29. Fell

29

Fell

I NEVER EXPECTED MY WIFE'S REJECTION TO HURT. WHEN I ventured south, I never thought I would feel anything for the bride I would claim. But this ache was as pervasive as the fog filling my life. A constant stitch in my side, pinching, stinging, never releasing me. I was married to a woman I wanted. Desperately. Unexpectedly. But there it was. I wanted her.

And she did not want me.

She made it clear that we would not be husband and wife in the truest sense. And yet I had not moved myself into another chamber. I still stayed in that bed with her, an idiot, a fool.

The yawning gap between us did not get any smaller in the days that followed. It did not shrink over the next week, or the week after that.

If anything, the gulf between us grew wider with each passing day.

I was a glutton for punishment. There was no other explanation. I slept in our bed—well, I didn't get much sleep with a throbbing cock and a throbbing palm that wouldn't let up. Lying so close, without touching her, denying myself contact, not being able to close the distance between us, was a torment. It had been better when we were separated. Not better better, but at least not this much pain. Not this agony.

When we had been miles apart, the buzzing in my palm, while persistent, had not been painful. Now this throbbing hurt, radiating up my arm and throughout my entire body like one giant gnawing wound.

How could this be normal? Did every blooded couple experience this? I should have been warned. I would never have done it. Never have let them press our bleeding palms together.

Distraction was my goal, and there was plenty to distract myself with—at least in the daylight hours. I threw myself into all the things that needed to be done after almost two months away. And there were many.

Training to resume, especially as I still intended to march an army on the City the following spring. I had not changed my mind on that count. The dragon threat only added a sense of urgency. Unseating Hamlin from power seemed more important than ever, and preparations needed to begin now.

Additionally, repairs throughout the stronghold had been neglected in my absence. There were farmers to meet with to discuss the coming crops. Vassals with concerns that needed to be heard. Recompense offered to Arkin's family. His wife didn't know of his treachery. No one did. Just me. Me. And Tamsyn. There was no point in sharing that shame—especially as it was no fault of his family. I sent a small party to travel to his lands and visit his wife and daughters. Aside from their grief, they would be stricken with worry over their position in the Borderlands. Assurances needed to be given. A new vassal lord needed to be appointed, but that didn't mean I would leave Arkin's widow and offspring without support.

Oh. And there was still the dragon threat to be tackled. I had not forgotten that.

No matter how distracting my wife and my suffering, I had not forgotten that the curse of the skies had returned. Or perhaps, to be more accurate, it had never left.

Since word had already circulated through the surrounding countryside and beyond, the only thing left to do was to shore up our defenses and make certain we were ready in the event the dragon returned. The catapults were dusted off, as were the giant scale-tipped arrows of dragon bone. Once they were tested for accu racy and proven functional, they were positioned in their old spots along the outer and inner walls. All our arrows and swords and shields of dragon bone and dragon scales were unearthed from the bowels of the fortress and restored, made ready for every warrior. Training commenced in earnest. I had a new generation of warriors to prepare for an enemy they had never faced.

Weapons for dragon defense were not the only thing I unearthed. My father had kept the lion's share of treasure that was uncovered in the Crags, keeping it hidden away.

Certainly he had turned over a large portion to the realm, but Balor the Butcher was not known to be a trusting man. It was not greed that had prompted him to stash away his personal hoard. It was wisdom. He had warned me many times to trust no one in a position of power, as their motivation would always be suspect, and the day may come when the hoard would be a useful and valuable tool... necessary to guarantee survival, to bribe and form alliances with other kingdoms. It could mean the difference between life and death. Not just for me but for our people.

It was this wisdom that prompted my father to stash treasure in multiple locations. He had divided it up and hidden it in different places throughout the fortress. One large trunk was hidden beneath the floorboards of the library. It was in this room I found myself, carefully prying the boards back and opening the chest, browsing through the assortment of gems and gold until I uncovered the perfect piece. Slipping it into my pocket, I closed the trunk. Securing the floorboards back in place, I went in search of my wife.

I FOUND HER in our chamber.

Tamsyn had not ventured far from the room since our arrival. Almost as though she feared the world outside her door. And yet fear was not a word I would ever associate with her. Not this girl... not this woman who had taken beatings as her due, who had faced down bandits and a huldra with all the calm of a cat lazing in the sun. She'd attacked that huldra and trussed her up like a hog for the spit. As my father would say—she had mettle.

If she had been scared on the journey north, she certainly had not let it get to her. It never showed on her face. She had not acted the coward. She had acted like a warrior.

Still, I hated the idea that she was not comfortable here.

There were whispers. I heard the murmurs throughout the fortress, even beyond, out in the shops, in villages of the Borg. They thought her too precious to emerge from her chamber. They called her spoiled. Haughty. The Whipping Bitch. They thought she held herself above everybody else.

They were wrong, of course, but nothing I said could change their minds. It would be up to her to alter their opinions. If she chose to do so. If she cared.

Time would reveal who she was to these people. Mari knew. So did Magnus and Vidar. They spoke of her heroics with the huldra to anyone who would listen. Others would soon learn, as well.

She was reading a book, reclining on a chaise near the window in a gown of warm yellow that did amazing things for her golden skin and red hair. Those flame-colored tresses were braided and wrapped into a cornet around her head. My fingers itched to pull it apart, to loosen the strands and watch the fiery mane flow over her shoulders and down her back.

She was like a beam of sunshine, glowing in the trickle of paltry light seeping in from outside. The day was covered in snow and fog. She was a spot of brightness amid so much white and gray and gloom... almost unearthly in appearance, radiant, as though she were not bound to this world like the rest of us mortals. I shook off these fanciful thoughts.

