Page 16 of Stolen Thorn Bride

“Youwhat?” Suddenly, Dechlan was standing, without any clear memory of how he’d managed to get out of bed. He had no strength except that granted by his rage, but he stood toe to toe with the man he’d always considered a brother, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Miach, tell me you did not do this thing! Tell me you did not use me so harshly!”

Once, his magic would have crackled at his fingertips when he was angry. Once, his eyes would have been alight with power, but the wraiths had drained him almost to the last of his reserves.

And yet, when he turned a disbelieving glance at the human—his humanbondmateif Miach was telling the truth—she was staring at him in fear, her lips slightly parted, hazel eyes wide and uncertain. How she could possibly be terrified of him in this abominably weakened state, he had no idea.

Until he looked down and realized he was clad in nothing but a pair of simple silken trousers.

Not fear then, but shock, perhaps.

As shocked as he, to realize he’d awakened to a monstrous betrayal.

“I know this comes as a surprise,” Miach was saying. “And that you may be angry. But I could not lose you, too.” His eyes pleaded with Dechlan to understand. “Aureann’s death nearly broke me, as it did you. I have lost so many, given so much, that at the moment when a solution was suggested, I seized it, because I could not bear one more tragedy.” He drew himself up and faced Dechlan soberly, his own magic shining in a glowing halo around him. “If you must hate me, I understand. But I will bear your anger gladly, if only because you are alive to feel it!”

Alive. Alive to feel. Dechlan didn’t know what he felt. His anger suddenly drained away, and his knees buckled.

Miach caught him and lowered him back to the bed, concern written across his brow.

“Please,” Dechlan muttered in Elvish. “Whatever you’ve done, just get her out of here. I don’t wish to be stared at by a stranger.”

His king nodded mutely and turned to the girl. “Please allow us some privacy,” he said, with surprising gentleness. “You may return to speak with him later. I will ensure your safety, I swear to you.”

She appeared to choke back some sort of retort and nodded.

“Fine.”

Then with one last, unreadable glance at Dechlan, she followed Nuala from the room.

Chapter 5

Kasia trailed mutely after Nuala without really seeing where she was going. She was too busy reliving those moments when her new husband glanced at her with icy disdain, then dismissed her as though she were nothing. Too preoccupied with wincing when she recalled his rage over what had been done to save him.

She was also replaying the moment when he leaped from his bed and stood there clad in nothing but a pair of trousers… And who could blame her? He might be cold, condescending, and very,veryangry, but her elf husband—Dechlan, she thought they’d called him—was just as gorgeous as her first assessment suggested. More so, her traitorous mind argued, when one considered his shirtless state.

His chest could have been carved from marble, and his shoulders would be the envy of every human male she knew. They were both broad and strong, built for power as well as grace. His height was as intimidating as his perfectly sculpted face, and that fall of dark hair… as if part of him were draped in silk and shadow.

Though why she should bother noticing any of it was beyond her. She might be married to him, but he clearly despised her. And Kasia would be hanged before she made any attempts to change that.

She’d saved his life. Been forced into this by the desperate need to survive for the sake of her family. And, she could admit, by an unwilling surge of compassion for a dying man’s plight, but that had died a swift and merciful death when he looked at her out of those cold, cold gray eyes.

Now, she owed him nothing, and her first goal would be to leave him behind at the earliest opportunity. King Miach had what he wanted—his friend’s life had been spared—and he had promised to do what he could to help her. As the king, surely he would be able to decree that she be allowed to return home. It wasn’t as if her new husband—bondmate?—would have any use for her, and no doubt he would be happier not to have to put up with her for any longer than necessary.

And he certainly wouldn’t welcome her presence in his current state. He was weak and vulnerable, and if the seer’s words were accurate, no one knew whether to expect that to change. He might lie in that bed for the rest of his life, resenting everyone who’d forced him to live when he preferred the quiet release of death.

As she followed the woman named Nuala up a set of stairs and stopped at a set of double doors carved with an oak tree, Kasia realized that the burdens she had resented not so very many hours ago might be slight in comparison to the ones she now faced.

“In here.” The elf woman flung open the door and pointed.

Kasia peered in and saw an elegant bedchamber with oaken furniture, blue silk bed hangings, and a round window that let in the dim light of dusk.

“There’s a washing chamber behind that door.” Nuala indicated it with a jerk of her head. “I will find someone to lend you clothing until you can acquire more. If”—she added with a hint of a sneer—“I can find someone short enough.”

“That’s very kind,” Kasia said with bland politeness, “but I have no way to acquire more clothing, and I’m quite attached to what I have, thank you. Perhaps I can wash what I am wearing and return whatever you borrow as soon as my own clothing is dry.”

Nuala looked down her nose in condescending disbelief. At least, that’s how Kasia interpreted her flat stare. “The bondmate of the Rian of the Northwatch will be clad accordingly,” the elf woman proclaimed icily. “Not in pig keeper’s rags.”

Kasia just shrugged. “That wasn’t part of the deal, and therefore I have no reason to comply.” It probably wasn’t wise to antagonize someone with such close ties to her new husband. But Kasia needed to feel that some small thing was still within her control, even if it was nothing more than her clothes. “I don’t even know what ‘Rian of the Northwatch’ means,” she continued carelessly. “Is it some kind of courtesy title? Or a nickname?”

The elf woman’s nostrils flared. “Has anyone ever told you, human, that you have no tact?”

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