Page 166 of Settle Down, Princess

So this is what married women experienced, I thought some time early in the morning. The light was all soft, grey, and hazy, and I felt somewhat the same. Nestled down in bed, the blankets so very soft against my skin as a strange kind of lassitude held me in a space between wakefulness and sleep. A big, masculine body held me tucked into his chest, cradled like I was precious. Actually, make that two.

I felt Silas shift beside me, pressing his body into my back with a snort and then a snuffle before he relaxed again. I stretched slowly against him, feeling just like a cat who’d been lying in a spot of sun. Everything in my body ached and yet… I didn’t hate it. No, rather I felt deliciously, wonderfully well used.

“What’s that smile for?” My eyes flicked open to see Roan watching me with an amused expression. “I half expected you to slap me silly this morning.”

“Is that something you wish me to do?” I asked, my eyebrow raising.

“No.” All the levity seemed to go out of him then. “Even though I’d deserve it. Much more than that, really.” He reached out to me like one might a hostile cat, unsure if he was about to be scratched, but my fingers just flexed around his as he clasped my hand. “We didn’t do right by you, lass.”

All my lazy indolence was driven from me at his words. My focus seemed to sharpen, taking in strange details such as the copper sheen of his stubble, then the tiny scar above his lips, as my mind struggled to understand what he was saying. Those lips pursed, his brow creased momentarily as he let out a sigh.

“I’m not sure how you can bear having these hands on you.” His grip loosened and when he pulled away, he stared fixedly at his palms. “There’s blood on them. There was when I met you, the blood of every princess we brought to the king before you, and I…”

His eyes found mine, but I’d never seen Roan look at me like this before. Every defence was down, his eyes wide and staring. No, pleading, for understanding, for forgiveness.

“I was going to let that fucking bastard have you.” Last night I’d been the one wielding the knife, but right now, he was the one stabbing it, right into his own heart. “I told myself I couldn’t do much about it. Power does what power wants, and the gods know I’ve got little, but…”

His hands went to my shoulders, caressing the points with a restlessness that threatened to infect me.

“But I could have thrown you on the back of my horse the minute I found out who you were and rode at full pelt for one of the other borders, Ravenna maybe.” His pupils flicked back and forth, staring but not seeing me. “They make bloody nice wine there. We could’ve used those pearls of yours to buy a place up in the hills, far away from your father, the king, everyone. It’d be a tough life, a hard one for a princess, but—”

I placed my fingers against his lips to stem the flow of words because I could see everything he described, all of it. A cottage like the ones on the packlands, but beyond the door were row upon row of grapevines. If we were there now, we’d just be waking up. I’d be lying in his arms, and he’d be holding me tightly, like he was now. Rather than stop him from talking, we’d discuss what we needed to get done that day in low, soft voices still croaky from sleep. We wouldn’t be princess and guard, but man and… That hurt to think of, this alternate fate. I tried to smile and failed, the look of concern on Roan’s face growing, but I couldn’t be the caretaker of his emotions right now, not when my own were riding me hard.

Why didn’t you? That's what I wanted to ask. Why didn’t you try? How the hell could you just lead a girl to certain death without a scrap of concern? How could you resign yourself to just letting me die? As my throat worked, the small sound of distress I made resulted in him drawing closer. He held me tighter, obviously worried about my response, but just as the pain inside me seemed to rise to a crescendo, I finally was able to squeeze a response out.

“But you didn’t. We didn’t. You accepted the commands of your king, your commander.” Gods, there was some bitterness there, but I wasn’t allowed to just wallow in that as a realisation hit me hard. “Just as I did those of my parents.”

I blinked as I saw it, the temple and my father’s courtyard, and in each place, there were a hundred different Jessalyn’s. A girl who turned on her father and made clear she would not go. One that screamed her fury, her disgust at what had been agreed to. One that snatched the knife from the sheath her mother had given her and wielded it, cutting the blade through the air if any of them sought to get any closer.

But I didn’t.

I’d plotted and planned but never even considered a direct refusal of an order, and neither had they.

“Each one of us thought we were powerless to do anything else.” Roan’s eyes met mine, and I studied him like I would a text, trying to find the answer there to a question that would not be denied. “How can you feel powerless?”

I reached out not in lust, but with a burning curiosity, touching his broad chest, my fingertips trailing through a smattering of coppery hair there. I found white scar after white scar, each one telling the tale of a battle he’d fought, but more importantly, the ones he survived. I remembered the catamount and his sword and the way he leapt so decisively, his body a picture of masculine power, which completely contradicted what he was saying.

“How can you feel powerless?” My fingers shoved at his chest, but he didn’t move an inch. “How can you feel powerless, Roan?”

“All men face a power greater than themselves.” Silas’ arch voice came up and over my shoulder, forcing me to turn around. He acknowledged that with a wry smile. “They just don’t like to talk about it much. The common man is forced to answer to his employer, to those with more money, of a higher station than him. The middle class builds their wealth, but riches aren’t enough to buy your way into some circles.”

His lips twisted.

“It’s blood for the aristocracy. You have to be born into the right family on the right side of the blanket, and that creates a strange kind of fatalism. Because the most important thing a noble can do is be born.” He shrugged. “Everything after that simply must be tolerated, including murderous kings.”

He loomed over me now, rolling my way as I lay flat on the bed.

“Arik is our prince, our commander, but we’ve each said that he is the head and Creed is the heart. My brother’s wolf was never going to allow you to get within the king’s grip. He saw exactly how precious you are the moment he laid eyes on you, and his mind was working. To find a way to protect you from the king and…” Silas shook his head slowly. “And from Arik. Jessalyn…”

He reached for me then.

“There’s no excuses we can make for what we did. Some things can’t be explained away or justified and I won’t try to. All I can do is try to make amends. We’re done accepting our lot in life, enacting the king’s will.” His fingers shook as he trailed them through the air, describing the shape of my body without actually touching it. “I guess that’s obvious, after what we did last night.”

My hand pressed against my stomach, feeling that ache, that heat there. All of my worth as a woman of noble birth had been torn away in a night of passion with three men, none of which were my husband. A faint thread of hysteria flexed within me, setting my teeth on edge. I’d so blithely declared that I was prepared to face the executioner’s blade, but…

What was the alternative? I saw the ring of bruises around Giselle’s neck and then shook my head sharply. No, not that. Anything but that. My breath came in hard and fast, right before the room came back with a snap.

“In my head, you made me yours the moment you took the knife from me,” Silas continued.

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