She looked up as I entered the room, firing that practiced smile of hers that did not quite reach her eyes at me. It was always in place the moment she saw me. I was getting used to it. I despised it for its falseness, for its uncertainty, but I knew it well.

She lowered the book to her lap. "Hello," she greeted me.

"Hello. Enjoying the day?" Not that she had stepped outside this chamber to enjoy it.

I nodded to the window that overlooked the Borg. It was a great view. A bounty of steep hills that dipped and turned and twisted, winding up into the mountains, which soared in an endless pelt of snow-covered rock.

"I would enjoy it more if you would let me go for a ride." She motioned to those hills beyond the Borg. "I would like to see the mountains." Her gaze fixed on me hopefully.

"You want to ride into the mountains?" I frowned.

She nodded.

I gestured to the window. "You can't get a better view than this one."

She sighed. "You can't keep me cooped up in here forever, you know."

I bit back the response that I could do just that.

It was a familiar conversation. Almost immediately upon arriving home, she had wanted to ride outside the gates of the fortress, outside the settlement of the Borg and into the countryside, into those foothills that led into the mountains. She was mistaken, however, if she thought I was going to let her go riding into the Crags when there was a dragon on the loose. She had already survived one encounter. I wasn't about to put her at risk again.

"You know there is a dragon still at large, right?"

She went tight as a knot, her features flattening into a stony mask.

Of course she knew that. She was likely still recovering from that trauma. A dragon had burned a man alive in front of her, and then abducted her and carried her off into the sky. It was no wonder she wanted some time to herself and did not feel like mingling with a bunch of strangers.

I spoke more gently. "I think it wise for you to stay indoors."

Her chin went up, her eyes lighting like embers, ready to battle, and my hand jumped in response. "For how long? Forever?"

I shook my head. "I cannot say. But no, not forever." At least I didn't think so. I wanted to say: At least not until the dragon is caught. But I didn't like making promises when there was still so much unknown. For all I knew, this dragon would be plaguing us for years to come...

Or there could even be more of them out there in the world, a whole pride of dragons about to rain down hellfire on humankind and plunge us back into the days before the Threshing.

The silence grew heavy between us, and I shifted my weight, staring down at her.

"Well," she said after some time. "Was there something else I could do for you?"

She couldn't even stand to have me around.

"Yes." My hand dipped into my pocket. Closing my fingers around the chain, I lifted the necklace out into the air. "I got this for you. Thought you might need something to replace the necklace you gave to the bandits."

A smile appeared, edging her mouth. "I didn't give anything to the bandits. It was a trade. A barter."

I inclined my head. "Oh. Is that how we are remembering it?"

"That is the truth," she supplied.

Rather than argue, I held out the necklace for her. "May I?"

She sat up, nodded, and leaned forward.

I approached and slipped the chain around her neck, fastening the clasp at her nape. The heavy weight of stones settled above her breasts, the row of gems like a vine of grapes, perfectly round, the raspberry-red jewels glinting with their own energy, not requiring light to make them glow. In fact, against her skin, they seemed to glow even brighter, even more brilliant.

She brushed her fingertips against the necklace, and then dragged her fingers even lower, over the rising swells of her breasts.

My mouth dried.

"Thank you," she murmured. "It's very kind of you."

Kind. A word no one had ever applied to me.

I did not feel very kind. I did not have very kind thoughts looking at her right now. No, my thoughts could be classified as decidedly unkind . They were too dirty for that. Too wicked. Wrapped up in want and need for a wife who wanted nothing to do with me.

And I couldn't stop myself. Couldn't help reaching out and cupping her face, brushing a thumb against the tender curve of her cheek. "I'm not a kind man."

Her throat worked. That necklace lifted on the rise of a breath, drawing my gaze back to her chest. Her neckline was modest, but the swell of her breasts was still the most enticing thing I had ever seen. My mouth craved that skin. Longed to press my lips to the flushed flesh, to taste her, love her there, worship her.

Her hand closed over mine, holding fast, her fingers squeezing me for a long moment before she pulled my hand away with what felt like reluctance... and that gave me hope.

"Fell..." she started.

The sound of my name on her lips, in that trembling voice, with those fire-gold eyes fixed on me, sank through me like a heated knife through butter.

She had set the parameters... defined what we would be, what we would not be. I was the one hoping for more. Hoping foolishly, futilely, that she would just change her mind. I was the one unable to pull myself away, unable to move myself away from that crackling fire, that warm and radiating and beckoning heat.

She lifted her hand and flattened it over my chest, her fingers splayed wide over my heart, that X finding me. My heart leapt, trying to get through bone and blood and flesh to meet it, to reach it—our bodies desperate to merge and lock together like matching pieces in a puzzle.

Her eyes flared wide, and I knew she felt it, too.

"Tamsyn, I'm a man. A warrior. Better with my sword than with words and manners. I'm not kind." I exhaled.

She opened her mouth and closed it. Her fingers flexed over my chest but did not lift away, and that was something. It wasn't no. It wasn't a door slamming in my face.

"I—" she started, her expression softening. "I like what you are, Fell."

I leaned in, tentative, wary.

She leaned in, too, meeting me halfway, tilting her face up.

I was almost there. Almost to her mouth.

And then a loud horn pealed across the day. Shouts went up, hurling through the air like cannon fire.

I leaned across her to peer out the window.

"What is it?" she asked over another blare of the horn, signaling for all to take cover.

I immediately spotted warriors rushing through the courtyard and along the palisade walls, just as civilians raced screaming through the barbican, seeking shelter within the fortress. My gaze shot to the clouds, searching for any hint of wings or fire as the horn sounded again.

The shouts continued, filling the air like smoke. I was finally able to make out the words.

They're coming!