Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

We wash at the trough in the stables, then walk down the corridor, my hand tucked in the crook of Owen’s elbow. We greet the clanspeople, though there aren’t many of them in this part of the Hill. We walk past the forge, and Owen glances sideways, as if he’s tempted to go admire Morg’s swords again, but he turns back to me and doesn’t, and it somehow means a lot to know I have his full attention.

“What is it you want to show me?”

I’ve been trying to figure it out—because what could he possibly have in mind? I’m the steward of this Hill, and there’s no one here who knows the palace better than I do. So is it something in his room, something he brought from the human lands?

He peers down at my feet. “You’re wearing boots, correct?”

“Aye.” I frown at him. “Where are we going?”

He gives me an enigmatic smile, but a moment later, I realize how far we’ve come since leaving the stables. And what lies in front of us.

We walk into the entrance hall, and Owen stops and faces me. He gently unpeels my hand from his elbow—because I’m gripping it tight, my body reacting as it always does to the proximity of the outside world. Then he undoes the ties at the collar of his cloak, takes it off his shoulders, and slings it around mine. With deft fingers, he fastens the cloak in place and brushes my shoulders lightly, the caress too brief to comfort me.

“N-no,” I choke out. “I, ah, I have to?—”

Owen’s gaze remains steady, his expression calm. “It’ll only take a moment of your time, Mara. I found a beautiful holly tree in the forest just outside the gate. It’s frozen, the branches weighed down with snow, but it’s covered in little red berries. It’s?—”

“I can’t,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.

The guards at the door are talking in low voices, their attention on each other, and it’s only Owen and me in the hall. Most of the orcs who ventured out today must have returned already because the logbook is closed, the door bolted shut, but it still looms in front of me, a dreadful, frightening portal to the dangers living outside the Hill.

“Mara, look at me.”

Owen’s voice pierces my thoughts, and I force myself to wrench my gaze way from the door.

“You’re afraid of going outside, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice pitched low. “That’s why you refused to go with me this morning?”

I gaze up at him, hating him a little for making me admit this, but unable to lie. “Aye.”

“Oh.” He steps closer to me and reaches out, then draws me slowly into an embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

My breaths are coming faster now, each inhale bordering on a sob. “ I’m sorry. I can’t—I can’t come with you.”

I didn’t mean to say it this way—but it’s true. It holds for right now and for the future. I can’t leave, which means I’ll have to watch him go eventually when duty calls him back to the human lands.

He kisses me, his lips rough on mine, his beard scratching my skin—he must know, somehow, that this is exactly what I need. I cling to him, my hand at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, and I don’t care about the guards at the door anymore, I don’t care about anything but him . His touch is erasing the fear and sadness that swamped me at the realization that he knows , he knows I’m bound to this underground place—but he doesn’t seem to care.

When Owen pulls away, he’s breathing hard, his blue eyes blazing. I reach out and touch his lips lightly, feeling their texture, and he kisses my fingertips, then smiles, an intimate, secret expression meant just for me.

“I understand,” he murmurs. “Why you were so intent on pushing me away, I mean.”

I shake my head, too overwhelmed to answer. He doesn’t know the full story, not yet.

“Come on.” He keeps an arm around my shoulders, gripping me tight, and walks me away from the front door.

We leave the entrance hall behind and move deeper into the maze of tunnels. Every step heightens my anticipation, the tension between us building up. I don’t pay attention to where we’re going, but Owen must be following the signposts because he walks with confidence, taking turn after turn.

Finally, we end up in front of a plain wooden door, and it’s only then that I look up. “Is this your room?”

Owen nods. “I could take you to yours, but I think mine is closer to the front gate, so I brought us here.” He raises his eyebrows. “I can take you to the great hall instead if you’d like.”

The thought of seeing other people right now fills me with squirming dread. His company is all I need, and I don’t want to share him with other people. I feel as if I must guard my time with him because it’s precious and so limited.

“No, this is good.”

I meet his gaze. He’s so very close, his breath brushing my cheek, and I lean ever so slightly into him, my hip against his. It’s not a kiss, but it is an invitation, a confirmation that we’re both hurtling toward the same destination.

For a long moment, neither of us moves, then he puts his hand on my hip. His touch is oddly reassuring and at the same time, tempting me with what could be if we just gave in, if we accepted that we are inevitable.

Owen ushers me across the threshold and lights a lantern before shutting the door. “I can’t see in the dark,” he explains as he sets the lantern on a table. “And I want to see you.”

