Chapter 14

For a moment, Sigurn stood frozen, his expression inscrutable. Then he moved past me and went to the hearth. He shed his cloak and began piling logs on the grate, and he kept his back to me as he asked, "What makes you think your guardian means to supplant you?"

Unease crept through me. He sounded…terse. But maybe he was rattled by my appearance. I shouldn't have removed my gown, but the idea of sleeping in so many layers had made my skin crawl. Andulum was so much warmer than Ishulum. And now Sigurn was building a fire…

"I overheard him planning it," I said. "His name is Ronan Morendiel, Lord of Tur Dorna. Do you know of him?"

Sigurn put another log on the stack he'd assembled. "A bit."

I waited for him to say more. But he continued with his fire-building, tucking dried leaves around the logs and adjusting the grate.

"He's powerful," I said, "and he has three lords ready to back him when he makes a move for the scepter." I stared at Sigurn's back. "You do know about the scepter, right?"

He stood and faced me with a patient expression. "Of course." He gestured to the table. "I don't know if you're hungry, but I'm starving. Let's sit, and you can tell me the rest."

Food was the last thing on my mind, but I nodded and went to the table. Sigurn excused himself to tend to his horse, and he returned with a saddle bag that yielded a loaf of fresh bread, honey, and a flask of wine. At the first whiff of homemade bread, I reversed my decision about food.

Minutes later, I licked honey off my thumb. "That bread is amazing. Who baked it?"

Sigurn refilled the wineglasses he'd pulled from the cabinet. "Lady Mirella. She's, ah, part of my household."

I stilled. In all the time we'd spent together, I never thought to ask if he had a wife…or an intended. But he was the crown prince. Of course, he was betrothed. His flirtation with me was just a man enjoying a final dalliance before he wed. And why not? I couldn't live in his world, and he couldn't live in mine. It was the perfect arrangement.

The bread I'd eaten turned to sawdust in my stomach. "Your future queen?"

"No," he said at once. "It's not like that." He stoppered the flask. "Lady Mirella is a healer. She looks after my father." A shadow passed through Sigurn's eyes. "Well, she used to. My father passed."

Shock jolted me. I reached across the table and grasped his thick wrist. "Oh gods, Sigurn, when? It must have been?—"

"When you and I parted at the Covenant. Or perhaps as I rode home. When I arrived, he was already gone."

My heart squeezed. "I'm so sorry to hear it, Sigurn. Truly."

With a soft, sad smile, he lifted my hand and placed a chaste kiss on my knuckles. "Thank you, sweetheart. It seems that, once again, you and I have something in common. I wish it was a happier coincidence."

"Me too," I said, struggling to ignore how the combination of that sweetheart and the scrape of his beard on my skin had sent tingles rushing through me. I withdrew my hand and tucked it in my lap. "So, you are king now."

"Unofficially. I haven't had time for a coronation."

"Of course not." I hesitated, uncertainty swirling through me. How could I ask for his help when he'd just lost his father? Sigurn had his own kingdom to run. Why should he care about mine?

As if he sensed my dilemma, he rested his forearms on the table. "You said you came here to ask for my help."

"Yes." I licked my lips, tasting honey. "After I overheard Ronan speaking of taking the crown, I went to my father. He hasn't spoken in years, but he spoke last night. He said just three words. Scepter, bond, and…your name."

Sigurn frowned. "Me?"

I leaned forward. "I believe he meant for me to bond with you so I can take the scepter and rule Winter." As Sigurn's frown deepened, I spoke in a nervous rush. "I know it's a lot to ask, but it doesn't have to be permanent. Ronan has three allies, but one of the finest warriors in Ishulum has pledged his army to me. If I had you and Lord Ulred on my side, I might stand a chance of defeating Ronan. You know how it feels to see your family's legacy threatened. My father's power is greatly diminished, but he rose from sorrow sleep to give me a message. I can't ignore it, Sigurn."

Silence stretched. My heart raced. At some point during my speech, I'd gripped the edge of the table, my fingertips pressed hard against the wood underneath.

When Sigurn spoke at last, he seemed to choose his words carefully. "I'm the King of Nordlinga. If I bond with you and cross the Covenant, all of Andulum will reject me. Even if I managed to keep my crossing a secret, wars aren't fought in a day or two. I would have to linger in Ishulum for weeks, possibly longer. But leaving that aside, I'm elfkin. My magic is sporadic at best. I'm no match for any elf, let alone the Sword of the North."

