Chapter 19

Iwoke to the sound of men arguing.

Wait. Not just any men. Ronan and Sigurn spoke in short, anger-laced sentences somewhere beyond the foot of the bed.

Mybed. I lay on my back, my upper body propped on the pillows. Someone had loosened my gown and removed my shoes. I kept my eyes closed as dim images from the Crypt flashed in my mind. I'd argued with Sigurn. Then I'd grown dizzy. Sigurn had called my name…and caught me.

"What did you do to her?" Ronan demanded, his voice low and furious. A fire crackled, and faint light gleamed behind my closed lids. I focused on keeping my breathing slow and even.

"Not a damn thing," Sigurn replied, his deeper voice just as angry. "I told you, she went pale and she started to fall. I caught her before she cracked her head open. Then I carried her upstairs, you ungrateful cunt."

I tensed, expecting to hear the dull thud of a blow. No one spoke to Ronan like that.

"You sapped her magic somehow," Ronan said. "You greedy fuck. If you've hurt her, I'll rip you limb from limb and send you back to Nordlinga in a box."

Scuffling sounds filled the chamber. Someone grunted, then Sigurn said, "You'll fucking try. You're fortunate I don't have Winter's Wrath?—"

"That remains the stupidest name for a sword I've ever heard."

"Go fuck yourself," Sigurn growled.

"No, you go first," Ronan said. "I insist."

What in the name of the gods? They sounded ready to kill each other. At the same time, they were arguing like a couple of little boys.

Holding my breath, I cracked my eyes open.

And I stopped breathing.

Sigurn gripped Ronan's jacket in two big fists. He'd hauled Ronan onto his toes so their faces were inches apart. Ronan gripped Sigurn's arms, his long fingers digging into Sigurn's biceps. The fire crackled behind them, but neither seemed to notice how close they stood to the flames. They glared into each other's eyes, their expressions angry and…something else.

Frustrated.

Sigurn tightened his grip on Ronan. "You are such an arrogant prick."

"Let go of me," Ronan ordered.

"You mean put you down?" Sigurn wrenched Ronan higher so the tips of Ronan's boots scraped the ground.

Ronan jerked against Sigurn's grip. Sigurn jerked back. They tussled, and just as I opened my mouth to warn them away from the fire, Sigurn jerked Ronan into a kiss.

I sat up, my jaw dropping as Ronan kissed him back. No, devoured him. And Sigurn returned the favor, plunking Ronan onto his feet and going at him with a growl. They kissed hungrily, aggressively, their jaws working against each other. Ronan moved his hand to Sigurn's nape and squeezed like he meant to hold Sigurn in place. Sigurn made a rough, masculine sound and deepened the kiss, forcing Ronan's head back. The chamber filled with the sounds of their harsh breaths and the scuffle of their boots as they groped at each other, battling for control. After a second, Sigurn slid both hands down Ronan's body and yanked Ronan's hips into his. As Ronan moaned into Sigurn's mouth, Sigurn palmed Ronan's ass, his touch possessive.

Proprietary.

My heart thudded as I drank them in, riveted to the sight of their passion. There was no other word for it. They were passionate with each other. And this wasn't the first time. They had most definitely done this before.

Heat snaked through me, making my pulse pound between my legs. The idea of two men together was hardly scandalizing. I'd grown up surrounded by knights. A walk through the barracks after dark revealed the myriad ways men took pleasure from one another. I also lived in a castle full of courtiers. The tunnels in the walls had taught me more about sex than any talk Cyra had given me.

But seeing these men locked together was entirely different. Ronan was always so in control. He never did anything that wasn't careful or calculating. And yet he kissed another man—a human. His bonded servant.

Except there was nothing subservient about Sigurn now…

He squeezed Ronan's ass, his thick fingers digging deep into the muscle. Another fiery wave of heat blasted me. Sigurn had gripped my ass the same way. Moisture flooded me. They had taken me to bed—both of them. They'd been inside me. Ronan had fucked me through multiple orgasms. Sigurn had drawn me from the start. Literally, he'd drawn me across the Covenant—and kept me coming back until the pull between us became too hard to ignore.

