16. Warwicktown

Chapter 16

Warwicktown

E rran spent the entire ride to Warwicktown searching for the right words to reassure Mariel, but every potential explanation introduced an additional complication instead.

She’s married, I’m married could just as easily be if neither of us were married, nothing would stand in our way.

That was a long time ago was a copout, and anyway it was untrue. It wasn’t so long ago. Sometimes that part of his life felt so recent he could reach out and touch it.

I’m with you now had a similar pathetic ring, as though she were the consolation prize in the whole sordid game of marriages. Somehow, she never let me get so close, never opened herself up the way you have sounded more like he wished the opposite had been true and Mariel was filling a mere gap instead of the whole hole she’d sealed.

The need for reassurance at all signified there was a problem, and that wasn’t the feeling he wanted to leave her with when she was already going to feel out of her depth.

Even a simple you have nothing to worry about felt wrong, because what if he’d been misreading Mariel all along, and she actually didn’t care about Yesenia?

Or about him?

His qualms about saying the wrong thing made it hard to say anything at all. He wanted to explain to her what to expect in Warwicktown, so she didn’t feel like a fish out of water. He wanted to tell her the capital was a rougher, more merchant class town than Whitecliffe, dangerous and thrilling, but he had no idea if she’d been there. Asking felt like a way of revealing his impression she hadn’t traveled much, which if wrong was insulting, if right might come across as condescending.

In the end, his overthinking kept him from saying much at all beyond remarking on the changing landscape as they traveled farther and farther west, into the more arid terrain of the Golden Coast.

“And what would you know about it?” Sessaly flipped open her fan and rolled her eyes, looking out the carriage window.

“About billiards? You’re asking me , a man of ill repute, what I would know about gambling?” Destin sputtered, aghast. They’d been at each other for hours, and if Erran didn’t know better, he’d suspect they were flirting.

“I don’t even believe such places exist,” Sessaly said flippantly.

“Speculation taverns? You’re serious?” Destin snorted, turning toward Mariel. “Did you know there were people so sheltered as this?” He leaned closer when she didn’t answer. “Mar?”

“Sorry. Aye, I ken you could say the same of us,” she said, staring out the tiny window. “For what do we really know of the world of highborns?”

Erran, who hadn’t been interested in the banter between their siblings until that point, broke his silence to fix the separation she’d chosen in her words. “You fit perfectly into our world,” he said, giving her knee a squeeze.

Sessaly gagged. He shut her down with a look.

Mariel’s smile was tepid... practiced. “No one fits perfectly into a world they aren’t born into.”

“I have to agree with our sister,” Sessaly said. “The inanity of such an idea. But just because I agree with her, Destin, does nay mean I don’t think you’re putting us on.”

“Then it’s good I put no stock in what you think of my ethics.”

“Ethics? Have you any?”

“How’s your betrothed these days, Ses?” Erran asked. “Do you remember him? Aliksander, I believe his name was?”

Sessaly flushed. “I wouldn’t know, seeing how busy the Laws were these past weeks helping Father locate your wayward self.” She nodded in apology at Mariel. “I’m of course grateful you are home.”

Mariel concealed a grin with a glance to the side, but the sight of amusement on her face cooled Erran’s concerns some. “Of course.”

“I had hoped to see him at Esmerelda’s blessing, but…” Sessaly finished with a knowing look.

Erran shook his head tightly in warning, but Mariel had picked up on it. “But what?” she asked.

“Erran didn’t tell you?” Sessaly laughed with her mouth wide. “Oh, my brother. He does like his secrets, always has.”

“Ses.” Erran scorched her with his eyes.

“Tell me what?” Mariel’s suspiciousness was back.

“It was supposed to be a private event, for the family and the parents-in-honor, then Lady Warwick decided she wanted all the great houses. Even though Erran is the lass’s father-in-honor, we had to politely decline, with the two of you playing happy families on some island, but then you came home, and suddenly the entire plan changed. Now us and Yesenia’s new family are the only ones invited at all, the others completely off the guest list. So I asked Mother, and she told me the truth.”

