Page 43 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

He loved her for making him want more instead of just accepting his lot.

Solis floated up beside him in complete agreement. They loved her. Neither cared that, compared to the vastness of their lives, the few days they’d known Hrafn were nothing. It didn’t matter because it didn’t change the truth of it. Immortality and the trajectory of where they were headed had been altered the second they spotted her in the trees. This warrior woman had come into their life like a cannonball, and nothing had survived the wreckage. Nothing else mattered.

In his exuberance to finish off his second plate, he accidentally spilled a little onto the floor. The nearest shadow baby, a lumpy one, bleated excitedly, then dove for the beans and pap, licking it up and swallowing it down.

“Ha,” Malcolm scoffed, “that’s not an ember. Those were beans, silly thing.”

The lumpy one seemed pleased with himself at first. Then he lightened in color from black to dark gray, and he coughed so hard he broke into three smaller pieces of darkness. The clumps of smog rolled onto their backs and cried in unison. Malcolm burst out laughing.

“There, now,” Hrafn said, as inky blue tears leaked down their faces. She spooned a bit of the yogurt into each of their sobbing mouths, soothing them. They gummed the cream for a moment, then slowly cheered, returning to their darker color.

Malcolm watched her gentleness and felt a pang of remorse. She was doing a better job tending to the shadows, who were his responsibility, than he was. Perhaps that was why he disliked it when she kept calling them babies. It was one thing to be a neglectful master, another issue entirely to be a poor father.

Malcolm scooped the puffs into the crook of his arm. They snuggled together in his embrace. “That’s it, now,” he said encouragingly, hugging them gently, and the three bits of smog trembled as they reformed into the lumpy one he recognized. “There you go. Well done.”

Hrafn gave him an admiring look that pleased him to his core. The light in her eyes felt like a precious thing, a gift as important as the bread she’d crafted. With just one simple glance, she’d made him feel like a bigger man. A better one, too.

He would be in hell when she left.

Might as well enjoy the trip there, Solis said, and Malcolm couldn’t agree more. Avoiding her was a useless endeavor. He needed to soak up as much of her as possible, create memories he could treasure for an immortal lifetime.

“The woods are full of beasts,” Malcolm said gruffly. “The monster has his eye on this fortress, and I can no longer waste my efforts on trying to keep you confined because I need your help. I’m not yet ready to master the monster. My powers strain my muscles, physically and mentally. I need to train, but it’s hard to prepare effectively alone, and you’ve got Solis so abysmally distracted, he’s no good to me.”

I beg your pardon?Solis griped.

What did I say that isn’t true?

Instead of answering, Solis curled up closer to Hrafn’s shadows on the floor.

“I’ve seen you training,” she said, “and I’ve wanted to join you, but you’ve been very stubborn about the little matter of my arrest.”

“Little matter,” he said, chortling. Then he sighed in resignation. “I wrote to the king several days ago, but I’ve received no response from him with the roads barred. I’ve told him what I’ve seen. If he wants to punish me for making better use of you after all that, then so be it. I’m not any good as a jailer, anyway. If challenged, at least I can tell him I wholeheartedly tried.”

“I’ll train you like the Vanir, and we’ll bring down the monster together.” The glint in her eyes was full of fire, a warrior ready for battle.

That fire was contagious. Malcolm felt himself sinking into the heat in her gaze and igniting. His hands balled into fighting fists. “My ability to control shadows was strongest when I was at my fittest. It’s unreasonable to expect me to get back to that peak performance in a short time, but surely we can make a few improvements if we try.”

“More than a few.” She nudged his plate closer to him. “Now finish eating. You’re going to need your strength.”

* * *

They met in the courtyard after their meal. Malcolm had changed back into his leathers and immediately regretted it. He felt confined and uncomfortable in his training gear. The shadow babies and Clapa watched from the steps that led to the keep’s entrance.

“I may need to give up meat and wine for a while,” he said, pulling on the ends of his vest. “I’ve let myself get soft. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Training isn’t about changing your appearance. It’s about making you faster and stronger.” Hrafn moved in front of him and reached out, pressing a hand against his belly. There was a great deal more give there than he preferred. She looked him over, head cocked to the side. “I like that there’s more of you, and you’re not soft, even for a lordling. I’ve seen your strength.”

In the grass below Malcolm’s feet, Solis’s chest puffed out at the compliment. Malcolm did a slightly better job of hiding the pride he felt at her praise, but he curbed the feeling. He didn’t want her expectations up too high. The life of a lord didn’t lend itself to athletics unless one considered writing absurd amounts of letters athletic in some fashion. His finger muscles were in decent shape, he supposed. “I haven’t had a proper reason to use a sword in ages. I’m practically a dandy lord—”

Hrafn punched him right in the sternum, hard enough to knock him back a pace. Clapa cackled from the steps. A smile sprung to Malcolm’s lips even as he groaned out in pain. Her violence always triggered his good humor. His father had instilled a love of rough play in him, the Vanir way.

“Ow, woman.” He rubbed at his chest, grinning ear to ear. “What the blazes was that for?”

“Stop saying unkind things about my mate,” she said flatly.

“Raven,” he said chuckling, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your mate is a shit-sack. It’s a wonder you haven’t noticed yet.”

Her brow wrinkled in a scowl. “You’re lucky you’reyou.” She hit him again, a lightning-quick strike to his shoulder. Clapa’s bell-like laughter echoed behind him.

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