His words warm me from the inside, heat spreading through my veins. I step farther into the room and untie Owen’s cloak from my neck, then hang it by the door to dry. I want to snoop around, see what few items he has brought from the human lands, but he’s surprisingly neat, with no clutter in sight.

Perhaps he doesn’t expect to be here for long, so he hasn’t bothered unpacking and making this space his own.

The thought leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I’m being tugged in so many different directions, I no longer know what I want, what I should do. If I refuse him again, refuse to tell him the truth, it might finally be too much for him—too much dishonesty on my part. But if I admit that he’s my mate, it’s entirely possible that it will destroy whatever is building between us because we’ll never know if what we had was real or just an obligation, at least for him.

And if I give in and take what he’s offering, if I kiss him again and see where it might lead us?

Well, that path is sure to be enjoyable, at least for the day.

“Will you sit?” he asks, still waiting by the door.

I pause, weighing my options. There’s a chair by the table, a plain wooden one—and there’s the bed.

With every passing moment in Owen’s presence, the fire burns brighter, and his room isn’t helping either. It’s soaked in his scent, fresh cedar and spicy anise teasing my senses. I’m too hot, so I untie my wool shawl, drape it across the back of the chair, and walk over to the bed.

There, I glance over my shoulder at Owen. “Will you lock the door?”

It’s another small step from my side, one he might not accept.

Owen straightens his broad shoulders. He bites his lower lip, hesitating, then releases it. He faces the door, turns the large iron key in the lock, and throws the bolt for good measure.

“Thank you,” I murmur. I keep my gaze steady and step away from him until the backs of my knees meet the bed, then sit right there, inches from where he lays his head to rest each night.

“Mara…” Owen takes a step forward, then another—but stops by the table, illuminated by the orange glow of the lantern. “We should talk.”

But I don’t want that, not yet. I have no wish to discuss my reasons why I can’t go outside, nor the truth behind this too-strong pull between us.

I need to know what he feels for me before I can open up about my deepest fears.

“Tomorrow?” I cock my head to the side, offering him the suggestion.

I’ve never in my life made a proposition like this, but with Owen, even this bold move feels too slow. I need to know everything about him, and the instinct to get closer to him is so overwhelming, I can barely sit still on the bed, waiting for him to come to me.

Perhaps it’s the relief of seeing him return safely after I had to watch him leave the Hill. Or it’s the way he kisses me, like stopping might kill him. Or it’s everything mashed together, the Fates interfering in my life—in our lives, pushing us into this madness.

I see the moment something snaps in Owen. He closes the distance between us and doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of me, the tips of our boots touching.

He grips my chin and tilts my head back, his touch firm. “Tomorrow?”

Breathless, I give him a quick nod. “Aye. I promise.”

Owen bends down and crushes his lips on mine. I grasp the front of his tunic and yank him down with me, and he follows willingly, bracing his hands on either side of my head. He devours my mouth, and I moan, then return his kiss lick for lick. His scent deepens, a new, irresistible note driving me wild. Then he breaks the kiss, takes my hips, and shifts me farther up the bed so he can settle between my spread thighs.

We’re both still clothed, but the heat of him permeates through the fabric of my dress, the wool of his jacket. His weight feels amazing on top of me, so I hike my skirts higher and wrap my legs around his waist, trapping him in place. He grins against my lips, then rears back as far as I’ll allow him and stares down at me.

“You’re so beautiful.” He brings one hand to my cheek and rubs his thumb over my lower lip, then gingerly touches my left tusk. “Huh. I thought they’d be sharper.”

I bare my teeth at him, growling lightly. “Oh, they’re plenty sharp, human.”

He raises his eyebrows, though he can tell I’m joking, and continues his slow exploration of me, exchanging kisses with teasing caresses. He kisses his way past my jaw to my neck and discovers the spot just under my ear that has me shivering in delight.

“Here?” he asks, pressing another kiss in the same spot. “You like that?”

I squirm under him, my hips rocking up on instinct. “It’s your beard. It’s scratchy.”

He meets my gaze. “Too scratchy?”

“No.” I rub my palm over it, and the bristling hairs rub against my skin one by one, a multitude of tiny pinpricks. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

His cheeks flush pink, so I touch them, too, amazed at the way his skin changes color this quickly.

He catches my hand and turns my palm over, then rubs his fingers over mine. “Your fingers are always stained with ink.”