“That’s enough,” Erran said, knowing nothing could stop his sister on the verge of a revelation that would shift all the power her way. Even if he could convince her to ease off, Mariel wouldn’t let it go, not with the distrust already settling into her tired expression.

“It seems Father views this trip as an opportunity to prove to all the Southerlands that his hopeless romantic of a son is no longer so hopelessly in love with Yesenia, our Lady Quinlanden, so all the rumors will stop swirling. I would expect to see them encouraged to interact as much as possible.” Sessaly’s mouth pursed in mischief. “So let us all hope his change of heart isn’t just a ruse, for he’s never been much of an actor.”

“Ahh,” Mariel said, paling as she shifted her focus back to the passing landscape.

“She’s being dramatic, like always,” Erran said, leaning close. He glared at his sister, who looked as satisfied as she should for the incendiary she’d dropped into his marriage, for no other reason than her own entertainment. He couldn’t wait until she was Aliksander’s problem. “Don’t listen to her.”

“It’s not my business whether you are or are not still in love with her,” Mariel murmured, shifting her legs away when he reached for one. “As I told you weeks ago.”

Weeks ago. Before the wreck. Before the island. Before they’d bonded. Before, he’d seen his future with more clarity than ever before and with more desire than he’d ever known. How she could speak of it so glibly was either a sign of her easily shifting alliances or a cover for the pain Sessaly’s words had inflicted, but he wouldn’t solve it in front of the others.

“Ouch,” Sessaly hissed, poking Destin with an elbow. “Did we touch a nerve?”

“We? Don’t lump me in with your antics,” Destin replied. “I’m with Erran. Don’t listen to her, Mar. She’s needling you for her own amusement.”

“And what do you know of my amusement, Destin?” Sessaly said, blinking coquettishly.

“More than I’d like to but not nearly as much as I know about gambling, Sessaly.”

“Sessaly,” Erran said, firmer. Trying to silence his wayward sister had only ever made her more determined, but she’d inched too far, even by her standards. “That’s enough. Unless you want me to punt you out of this wagon and leave you for the vultures.”

“Father would murder you.”

“A rather small price to pay for the relief it would bring.”

“She can say whatever she likes,” Mariel said. “Why should it bother me?”

“Even if it was true...” Erran said, but she was still faced away. She might have been listening, but so were the others, and there was nothing he wanted to say in front of them—especially his sister, who had a near-perfect memory and never missed an opportunity to unleash it.

“Oh. It is,” Sessaly said confidently. “Whether Erran will prove him right or wrong is a matter for the Guardians.”

“I’m not ruled by deities, nor should you be. I’m married now, so is Sen, and we’re not children playing games, unlike you still seem to be.”

“Sen.” Sessaly snorted, her eyes flicking toward Destin. “So familiar. And I don’t recall a silly little nuisance like ‘marriage’ stopping you before, aye?”

The carriage slowed. Erran craned to see the sea reappear below, the great bellows of the mine roaring with action. They had traveled down the steep slope into a city so packed and loud, he never quite felt at ease. It was the antithesis of Whitecliffe, a gentle enclave of coastal relaxation. Warwicktown was chaos personified, the capital of a Reach teeming with commerce, suffering, and grueling work. There were pockets so dangerous, even the Warwicks and their steel spines didn’t venture there.

The keep itself was an enormous, utilitarian stronghold, with few defining features beyond the infamous Lord’s Hall, where past and present Warwick lords held their council meetings. As boys, Erran and Khallum would play under the table with the serrated edges, wondering which council member would forget themselves next and lose another finger to their enthusiasm. They’d stand at the broad paneless window that overlooked the calmest stretch of coast in Warwicktown.

