Page 189 of A Bond in Blood

I left the bed, slipping my gown back over my shoulders and turned to her once more.

“I was a woman when I left home.”

She shook her head. “No, you were an obedient daughter in a woman’s body. A quiet shell of a woman. Doing what she was told. Waiting on that dock like a prize to be claimed. You return with scars of torment, a head high in confidence, and something else I cannot quite place.”

“He tortured me,” I replied. “Yet…” My voice went quiet.

“What, child?”

I went to the window, staring at the hills beyond, searching for the bears in the distance. The ones that would not yet come close to our village with heat still in the air.

“I wonder what he is doing now. I imagine him walking through that stone palace with his creatures at his side. Barking orders, claiming deals he started.”

My heart tightened. “I wonder why he left me there in that courtyard and if we were supposed to end this all with the spilling of my blood.”

“Tea and cakes,” my grandmother’s demand pulled me from my spiral.

I obeyed, gathering her sweets before climbing onto her bed and setting a small tray on her lap. Her hands rose to pour the tea like she had every day of my life, but her arms shook. A clear indication of her quickly losing her strength. My hands wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.

Her eyes were full of sorrow when she met my gaze, but I nodded my chin, letting her know she was okay to give up this sacred rite we’d shared for the last one-hundred and fifty years. Reluctantly, her hands passed me the pot and I poured our tea, making sure to leave hers with less liquid so she could lift her cup. I laid beside her, leaning my head on her shoulder while she brought her drink to her lips.

My heart grew heavy at the familiarity and comfort of it all. A new painful reminder that soon I would have more mornings without our tea and whispers. Mornings without the sound of her harsh laugh. Her stern lectures. Her loving advice.

My tears fell again. Quiet, barely falling onto her frail shoulder.

“Is he handsome?” she whispered.

I laughed at the question. “Grandmother,” I scolded.

“Entertain a dying woman, Brenna. I need to know. The curiosity may take me to my grave the longer you refuse to answer.”

I scoffed at her jests and sat up. “He has handsome features. Thick hair, a groomed beard, inked skin that is—” I paused, finding her eyes wide. I shook my head.

“I cannot have this conversation with you.”

She sipped from her teacup slowly. “I entirely disagree.”

Biting my lip, I chuckled. “His inked skin is like a spell to the eyes. Pieces of art that are beautiful, sorrowful, and horrifying.”

“Go on,” she whispered, picking up a small cake.

“But I have yet to see his face.”

She choked on her treat.

“What?”

“He wearsmasks, grandmother. Every single day. Blocking me from seeing nothing more than a small bit of skin on his nose and his eyes behind them. I have never seen the upper half of his features. Besides the few times I’ve seen the top of his forehead, I have no idea what his brow looks like or his nose. Or how his jaw, hidden by his beard, fits with the rest of his face.”

“My Gods,” she whispered. “How exciting.”

I laughed. “There is no light that breaks through his darkness. When we climbed into our bed each night, the lights were gone, and I could not see him.”

“Our bed?” she asked, raising her brow.

“My service was to sleep beside him each night. An odd request.”

She coughed and pointed to the mantle on her hearth.

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