“And yours are callused.” I switch our roles and explore the rougher spots on his palm. “From wielding weapons?”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Does it bother you? That I’m a soldier?”

I glance up quickly. “No, why would it?”

He shakes his head. “Just something you said, about not being a warrior.”

Before I can reply, he kisses me again, and I sigh into his mouth, giving in to the sensations he’s drawing from me. He moves from my mouth to my neck, then lower, to the neckline of my dress. He looks up at me, and at my nod, he tugs on the laces at the front of my dress. The little bow I’d tied there unravels slowly, and Owen stares down at it, his lips parted, his breaths coming faster. My nipples tighten under the fabric, my tits suddenly feeling heavy—just from seeing how much he wants this.

Owen’s scent is swirling around me, potent and delectable, so I raise myself on my hands and kiss his neck, where it’s most concentrated. Then, unable to resist, I lick the spot slowly, savoring his taste.

His groan breaks the silence between us, and he shudders under my touch.

“Fuck, that feels good.” He palms the back of my neck to hold me in place. “You feel so good, Mara.”

His words spur us on, and suddenly, it’s a race to get rid of all the clothes—I shove Owen’s jacket off his shoulders, and he dumps it on the floor, then takes the back of his collar and pulls his tunic over his head. I put my hands on his naked skin immediately, marveling at the contrast between the smooth muscles and the thick, springy hair on his chest.

“I wanted to touch you that day,” I breathe, glancing up into his blue eyes. “In the baths. You looked so…”

I shake my head, unable to find the right expression.

His grin turns wry. “I’m sorry I stared at you like a fool that day. I thought I was saving a stranger from drowning and got a glimpse at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

Heat floods my cheeks, sudden, and for once, not unwelcome. “I couldn’t remain angry for long. You were only trying to help.”

He has me lift my ass and tugs my dress up, then carefully lifts it over my head. “What were you doing underwater for so long?”

I bite my lip, hesitating, then tell him the truth. “I was trying to drown out thoughts of you.”

Owen frowns, and I know he might try to protest, so I put my palm over his mouth to stop him.

“I never said I succeeded,” I whisper.

His next exhale is ragged, his gaze burning into mine. “Mara.”

I take the hem of my undershirt and wiggle to get it over my hips, then take it off, too. All that remains is my underwear and stockings, so I lie back, untie the linen string at my waist, and push the underwear out of the way. When I raise one leg to undo my garter, Owen puts his hand over mine.

“Let me,” he rasps.

Our gazes remain locked for a moment longer, but he breaks faster than me. He follows the lines of my body, first to my tits, then down my belly to the thatch of short, curly black hair covering my pussy. I wonder what he thinks of me—because I know human women are different—but his groan tells me he’s just as affected as I am.

He stares at me, at my strong thighs, my soft belly, and heavy tits, and I allow myself to study him, too. I saw him that day in the baths, but now I get to touch, so I reach up to run my hand over his arm to the rounded shape of his shoulder and down to a pink, raised scar.

Owen shivers as I run my fingertips over his old injury.

But the touch seems to spur him on. He glances down to my thighs, and a determined expression crosses his handsome face. His fingers make quick work of my garters, and then he rolls down my stockings, first one, then the other, and suddenly, I’m naked under him, legs bent and feet planted on the bed.

Owen stares down at me, and I think he might be hesitating, but he shakes his head and drags his palm over his face.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he confesses. “I’ve thought of this so often since that day I first saw you, I can’t decide what I want to do first.”

He climbs over me, settling in the cradle of my thighs. I notice vaguely that he’s still wearing his pants, but before I can complain, he kisses me again, then tugs on my lower lip with his teeth.

“Do I kiss you here and see if I can make you shiver again?” he murmurs against my ear, his lips hovering just above my skin. Then he cups my right breast with his callused hand, rubbing his thumb over my nipple. “Or do I suck on your pretty tits to see if you’re sensitive here?”

I arch my back into his touch. “That’s a very good idea, Captain. I approve.”

Owen groans, his hips rocking up as if he can’t help himself. “I love it when you call me that, but right now, I’d prefer my name.”

“Owen,” I cry out when his lips close around my nipple and suck on it. “That feels so good.”