Erran had spent so much of his youth there, playing with Khallum and Yesenia and their little brother, Byrne. Like Khallum and Yesenia, Byrne, too, had been sold into a marriage chosen by the king and was wedded to the reputably formidable Lady Asherley of the Westerlands. Erran wondered if he’d be there for the blessing too.

Sam and Hamish and Lem had been there too, but back then, there’d been no one he’d spent more time with than Khallum—like their fathers, who had been inseparable friends in their own youth, a bond that had never dulled with time and responsibility.

But Khallum had become the lord himself, the one leading council meetings, on which Erran’s own father sat—and where he would one day himself sit. How keenly he wished for his old friend’s advice, which had always been a helpful balance to the wisdom of Sam and the crude affection of Hamish, but the moment Khoulter Warwick had died and left his son the heirdom had been the moment Khallum had shifted from mate to leader.

Shouts and whinnies filled the air. The carriage pulled to a stop and the door swung open, held by one of the Warwick attendants. The women exited first, Erran going last. Some of the others made gagging sounds, whispering about the stench of brine and shit that seemed to affect everyone but him. His second home.

His mother and father had ridden in the carriage ahead and were already headed toward the drawbridge, where a line of people were waiting to greet them. Erran craned to see, but the elevation was too low, the crowd of workers too thick as they scrambled to make the arrival perfect.

Mariel had drifted to the side, walking by herself. He moved toward her and slipped his hand through hers with what he’d wanted to be a reassuring smile, but he’d felt how weak it was and confirmed it in the droop of her gaze.

Khallum’s gregarious laugh rang in his ears. He could hear his father and mother working their way down the greeting line, but he couldn’t tell who all was there.

The crowd opened up, and Khallum rushed forward to crush Erran in a warm embrace. “Mate, fecking hell, next time ye crave adventure, just come with me to a Blackpool brothel.” Khallum surprised him with a firm kiss on the temple. “Donnae ye scare me like that again, aye?”

Erran nodded through the unexpected clog of emotion. A shove from behind reminded him to keep moving. Sessaly. He glanced back and saw Mariel had somehow fallen back, behind Destin. He wanted to urge her to his side, but then Gwyn was kissing his cheeks, lifting her little dark-haired lassie for him to kiss as well.

“Welcome to the world, Esmerelda. I don’t take the role of being your father-in-honor with lightness,” he said, eyeing the sweet girl with the big, expressive eyes. Unlike Ransom, who took after his rough-featured father, Esmerelda would be a great beauty one day. “Thank the Guardians she resembles you, Gwyn.”

“The Northerlands always comes through, one way or another,” she quipped, and they both laughed. The king hadn’t known it, or even cared, but he’d picked the perfect bride for Khallum. Women of the frozen north were tough and practical, like the women of the Southerlands, but had ice flowing through their veins. She knew good and well what her husband was up to, and she had more important worries to concern herself with.

Aunt Korah was next. Even Erran had always called her that, though sometimes, when being cheeky, Khallum referred to her as the Widow. She’d moved into the keep when Khoulter’s wife had died, and she had helped raised all three Warwick children. Korah had also been the mastermind behind Erran’s match with Mariel, springing into quick action to conspire with Rylahn when Erran had acted so foolishly.

“How fortunate you’re already married, for with that lovely face, I’d have to rethink my policy of a man-less existence.” She embraced him with a chuckle. “And how is wedded life, Erran? We chose for ye well?”

“Yes, well. Thank you,” he said, instinctively searching for Mariel, but she was talking with Khallum.

“Do you remember my stepson, Evander?” She gestured toward a handsome redhead around the age of thirty.

Erran vaguely recalled that her late husband had produced a son out of wedlock, but he did not remember Korah being so gracious about it. “Aye. It’s been...”

“Donnae trouble yourself. We’ve never actually met. She didnae suffer me at all until recently.” Evander raised both brows and chuckled.

Erran’s eyes shifted back to Korah, but she was laughing too. “Aye, well, we are well met now.”

