Page 2 of The War of Four Winters

"You will wait." His lips vibrated against my skin, each word a command pressed directly into my flesh. "You will plan. You will trust that I understand exactly what's at stake."

His grip constricted. Black spots swam across my vision. The edges of the world darkened.

"And you will not throw away everything we've built on a suicide mission. I forbid it."

A shiver raced down my spine that had nothing to do with the snow seeping through my clothes. My body responded before my mind could resist, remembering chains and commands and submission. Muscle memory. Bone deep. Months of slavery had carved these responses into me.

"I am not your slave anymore." I spat the words through clenched teeth.

They rang hollow even to my own ears. We both knew the truth wasn't so simple. The collar was gone, but something else had replaced it. Something deeper. Something chosen rather than forced.

Something more.

His free hand slid from my jaw to my throat. His palm settled over my pulse. A pressure so light it barely existed. The ghost of what once was.

"No. You're not my slave."

Heat laced his voice. It made my pulse jump beneath his fingers. The rhythm of prey recognizing predator.

"You're something far more dangerous. My equal. My partner in this war."

His fingers tightened fractionally. A promise. A threat. Both at once.

"Which means I need you alive and thinking clearly."

The words sliced through my rage like a blade through flesh. Equal. Partner. The terms still felt foreign on my tongue, though we'd been building this new dynamic between us for months. Snow melted beneath me. Cold water soaked through my clothes. My struggles gradually stilled.

"The rider who brought news of Homeshore's fall still lives,” Ruith said. His weight shifted, but he didn't release me. "He still lives, barely. If we return now, we might question him further about Michail's forces, his plans. That's worth more than a suicidal charge into enemy territory."

My teeth clenched at the memory of the messenger's words. Homeshore taken. The port burning. The news had sent me riding blind with fury before hearing anything else.

"He was barely conscious when he delivered his message," I said. My voice scraped raw against my throat. "What makes you think he still lives?"

"If he doesn't, we have other ways of getting answers. Daraith awaits our return. Dead or alive, that messenger will tell us what we need to know."

The necromancer's name sent a shiver through me different from the cold seeping into my clothes. I'd experienced his powers firsthand when he helped raise me from death. I remembered nothing of death, or my immediate return, but the thought of him questioning a corpse made my skin crawl. Still, necessity overruled revulsion.

Ruith finally released me. He rose to his feet and offered his hand. I took it, pride warring with practicality as he pulled me up. He didn't release my hand. Instead, he pulled me closer, his other hand tangling in my snow-dampened hair.

The kiss was claim and comfort both. Fierce enough to steal my breath. A reminder of everything we'd built, everything I'd risked with my blind charge toward vengeance. I leaned into him despite myself. His warmth chased away the lingering chill of rage.

When he finally drew back, his eyes held equal measures of love and warning. I found myself doing what no other would dare. What even now felt like a privilege that stole my breath. My fingers slid into his dark hair, brushing one of his braids.

The touch transcended physical intimacy. More intimate than any kiss. Any coupling. The fact that he allowed it—that he leaned into my touch rather than pulling away—said more than any political title of consort ever could. A reminder that we were bound by more than just the remnants of old power dynamics now.

His sharp intake of breath matched my own. His hand caught my wrist. Not to pull away, but to press my palm more firmly against his hair.

"Still trying to tame me?" he murmured. His voice had gone rough.

"No more than you've tried to tame me," I whispered back.

My fingers wound deeper into his braid. The admission cost nothing now, not when we both knew the truth of us.

"We're beyond that, aren't we? Wild things choosing to stay."

His answering smile held an edge of the vicious prince I'd once despised. He turned his head. Pressed his lips to my palm. I marveled at how such a gentle gesture could come from the same elf who'd had me tied to a post and flogged mere months ago.

The path from collar to consort still felt unreal at times. From hating this elf to fighting beside him to sharing his bed. Each step was impossible until it wasn't. Even now, part of me marveled at how completely my world had shifted.

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