I’m burning up, his every touch spreading fire through my veins. I’ve done this before—or a quicker, rushed version of it—but no one else has ever made me feel this way. I want to pull Owen on top of me and bring him into my body, exactly where I need him, but he’s already moving lower, trailing scratchy, teasing kisses over my belly. He dips his tongue into my navel, drawing a gasp from me, then pushes my thighs wider to settle his broad shoulders between them.

“Then there’s your pussy,” he murmurs. His strong hands grip my thighs, fingers pressing into my skin. “You smell so fucking delicious, Mara. I need to know how you taste.”

He runs his thumbs down the creases of my thighs, so close to where I need him but not close enough.

“All right,” I pant, staring down my body at him. “We-we can try that, aye.”

He lifts one blond eyebrow at me. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” I admit. “But I’ve heard it’s—I’ve heard it can be enjoyable?”

My voice tips up at the end, making it a question. I’ve heard women speak about it before—orcs share experience and information freely in an effort to help each other. But I’ve never felt comfortable enough to try it—to either demand it from my previous lovers or allow it.

Owen kisses the inside of my thigh, sending goose bumps all over my skin. “Oh, it can be. I’ll learn everything about you and how to make you feel good.”

He moves slowly, and I could stop him if I wanted to. I don’t, so I close my legs around his shoulders and nudge him a little, signaling my agreement without words. Owen hums, a deep, rumbling sound, and I think he might tease me some more, but then he parts my lower lips with his thumbs and licks my pussy for the first time.

My entire body tenses at the touch—it’s soft yet so powerful, I scrunch my eyes shut, almost frightened by the sensations.

Then he does it again, a longer lick this time, as if the first taste of me wasn’t enough.

“Mara…” He shifts closer, his shoulders pressing up against my thighs. “Fuck, you taste incredible.”

Owen delves his tongue deeper, spearing the tip of it into my pussy, and I cry out, my hips rocking up on instinct.

“That’s it,” he murmurs between long, greedy licks, “take what you need from me, sweetheart. Show me what you like.”

I’m so wet, I’m leaking slick fluid from my pussy, but Owen cleans it all up, alternating long strokes with the flat of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks of the tip over my pearl. When he closes his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks on it, I yelp, then dig my fingers in Owen’s long hair to hold him in place.

He chuckles darkly against my hot flesh. “Ah, all right, then. I understand, my lady.”

I’d hated him using the honorific before, but now I know he’s teasing, I love it—he’s serving me so well, I can’t imagine a more devoted subject.

He shifts slightly between my legs, then murmurs, “Tell me if anything feels strange.”

I only have a moment to wonder what he means before I feel a pressure at the opening of my pussy—a finger gliding in, past my lips and into the tight heat of me.

“Oh, Owen!” I tilt my hips up, chasing the sensation. “There!”

He lifts his head, and I mewl at the realization that I’ve made him remove his mouth from my pearl. But he’s staring at me strangely, his finger swirling lightly in my pussy, just past the entrance. It feels amazing , my inner muscles clenching happily around the intrusion.

“Here?” he asks, as if making certain I’m telling the truth.

I nod. “Aye, it all feels so good.”

His eyebrows draw together, and he slides his finger deeper, probing the inner walls of my pussy. “How about here?”

It feels good, but not as special as the flesh right at my opening. “That’s good, too,” I say, hoping he’ll return to that magical spot he found earlier.

“Mara.” He frowns at me, his finger stilling inside me. “The truth.”

I squirm, my cheeks burning with…not embarrassment, exactly, but the shyness that comes from having to express my desires to a new lover.

“Orc women are very sensitive right at the opening of their, ah, their pussies,” I murmur. “It’s where the knot locks up, and it’s very pleasurable. There’s another spot, but it’s much deeper inside me. Your fingers won’t be able to reach it.”

My eyes widen as I come to a sudden realization that Owen’s cock might not be long enough either—not that it matters, as it’s the opening that’s the most important, like I said. I thought I saw something that day in the baths, the outline of a longer shape, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable by asking.

Owen is frowning at me, though. “What’s a knot?”

I flop back on the bed, covering my face with my hands. Gods, I never imagined I’d be having this conversation while his fingers are still buried in my pussy, stroking me gently but firmly. He’s moved back to the soft, sensitive tissue at my opening, and it’s making it very hard for me to think.

“It’s-it’s a bulge on a male orc’s cock.” I rock my hips up in time with his strokes. “It locks inside?—”

I almost blurt out that it only happens between fated mates but bite my tongue. I’ve never experienced it—I always thought it would happen someday. But with Owen being my mate, it won’t. I don’t regret it, because I’ve enjoyed fucking without it, and most of all, I don’t want Owen to think he’s any less for not having it.