“Aye indeed.”

Next was young Ransom, hand held fast to his governess’s. Erran knelt to greet him, amazed at how much the lad had grown since he’d seen him last.

Erran had only just stood again when he came face-to-face with Yesenia. Her tree-dweller husband hovered close, like he was ready to draw steel at the slightest infraction. Not likely to do much with it though, is he? he thought as he sized him up, remembering what a dove the man was.

“Yesenia.” He leaned in to offer a hug but thought better of it, then withdrew his hand as well, wondering how stupid he must look to everyone watching. She was radiant, somehow even more than when he’d seen her last. She glowed with the confidence of a woman settled into her life as a wife and mother. Muted, but not gone, was the fire that had once compelled her every word and action.

“Erran.” Yesenia’s face split in a smile that brought him back to long mornings in the cove, mornings as exciting as they had been frustrating, for all the ways she pushed him to come no further to her than her pleasure. “You remember my husband?”

Erran cleared his throat with a hard grunt. “Corin.” The man radiated with threatless warning as they exchanged handshakes, his hands surprisingly soft for a man’s. “Good to see you both.”

“Mhm,” Corin said.

“We only got in this morning ourselves,” she said, glancing between them with the tension of a woman readying to stop a fight. Erran wondered if he should prepare for one. “We left Torquil with Corin’s mother. He’s still a bit young for a long trip like this.”

Yes, she was changed. Even her accent was softening.

“And Byrne? Is he coming?”

“Nay.” Yesenia’s face fell. “Asherley will be delivering any day now, and he didnae wish to leave her side. He seems happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for him.”

“Aye.” Erran smiled, remembering how Yesenia had taken down bully after bully in her little brother’s name. In the end, only the Garricks had had the balls and stupidity to go after the poor, sweet boy.

“And your wife? Mariel, is it?”

Erran’s belly stung with shame at how quickly he’d forgotten Mariel. He looked over and caught her watching them. In her eyes was something he wished he could unsee. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Seems I will soon enough,” Yesenia said pleasantly, nodding at Sessaly’s impatience. “We’ll catch up later?”

“Aye.” His voice cracked. “Aye.”

Erran stepped out of the greeting line and joined his parents in a daze. As he watched Mariel finish her own place in line, alone, he was confronted with another failure, and they hadn’t even gone inside yet.

“You’ll need to do better,” Rylahn said, almost under his breath. “If not for the family name, consider your wife’s feelings. She should not have to see her husband fawn over his childhood love, and so publicly.”

“I didn’t fawn over her. I was polite. I said hello to her and her husband, asked after her brother, and that was that.”

“Defensiveness is a device of the weak. Learn from your errors, or you’ll never be the man you should.”

“Ah, give him a moment to find himself, love. Erran has moved on. Of course he has. You see how he adores Mariel. But sometimes we have to light a spark to kill the fire.” Hestia kissed his cheek. “You both seemed so different when you returned, content with each other. Remember what’s real, Erran, and what is not. Dreams don’t warm our beds or our hearts. They only remind us how cold our lives are when we wake to find them only that.”

Erran didn’t need the lecture. He knew how it had looked. To others. To Mariel.

And he knew precisely what secret was burning a hole in his pocket and why.

He had no heart for his father’s exploitative game, but he had no choice and would play it just the same.

This time, he would win.

Mariel greeted the Warwicks in a stupor. Her heart heated with anger, then shattered from pain. Over and over this happened until she was dizzy with confusion she was more than ready to be rid of.

The welcomers all blurred into one, a veritable mess of warmth and welcome. Only one stood out, a redheaded man who seemed unusually interested in her words and movements. She’d forgotten his name a second after he’d given it. His gaze followed her down the line.

The moment she stepped in front of Yesenia, she wished she hadn’t. The woman was taller than some men, her dark hair plaited like a warrior’s. She was dressed in the green and silver of her husband’s land, but it was not a gown she wore. Her trousers and blouse reminded her of the way Mariel herself liked to dress, and something about the similarity made her ill. She glowed with a self-assurance that was alarmingly sensual.