My heart sank. Everything he said made sense—but it was nothing I wanted to hear. Still, I couldn't give up just yet. "My father spoke," I said. "After ten years of silence, he said your name."

"People say a lot of things when they're sick. As I told you, my own sire was in poor health. I know it's hard to see someone you love in that condition, but?—"

"This wasn't the rambling of someone in delirium."

Sigurn sat back in his chair, his expression shuttered.

Regret sluiced through me. "I'm sorry." I rubbed my forehead, where a headache threatened to bloom. "It's a great deal to ask of you, especially now that you're king."

He cleared his throat. "If Ronan Morendiel succeeds in this scheme, what does he plan for you? Will you be in danger?"

I dug my nails into the table to stop the visions of rumpled sheets and icy-blue eyes that tried to flood my mind. "He means to wed me. I'll never let that happen."

Sigurn held my gaze. For a moment, it looked like he might say something. Then he stood and began clearing the table.

Disappointment weighted me to the chair. What was I going to do now? I couldn't stay in Nordlinga. It was cold, but it was nothing like the Winter Court. The heat and lack of magic would sap my strength—assuming I managed to hide from the humans.

No, I had to return to Ishulum. By now, Cyra had delivered my message to Lord Ulred. Maybe he could persuade some of the lords on the Winter Council to rally to my side. If I shared my father's words with them, they might be persuaded. But that plan didn't address the "bond" my father had spoken about.

Sigurn turned from the hearth, where he'd tossed the crumbs from our dinner into the fire. "Sometimes, problems are easier to solve in the morning. Why don't we get some sleep, and we can talk again when we're both rested?"

Somewhere inside me, hope lifted its head. "All right."

He went outside to tend to his horse again, and I scrambled into my gown. I was struggling with my laces, my head craned over my shoulder, when he returned.

"Here," he said, "let me help."

My heart sped up as I presented my back. "Not too tight."

A hint of humor entered his voice. "I know what I'm doing."

"Help a lot of women with their clothes, do you?" I bent my head and concentrated on the floor as the hushed sound of the ribbons sliding against each other filled the quiet cabin.

His chuckle sent a puff of warm air over my nape. "This isn't that different from lacing up a cuirass or any other piece of armor. And we use leather for that. Much more difficult to work with, especially when it's wet."

I bit my lip. His knuckles brushed my spine, each touch achingly intimate. It was such a simple task—one Cyra had performed a thousand times. But Sigurn wasn't Cyra. Heat pooled between my legs. My heart thumped hard in my chest.

I wanted him. Even now, with my inheritance hanging by a thread and Ronan's betrayal like a wound that wouldn't heal, I ached for Sigurn to lower his head and press a kiss to my nape. To turn me around and take me into his arms. I wanted him to act on the attraction that had brewed between us from the beginning. And under other circumstances, I knew he would.

But not now.

A few gentle tugs later, he touched my shoulder. "There. All done."

I turned around as he went to the table and retrieved his saddle bag.

"You take the bed," he said. "I'll bunk down on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the floor." I darted a look at the wooden planks. "I'll sleep on the floor. You get the bed."

He laughed as he pulled a blanket from his bag. "Yeah, that's not happening."

With an exaggerated sigh, I went to the bed and pulled the sheets back. I could feel Sigurn's gaze on me as I placed the pillows on their sides so they formed a lumpy line down the center of the mattress. When I finished, I climbed over my makeshift wall and propped myself on my hands behind me. "This is what we do in the castle when we run out of beds and guests have to bunk together." I pointed to the pillows. "You take that side. That way, your reputation stays intact."

He grinned as he bent and removed his boots. "You're bossy."

"You have no idea."

He banked the fire, then stretched out beside me. Within minutes, his soft snores filled the air. I rolled onto my side and lifted onto my elbow, my gaze on the long sweep of his dark lashes and the sensual perfection of his mouth. Maybe he was right, and the morning would bring a solution. He'd refused a bond, but I couldn't help but feel safe with Sigurn Brighthelm beside me.

Rolling onto my back, I closed my eyes and let sleep carry me away from my problems.