He’s still frowning at me, though he keeps moving his fingers, holding me right at the edge. “Can you come without it? Without this knot?”

“Aye!” I lift myself on my elbows to glower at him. “And if you lick my pearl again, I’ll show you.”

His blue eyes go wide, and then he laughs, a booming sound that reverberates around my bedchamber. He lowers himself between my legs and gives me a wicked grin. “Understood, my lady.”

With those words, he dips his head and licks my pearl, just as I asked him, building up the tension inside me. I worry for a moment my command might have been too straightforward for him, but he seems lost in my taste, his eyes closed, his breath coming in fast, hot pants. So I allow myself to lie back, to relax and let the sensations take me under, my climax looming ever closer.

Owen fits another finger inside me, and I jerk my hips up in surprise—they feel perfect against my inner walls, and I can already feel my muscles contracting. My thighs tremble as I close them around Owen’s shoulders, and I have to remind myself not to yank too hard on his hair.

But every time I do, Owen lets out a groan, and I realize he’s working his hips against the bed, as if he’s unable to keep still while he’s tasting me. To know that he’s enjoying this as much as I am sends me spiraling higher, and I cry out his name, moments from release.

“Mara.” Owen presses the tip of his tongue onto my pearl, then flicks it, hard. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

The heat building in my core contracts, then explodes outward, my climax sudden and impossibly strong. It spreads through my veins, locking up my limbs, and I clench around Owen’s fingers, my pussy latching on to them.

If he was an orc, Owen would know to stop moving now, to let me ride out my climax, but he keeps stroking and twists his fingers into my pussy in a slight corkscrew motion that has stars bursting behind my eyelids.

“Ah!” I grip his hair, tugging too hard, but I can’t stop because the sensations are so intense, so perfect …

The wave crests and tumbles over, and I melt onto the bed, all the fight going out of me. I blink up at the ceiling, tears stinging my eyes.

What just happened?

I’d had many good climaxes over the years, some achieved in company and others alone, but this… This was something else, an experience so potent, I feel like I should call it something other than a climax. It requires its own classification and should be written in a column all of its own, it’s so much better than whatever came before.

“Uh…” Owen looks up from between my legs, his fingers still buried in my pussy. He clears his throat. “I don’t want to be indelicate but…”

I lift my head to squint down at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Your pussy.” He grins up at me. “You’re strangling my fingers, Mara. Is this—is this how orc women are? You’ve gone so tight, I can barely move my fingers inside you.”

I test my inner muscles, clenching them more firmly around his fingers, and he groans, hanging his head.

“Do you like it?” I ask tentatively. “Do you think it will feel good?”

Owen drops a kiss to the inside of my thigh, his beard scratching my sensitive skin. “Oh, yes. I’m almost afraid of how good it’ll feel.”

I lie back down with a sigh. “I think it serves the same purpose as a knot. To lock the cum inside the pussy so less of it trickles out.”

Owen’s fingers twitch inside me, and I gasp, rocking my hips up again.

“Talking about this is not something we do,” he says. “Usually, I mean. I’ve never—that’s to say, I don’t mind . I find it refreshing, and it’s good that you can tell me what you like…”

I purse my lips. “Humans are less likely to discuss their bodies or fucking, aye, I’ve learned that much about the other women here. I can stop if you’d like.”

Owen slowly pulls his fingers from my pussy, the gesture accompanied by a wet sound that has me squeezing my eyes shut. No matter how comfortable I am with my body, there are things I would rather keep to myself, and the sound my slick pussy makes is one of them.

But Owen grips my knees and spreads my legs wider, staring straight down at my pussy. “No, Mara. I never want you to stop. I want to know every single thing that makes you feel good. And if I do anything you don’t like, ever, I need to know that, too.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know how much I want to feel you clenching around my cock, sweetheart.”

I squirm under his gaze, fighting the urge to close my legs. “You won’t have to wonder much longer.”

As far as preparation goes, this was very enjoyable, but I’ve been waiting for him to claim me fully—and I know he wants it. His cock is straining against the fabric of his pants, a ridge that tells me it’s definitely longer than his fingers.

But Owen hunches his shoulders and heaves a great sigh, then moves farther down the bed and closes my knees again.

I shove up onto my elbows, staring at him in confusion. “What are you doing?”