It was no delight to see exactly how and why Erran loved her.

“Mariel, I cannae say how lovely it is to finally meet you,” Yesenia said, snapping her in for a firm but warm embrace that seemed genuine enough. Maybe she was relieved to be done with Erran. Maybe she was putting on a show. Maybe Mariel’s mind was working against her. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Likewise.” Mariel forged a smile when she pulled back. She turned it on the man at Yesenia’s side, a fair-faced blond with a gentleness that seemed radically out of place in the Southerlands.

A bit like Erran actually.

Mariel almost couldn’t believe it. Yesenia and Erran had actually married each other, by proxy. They’d ended up with copies of themselves when they couldn’t have one another.

“Mariel, a pleasure.” The husband, Corin, kissed her hand. “You so remind me of Sen.”

“I’ve heard this before,” she said, trying to sound light and playful, the opposite of the darkness festering in her chest. “Now I see what a compliment such a suggestion is, however wrong.”

Yesenia smiled. “Erran is a lucky man. I’m sure he knows it.”

I thought he did. Mariel caught Erran watching. He stood with his parents and Sessaly, staring into the distance. “Ah, I’m sure we’ll speak more later.”

“I would like that,” Yesenia said, annoyingly full of kindness.

Mariel shifted away from them in a daze of self-recrimination. Her hatred would have been justified if Yesenia had been the cold and unfeeling monster who had broken Erran’s heart so callously, but the woman she’d met was perfect for him, a victim of the king’s arrogance and who otherwise would have become the willing wife of her childhood love.

She joined her in-laws. When Erran couldn’t even meet her eyes, she knew. She knew every one of her fears had been rational. What she didn’t know was what to do about it.

“What does our itinerary look like, sir?” Destin asked the steward.

“You’re free until the morning,” Rylahn answered. “Settle in, catch a kip. Evening meal will be served in your quarters tonight.” He turned toward his son. “Except Erran. We’re due to meet with Lord Warwick for the next couple of hours.”

Erran nodded, looking everywhere but Mariel’s way.

“Mariel, would you like to see the coast with me?” Destin asked. The way he’d said it was so transparent, she was sure the others could see through it as well.

“Aye,” she said, giving Erran one last opportunity to look up, to show her she was being emotional and paranoid.

But he only muttered a “will you see tonight” before shuffling off behind his father.

Erran’s eyes glossed through the mostly transactional exchange between his father and Khallum. They sat across from each other at the table with the famously serrated edges, meant to remind any man there not to get too comfortable, spouting off about levying higher taxes for miners and building more ports in the empty stretch between Sandycove and Warwicktown.

He was so in thrall to his own malaise that he didn’t even notice when his father left.

“Ye know you cannae fuck her ever again. Right?”

Erran whipped his head upward. “Come again?”

“You been here at all, Rutland, or dallying about in your own emotions as usual?”

“I was here,” Erran replied. Khallum laughed at the lie, and he caved, joining in.

“I ken your father told ye why we uninvited the other families for Esme’s blessing.”

“Sessaly, actually.”

Khallum snorted. “Aliksander will have his hands full with that one.”

Erran grimaced. “Aye, well, right now she’s gloating.”

“Wasnae as bad as ye think,” Khallum said. “Unless you’re Mariel.” He shoved back from the table without touching it and moved to the open window. The ledge was coated in a hundred years of bird waste, a faded tableau of chalky white and olive green. “What happened on that island?”

Erran blew out, whistling. “We crashed. We adapted. We survived. We...”

“Fucked? Finally? So we’ll never have to hear about her scars or your freckles again?” Khallum chortled at Erran’s polite silence. “Your father sent word you and Mariel had settled your differences. Had hoped to see signs of it myself, but I ken I’ll be hoping until I’m dead and burning on the pyre, aye?”

