Page 47 of Winter's Fate

The reckoning was coming. He might have the decency to be sorry when he clapped her in irons, but she had to believe he might well do it just the same, whether she’d saved his life or not. No matter how tightly his arm was wrapped around her now. No matter how intently he watched her. No matter how pleasant his laugh.

When the dinner was cleared and the laughter had faded into murmurs, Fizz and the others laid out pallets among the trees while Gretchen and Maynard set up to take first watch. Reluctant though they might seem to be, making a home in the woods, the rest of the bandits arranged their bedrolls with efficiency. Fizz showed Laena and Callum to a spot between a more secluded pair of trees, a pallet for the two of them.

A single pallet. For the married couple they were pretending to be.

“One pallet,” Laena said, mostly because she couldn’t help herself. “Not two?”

Maynard, lingering by the fire, let out a laugh. “You’re not still as angry with him as all that, are you, mistress? Nothing a bit of sleep can’t cure, I’m sure.”

“Sleep,” Laena said. “Right.”

Callum glanced over his shoulder, the flames flickering warm shadows across his face. “I could offer to take the first watch in their stead,” he said softly. “I’m not sure they’d trust me.”

But Laena shook her head. “You’re as weary as I am.”

Clearly he couldn’t argue with that. Together, they settled onto the pallet, which, if not entirely comfortable, was surprisingly thick and protective against the bumpy roots of the forest floor. Laena settled onto her back, propping her hands on her stomach, where a knot of tension was slowly building. Callum’s elbow brushed hers, sending an electric charge up her arm, and she shivered.

“Why did you have to say we were married?” she whispered.

“I didn’t think it through,” he replied.

Laena shifted onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “What, you’re not going to pretend it was to protect me?”

Callum was already on his side—she’d expected him to lie on his back, more for her—and the size of the pallet meant they were lying scandalously close, mere inches separating his hips from hers. It would be nothing to wrap her leg around his, to invite the touch he’d so carefully withheld at the fire.

“Would you accept such an answer?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. I need no one’s protection.”

He lifted a hand to her face, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear, his finger lingering on the shell of her ear. “Perhaps I am the one who needs protection,” he said, a mere undertone in the dark.

Protection from her, he must mean. Protection from her magic. Dread creeped up her throat and lodged itself there, sending pulses of anxiety through her chest. “Will you tell the king?” she asked.

Will you clap me in irons?That half of the question went unspoken, but it was implied. It hung between them like it had the power to push them apart. Whatever he said next, whatever he had decided—or not decided—would define the rest of this journey.

She could escape him, if she needed to. She could run to Silerith, beg for asylum there.

His fingertips trailed down her neck, and her skin came aliveat his touch, goosebumps flickering down her spine. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said.

For a moment, Laena forgot to breathe.

Not “magic is evil” or “I’ll have to report this.” Not even “If I had any sense, you would be in chains by now.”

I thought I’d lost you.

He smelled of leather and woodsmoke, a delicious combination, and it had been so long since anyone had touched her like this. “They’re not watching,” she said, her own voice like an exhale. “You don’t need to pretend.”

He leaned closer. “I’m not pretending.” His breath was hot against her lips, his mouth a hair’s breadth from hers.

“But the magic…”

“I spent a day and a night fearing you were gone,” he said. “I found you held against your will by people who’ve already tried to spill your blood and damn near succeeded. I spent today pretending to be your husband, and wishing…”

He trailed off, and she found herself aching for him to continue, to hear the words his lips wouldn’t form. “Damn the magic, Laena. If you say it’s not a heart-tithe, I believe you.”

She couldn’t be hearing him correctly. It wasn’t possible.

Only he was looking at her with that blue-eyed intensity, all seriousness. All truth. Callum Farrow was all blunt force. He might have a talent for subterfuge, should he try it, but she knew enough of him by now to know that he preferred his words to be taken at face value.

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