He sits by my feet, one hand still wrapped around my ankle as if he can’t bear to let me go.

“Owen?”

In the aftermath of my climax, my body is cooling down, so I drag up a blanket, covering my belly and breasts.

My mate hangs his head and scrunches his eyes shut, his nostrils flaring on a deep inhale. “I can’t do it, Mara. Not like this.”

I pull my foot from his grasp. “What do you mean?”

He lifts his chin to stare at me, his blue eyes serious. “I’ve been a soldier for more than half my life.”

I frown at him because I don’t understand where this is going. “Aye, you’ve said so.”

“And I’ve learned that going into battle with only half the information is the surest way to get killed.” He grips the mattress with both hands, squeezing his fists. “I feel like I’m only seeing a part of what’s going on here, and I don’t like it.”

A chill goes through me at his words, so I draw the blanket higher and shuffle up the bed to lean against the headboard. “Oh? Is that what you’re doing? Going into battle?”

He cocks his head to the side, considering me. “It does feel that way, doesn’t it?”

I can’t lie to him anymore, I know that much. Not that I did before. I simply…withheld some crucial information. So I know he’s right, and it is unfair that he’s only working with what he’s been able to glean from watching others in the Hill.

But I need to know where his heart is at before I tell him anything more, before I let him in. He has the power to hurt me so badly, and I’m already dreading the moment of truth.

“Why did you touch me, then?” I motion at the space between us. “Why do that and then stop?”

His gaze ignites with an inner fire, scorching me with its intensity. “Because I couldn’t stay away. If I didn’t touch you, if I didn’t get a taste, I would have gone mad.” He leans in to add, “And I don’t regret it. Do you?”

“No.” The answer falls from my lips immediately. “I wanted it—I wanted more.”

His lips quirk up in a dry smile. “So did I, sweetheart. But as I said, it’s folly to go into battle without knowing the lay of the land.”

It occurs to me then that he might be just as worried as me—that he’ll get hurt, that I will take more from him than he has to give. If there’s any chance he’s feeling the same attraction I am, even though he’s human, isn’t it cruel of me to hold back? To keep him in the dark for as long as I have?

“You keep talking about battles,” I murmur, fiddling with the edge of my blanket. “What are you fighting for, Captain?”

He gazes at me, his jaw working. “You’d think my answer would be the Duke of Ultrup’s benefit, yes? He’s sent this envoy here to find out more about how your clan works, about how your kingdom is this prosperous despite having poorer land and very little trade.”

I jerk up, my spine snapping straight at his answer. Of course, we’d suspected as much, Gorvor and I, when we talked about the imminent arrival of the duke’s ambassador. At the time, we didn’t know it would be Lady Willow, of course, but we were curious about the purpose of the ambassador’s visit. To hear Owen admit it so plainly…

“You’ve been spying on us? On me?”

Worry spikes inside me, sudden and hot. What if I’ve said something to him that could be used against our clan? Have I given away information without knowing?

“Not me.” Owen shakes his head, that wry smile in place again. “I’m but a lowly soldier in the end. That role fell to Willow, though I think she might be rethinking her mission here.”

Because she found her mate . I think of how she’d stared at Ozork from their very first meeting, how she hung on his every word, cherished every touch, just as he had.

I’ll still have to talk to Gorvor about this. I trust Ozork with my life, but he could be blinded by his attraction to her. Willow doesn’t seem like a woman who would use her wiles on an honorable man, but I’ve only met her this week, which is to say I don’t know her as well as I’d like.

But one thing is true—I don’t know Owen either, and yet I would vouch for his character in front of the king. The question is whether this is some deep-seated instinct that allows me to read my fated mate so well or perhaps a complete blindness to his faults because of what he is to me.

“What is your answer, then?” I demand. “If you’re not fighting for the duke?”

Owen’s straight eyebrows snap together at my tone. “I keep thinking I’m fighting for you , Mara, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right with me.” He picks up my undershirt and shakes it out, then offers it to me. “So perhaps we do need to talk. Tonight, rather than tomorrow.”

I swallow thickly, my throat closing up. “Aye, I suppose you’re right.” I take the garment from him and draw the linen shift over my head. “But…it might take me a while. To tell the whole story, I mean.”

He takes his tunic from the pile of clothes we’d discarded earlier and puts it on, lacing it at the front. “I’ll listen. I’ll always listen, just as long as you let me in.”