“We did ,” Erran answered, unwilling to elaborate on what was a private matter. Somehow, it seemed wrong to tell anyone about all he and Mariel had shared, even his oldest friend. Sam had only been given the broad strokes, just enough to piece together a simple understanding. Hamish even less. “I don’t know what came over me out there. I don’t want your sister anymore, Khal, no matter how it looked. I’m happy for her. I’ve moved on.”

“What’s good for you is you’ll have two days to correct that impression.” Khallum traced his knuckles along the fossilized excrement. “I’m nay one to offer advice on the doings of the heart.”

“That ’cos you don’t have one?”

Khallum belched. “How’s that?”

They both laughed. Erran relaxed.

“Gwyn is a good wife. That ratsbane king can gargle my sack into eternity, and he’ll never hear a whisper of gratitude from me, but I’m grateful for her, every day. She isnae who I’d have chosen for myself, but she’s right for me. Find the same true of Mariel, for you?”

Erran nodded.

“Ye told her so?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then do as I do. And show her what ye cannae say.”

Show her. He’d tried the night before, in the bath, and had mucked up even that. But there was no point in asking Khallum how because he was the last person he’d take romantic advice from.

“How are you, Khal? With everything?”

“All this?” Khallum’s boots scuffed the stone as he veered away from the window. “Wasnae how I saw it happening.”

“I know.”

“Well enough. Have my heir and a lassie to dote on. No doubt more on the way. My siblings are content in their own unions, so I donnae need to raise banners to free them. The Southerlands has its troubles, but I ken we’re thriving as best we can, despite the ratsbane’s increasingly criminal feckin’ taxes.”

It wasn’t what Erran was asking, but Khallum already knew that. Khoulter Warwick had been a most unusual man, especially for a leader of Warwicktown. He could be equally cold and callous as warm and protective. Yesenia had adored him. Honestly, so had Erran. So many of his favorite boyhood memories involved the man, who had been as a second father to him. Hard but fair, and with a rare but incredible playfulness missing in most hardened leaders. “I miss him too.”

Khallum tensed, facing away. “Aye. Every day.”

“Shall we drink to his memory?”

“I’ll send for the ale.”

“Desi, I don’t want to talk,” Mariel said when their toes hit the sand. They had both removed their boots when they reached the tall grass lining the rugged shore. “So if that was your aim?—”

“It was, and you knew it and followed me anyway,” Destin said.

“Because I needed to get the feck out of there before I made an arse of myself!”

Nothing had prepared her for how awful it would be to see Erran so discomfited around his beautiful, perfect ex. Mariel longed for the days before the island, when she had no care of how he spent his time or how he spread his affection. At least then she’d known who she was still.

All she could think about was the two of them fucking in the cove, for hours and hours, like Sessaly had implied in the damned carriage.

“Do you not think he deserves some grace?”

Mariel spun on him. “Say that again?”

Destin pulled a patient breath through his nose. “Last time he saw her, he was still coming to terms with how he’d lost her. Does he not deserve a moment to put his thoughts together?”

“His thoughts?” Mariel shook her head. “You mean you couldn’t read his thoughts, which were full of her?”

“Not in the way you think.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I know what remorse looks like on a man,” Destin said quietly.

“Remorse he can’t dilly her anymore,” Mariel muttered, quickening her pace.

Destin stopped in the sand. “You’re in love with him.”

Mariel’s breath stuttered as she turned, enraged. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”

“How dare I ?” Destin laughed. “Is there some unspoken rule that one of us has to be a mess at all times?”

“Implying I am the mess?” Mariel asked in challenge.

“Implying precisely that.”

“Oh, you... You’re sober for a few weeks, and now you’re the reasonable one?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t mean to hurt me, because I can see you’re hurting,” Destin said evenly. “But I have to admit. It’s unsettling to see you like this.”

She blinked in indignation. “Like what?”

Destin blinked back. “Unhinged.”

