Page 30 of WarBride

Even as I say it, the hopelessness of the proposal hits me like a wave. Elydark and I are formidable together, but against the entire Noxaurian host, urged on by Lurodos and driven mad on virulium? We don’t stand a chance.

The girl watches me, her dark eyes shadowed despite the firelight. Reading my expression, she asks softly, “How far do you think we’d make it before they cut us down?”

“Possibly to the forest’s edge. Then my bowels would be spilt upon the ground and my head raised on a stake. My licorneir would erupt in flame, killing all within range beforegoing out once and for all. And you? Should you survive the altercation . . .”

She doesn’t answer. She knows the unspoken truth well enough. Huddled back in her chair, she looks down at her once-wounded hand, at the little white scar, now healed. Her expression is intent, her brow furrowed in that line which is already becoming familiar.

“Why do you care?” she asks at last. “Why go through all this trouble, this risk?” When I don’t answer at once, she continues, “If it were just for a chance to lie with me, you could have done so by now. It’s not like I could stop you. Is it because you want me willing? Do you not like it when your victims struggle? Or is it . . . is it possible you really are as noble and self-sacrificing as you pretend to be?”

I am not noble. I am not self-sacrificing. Not in this instance at least. The truth burns in my gut, deep down where I can no longer refuse to acknowledge it. I simply could not let a monster like Lurodos have her. Not this fiery creature, who fought so hard to defend her fallen sister, even against foes far beyond her scope. Not once has she backed down, not once has she let fear be her master. Courage burns through her veins like song, lighting up her very soul.

Looking down at my right forearm, I feel again the invisible cord wrapped there. The sacredvelrabond, which cannot last for us, as we are not meant for this lifetime union. But I feel it nonetheless, stronger than I like to admit. How can I be so drawn to, so compelled by, a woman I do not know? A human woman no less. Gods, I don’t even know her name!

“I promised to tell you no lies,” I say at last, not lifting my gaze from my arm. “But in this instance, I can tell you no truth either, for . . . I do not know the answer to your question. All I know is, when I saw you up there on that scaffold, surrounded by those bloodthirsty brutes, I could not leave you there.”

I look at her then, careful to meet her eyes and let my gaze stray nowhere else. “This bond we share may be only temporary. But so long as you are under my protection, I will do as I vowed: I will guard you, shelter you, and, insofar as it is in my power, I will strive to give you both pleasure and delight.” Sighing heavily, I offer a half-smile. “I wish we had more time. Time for me to prove myself, to earn your trust. Such is not the fate the gods have ordained for us, however. So I ask for your trust unearned. Give me this chance to prove myself worthy of the asking.”

She lowers her gaze, studying the fire between us. She cannot be aware of how the skirt of her gown has parted, revealing much of her long, lithe legs. I have seen many beautiful women in my lifetime; it’s not as though this sight is anything new. Yet somehow these tantalizing glimpses are a revelation. Everything about her is new, thrilling, with the promise of further discoveries waiting to be made. My body goes hot and cold, and I grip the arms of my chair tight with both hands.

Finally, after what feels like an endless interval, she rises, pressing her scarred hand to her breast. She comes toward me, rounding the fire, and I stand as well, towering over her. I wait to meet her, my pulse racing, filled with uncertain hope and dread. The moment has come, but I do not yet know what that moment may be. Her eyes are downcast, and I cannot seem to tear my gaze away from those soft lashes fanning her cheeks.

She comes to a stop within arms’ reach of me. I wait, my breath held tight in my chest.

“When it is over,” she whispers, her voice only just audible over the crackle of the fire, “when the law is satisfied . . . you will help me find my sister.”

“I will.”

“And you will free us both?”

“Yes. I will see you safely delivered wherever you wish and provide you with any necessary supplies.”

She nods. A long, shuddering breath eases through her parted lips. I watch the delicate flutter of her pulse in her throat, the play of light across her features. Then she lifts her dark lashes and gazes up at me from eyes like two deep forest pools.

“Very well, warlord,” she says softly. “Do what you must. Save my life.”

11

ILSEVEL

I don’t know what I expect to happen next. Not exactly.

My heart throbs so fast, I fear it will make an audible boom in my breast. My body shivers as though cold, though the heat from the nearby fire is almost oppressive against my skin. I stare up at this massive, terrifying man. This warlord. This brute. Red glare highlights every chiseled edge of his body, even as it did when I first saw him, surrounded by screams and blood and terror. Looking at him now, that’s all I can remember—not the gentle touch when he tended my hand, or the low, rumbling croon of his voice when he sang. He is nothing but a stranger to me. My enemy.

And yet I just told him to do as he willed with my body. All in the desperate hope that he might turn out to be a man of his word.

Run,my mind tells me, a scream in the back of my head.Run, get out of here!

But I won’t. I meet his gaze, hold it without shrinking.

When I was fifteen and I invited Artoris into my chambers, the door was scarcely shut before he was on me. Will it be the same with this man? My experience with such matters is limited to that desperate moment of gasping, grasping, and groping seven years ago. Of being pushed onto the bed, of my clothes ripped and my body pinched, and everything moving too fast. I told myself it was all right to be frightened. It’s love; love is frightening. I told myself the sick churning in my gut was excitement, that the way my skin shivered at the touch of hishands was a thrill. And when I whispered, “Wait, wait, wait!” into his ear—and he answered, “I cannot. You are too much for me. I cannot resist you”—I reminded myself that I was the one to invite him into my chambers. I knew what I was getting myself into. Didn’t I?

So when I screamed—when the guards down the hall burst into the room and pulled him off me, hitting him in the gut so that he doubled over—when he was dragged out to the pillory and shamed before the whole of my father’s court—I knew it was my fault. I did this to him. Every lash he took seared my conscience even as it ripped his flesh. And I vowed I would love him forever, despite anything my father did, despite how every force in the worlds seemed determined to tear us apart.

Those memories flash through my mind now, one after another, as vivid as though freshly lived. And with them, the memory of Captain Wulfram and his men. Piled up dead on the floor of that hall, their throats slit. That is the kind of man Artoris is—a man who will kill any who get in his way. A man who will not take no for an answer. The only way to survive such men is to show no fear. I’ve learned that lesson well over the years, living in my father’s court. Any trace of weakness will be exploited, so one must always stand firm. And when courage fails, fake it. Fake it until you yourself believe it.

My body is stiff. Dread churns in my gut as I gaze up into the warlord’s eyes. Taar—a harsh name, like the tearing of claws through flesh. It suits him. I wonder, will he tear my flesh as he takes his pleasure from me? Before I set out on my Maiden’s Journey, my father’s favorite mistress, Fyndra, was brought to my chambers to instruct me on the arts of the bedroom. She told me what I could expect from my wedding night. Every word that fell from her laughing mouth filled me with horror.

This may not have been the bridal chamber I’d expected nor the bridegroom I’d anticipated. And yet, somehow, here I am.As though it was always my fate to end up in the arms of some ravenous stranger. But if I can just endure for one night . . . if I can get through the next few minutes . . .

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