and then come sit down beside me.
The night got colder, the wind howled, and somehow I fell asleep with my head in his lap, his fingers in my hair. And as I drifted off, I caught myself wondering if maybe things were going to be okay.
The next morning we woke tangled together, my head on his chest. Neal pulled away like he’d been hurt.
There was no repeat performance.
That same day he’d trapped a rabbit and tried to teach me how to field dress it. I made it five minutes before vomiting in the dirt. I’d felt the poor thing’s terror before it died, the pain when Neal shot it.
I couldn’t.
“No more meat,” I told him definitively after that.
And for once he obeyed.
Eventually, when I reached some unarticulated and unknowable threshold of survival skills, Neal moved on to teach me how to fight.
Which was boring. And tedious. I hated every minute.
Our last day out on the Rio Grande, sparring with sticks Neal had whittled roughly into the shape of blades, he knocked me completely off my feet, faux sword drawing up a line of bright red blood on my face.
“Oh no. Oh no,” Neal repeated to himself, crouching beside me and trying to wipe the blood off my cheek.
“Don’t touch me,” I finally snapped, pushing him off and clambering upright.
“Sorcha, that’s bleeding a lot.” Neal insisted, following me back toward the cabin. “Let me at least clean it for you. I don’t want it getting infected.”
I whirled to face him, smearing blood as I tried to wipe it away with my sleeve.
“You don’t get to have it both ways,” I snapped. “So back off!”
Neal stood paralyzed, stunned.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You don’t get to have it both ways,” I repeated.
“Either this marriage is a political arrangement, or it isn’t.
Either you’re doing this to protect the Outer Court from Iksura’s influence and prevent someone from assassinating me, or you’re doing this because you actually have feelings for me.
So decide. Do you care? Are you going to hold my hand and share a bed and clean this out and kiss it better?
Are you going to let me sleep with my head in your lap and hold me when it storms?
Or are you going to be a good soldier and ignore me like you’ve been doing? ”
I didn’t give him a chance to reply, just stalked over to my horse, untied the mare, and mounted bareback.
“Sorcha, we’re not heading back for another . . .” Neal tried to protest, but I just urged the horse onward and trotted away.
“Why is she bleeding?” Ansel asked when he opened the door, glaring at Neal.
“Drop it,” I ordered, pushing past him and into the house.
“I take it you had a very romantic honeymoon?” Ansel asked Neal as he followed behind. We were both dusty, sweaty, and generally disheveled.
“Later,” Neal said gruffly.
“Did you get anything else from Iksura while we were gone? Any more suitors show up?” I asked, picking up one of the ranch cats and heading toward my office. The last thing I wanted to talk about was our disaster of a honeymoon.
“I did,” Ansel replied. “Do you want to look at that . . . right now?”
“I think asking about it made my goals pretty clear?” I snapped in response.
“Just get the papers, Ansel,” Neal encouraged, leaning back against the door and rubbing his temples.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” Ansel said, once we’d convened in my office. He hadn’t stopped moving from the moment we got back to the ranch and was now pacing back and forth in front of my desk.
“So it’s more of the same,” I said. “My claim is illegitimate. I need a noble husband or to let her choose a regent?”
Ansel nodded. I swallowed hard and glanced up at Neal.
He stood against the far wall—head leaned back, eyes closed, brow furrowed.
Weeks ago now, he’d said he thought we could both do worse than marrying one another.
I’d been inclined to agree. He was dedicated, patient, willing to listen.
He was clever when he wanted to be, and his touch was always warm, doting, gentle.
I prayed silently that my outburst out at the cabin would prompt some kind of commitment, some real display of affection.
But no, even like this, even a marriage he swore had to be loveless, I could still do far worse—for a husband, and to father an heir.
“So are we conceding?” Neal asked after a while.
“We haven’t consummated. You could end it now and marry someone of her choice. ”
Ansel snorted. “And destroy how many generations’ work protecting humanity from things that go bump in the night?”
I shook my head. “No. We don’t concede. We hold our ground. We do our damn job. We strengthen the Outer Court imperial line. And we find proof that she’s lying and can’t take control.”
Ansel perked up. Neal opened his eyes and stood to full height.
“So you’re saying . . .” Neal trailed off.
“That we should have a baby,” I finished. “Yes.”
“Knew you’d see the logic soon enough,” Ansel said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. “I’ll be sure to tell the staff you’re both indisposed tonight.”