“You...” Mariel couldn’t speak. She marched farther down the shore. “Why would I take advice on relationships from a man who has had dozens of one-night trysts and never returned to a single bed?”

“Because the fear that keeps you from recognizing what’s in your own heart is the same fear that keeps me from wanting more for myself.” Destin grabbed her arm and stopped her. “You’re going to destroy your own happiness to mollify your pride, which is beneath you.”

Mariel snorted and rolled her eyes toward the cloudy sky.

“You need to trust him.”

“You saw?—”

“You need to trust him, and give him time.”

“Time for what ? To decide who he wants to snog more?”

“You’re being so crude.”

“Not crude enough apparently, for I’m still no match for her. ” Mariel sank into the sand as the fight drained from her. She’d already wasted so much energy. “You think I want to feel this way? Like I am only good enough to live in her shadow?”

Destin laughed without humor. “Oh, I know damn well you do not.” He sat next to her. “But closing down... lashing out... You’ve seen how it destroys others. You think I liked my spirits because I’m weak?”

Mariel softened. “I never thought you were weak, Des.”

“Aye, well I am, in a way, because I see you doing what I’ve always done to myself. At even a glimmer of happiness, I shut down. I sabotage it before it can become anything real, for then I can wallow in a suffering that’s safer than risking myself for the chance at joy.”

“What do you suggest then, eh? I cannot watch...” Mariel’s eyes stung with tears. “I hate feeling so... I won’t be his second choice.”

“Give him a chance to prove you’re not.”

“The proof is not mine to make!”

“Give him a chance, Mar.”

“You saw?—”

“A man whose behavior was being closely watched, by dozens of people waiting for him to fuck up. Do you count yourself among them?”

Mariel balked. “I wasn’t wanting him to fuck up.”

“Do you not think his own wife should be the one he can turn to, to talk about it?”

“To talk about his love for another woman?”

“You’re doing it again.” Destin shook his head. “If you really want to know where he stands, ask him, Mariel. Do you not owe him that much, at least? After everything you went through together? Would you not expect the same from him?”

“And if I don’t like the answer?”

Destin smiled thinly. “At least you’ll have one.”

An attendant showed Mariel to her apartments. She’d expected to be alone and was surprised Erran was already there. He lifted from his chair the moment she came in, and he marched over and swept her into his arms with so much force, she forgot how to breathe.

He wrapped his hands under her ass and pulled her lower lip through his teeth. “I missed you,” he purred.

“Did you—” Mariel’s words dissolved when he backed her to a wall with a breath-stealing thud. Soon he was between her legs, yanking away her trousers, his fingers brushing the length of her and stealing her questions, which she needed to ask, and should ask, before she allowed even another second of intimacy.

It wasn’t long at all before pleasure took the place of reserve. Then he was inside of her, her legs draped over his arms as he drove in so deep, she dug her nails into the wall to dull the sting of pain.

He watched himself take her, growing harder with every thrust. Her mouth watered with the thrill of such a fervent tryst, the realization she wished he would treat her like that more often, like she was the last drop of water in an endless desert. The thought pushed her over the edge, and she buried a scream in her sleeve as she climaxed.

Erran finally lifted his gaze to hers. His eyes narrowed in alarm. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nay,” she lied, because even though she knew it wasn’t her he was thinking of, she still craved the demand of his touch. She’d allowed herself to be weakened by him, but even that wasn’t enough to push him away, as she should.

“Guardians, you...” Erran panted, his eyes rolling back as he came in a violent spasm. He gently lowered her and staggered back. “I’m sorry if that was... I just missed you.”

It was the quickest sex they’d had yet, and she was ashamed to have enjoyed it so much. Ashamed to have been turned on by how electrified he’d been about his ex, as though Mariel drew power from the self-hatred his desire for Yesenia had caused.

“Think nothing of it,” Mariel murmured, reaching for her trousers before he could see even more of her tears.