Sigurn rolled his hips, working his groin against Ronan's in a slow, deliberate grind. Ronan broke off the kiss with a low, breathless curse. He tipped his head forward, and Sigurn stooped, ducking lower so their foreheads rested together.

He'd done that before, too, I realized. That exact move. Ronan was tall, but Sigurn was a giant, and he knew precisely how much to bend his knees. He lifted a hand and stroked Ronan's face, his thumb tracing the sharp line of Ronan's cheekbone. Ronan pulled back and just…looked at Sigurn. Gods, the way he looked at him.

What were they to each other?

"I would never hurt her," Sigurn croaked. "I love her, Ronan."

Ronan's breath gusted out, his shoulders slumping and a resigned expression settling over his features. "How could you not?"

They held each other's stare, a look of understanding passing between them.

My chest tightened as a host of emotions rushed through me. Their familiarity with each other indicated a long and well-established relationship. One that excluded me.

Did I really know either of them at all? I drew an uneven breath.

Without warning, both men whipped their heads toward me. Ronan sprang backward as if Sigurn had burned him. Sigurn stayed put, his expression calm.

"Liria," Ronan rasped. He cleared his throat, then strode to the bed and pressed the back of his hand against my forehead. "Are you well? You shouldn't be sitting up."

"I feel fine," I said, pushing his hand away. The dizziness was gone. My vision was normal. My heart raced, but that had nothing to do with the Crypt and everything to do with what I'd just witnessed in front of the hearth.

Sigurn came to the bed more slowly and stood on the other side. He smiled, but worry shaded his eyes. "You scared me in the Crypt."

"I'm sorry. I think my laces were too tight." I looked between the two men. "You kissed each other."

"Yes," Sigurn said.

"No," Ronan said at the same time.

Sigurn shot Ronan an exasperated look. "She saw us."

Ronan's mouth tightened.

I looked between them again, trying to reconcile what I'd seen with what I knew about them—or what I thought I'd known. "How long have you been together?"

Ronan was so stiff, he looked ready to shatter. "It's not like that."

"The kiss I just saw suggests otherwise."

Sigurn slid Ronan a look as he rubbed a hand over his mouth, smoothing his beard. "Almost from the beginning."

I couldn't stifle my gasp. "Ten years?"

"We aren't together," Ronan said. "This isn't—" He glanced at Sigurn, irritation on his face. "It's not something that happens with any regularity. We don't plan it."

"But you've slept together." I looked at Ronan, and I chose my next words deliberately. "You've fucked."

"Yes," Sigurn said.

Ronan's chest lifted. "Yes," he said after a pause.

Instantly, my imagination supplied me with images of their bodies twined together. Curiosity pummeled me. How did it work? Who took the lead, as it were? And where did their…unions take place? As soon as the last question sprang into my head, I knew the answer.

Tur Dorna.

All those visits Ronan made to his estate. He wasn't checking on his property. He was with Sigurn. Cool, serious Ronan—a firm believer in following the rules—had returned home so he could sleep with another man. And he'd never told me.

Then again, why would he? He was accustomed to behaving impeccably. Everyone expected him to slip up—to prove he was as reckless and intemperate as Sylvar had been when he sired him. The Council might have overlooked Ronan having a relationship with a man, but Sigurn was human.

No, I couldn't fault Ronan for keeping this from me. Besides, I'd slept with Sigurn, too.

The thought made another hot, prickly spike of desire flare under my skin. I knew both of their bodies intimately. The knowledge that they knew each other just as intimately made my blood pound harder than anything I'd done with either of them.

They waited, both watching me as if they weren't sure how to proceed.

"Have there been other men?" I asked.

"No," they said together, and they looked at each other, their gazes holding for a moment before they turned their attention back to me.

Sigurn rubbed his hand over his beard again, his eyes thoughtful. "I never wanted that kind of…connection with another man."

"Nor I," Ronan said. As he looked at Sigurn, some of the tension left his shoulders. "I can't explain it. Can you?" He sounded genuinely perplexed.

Sigurn shook his head. "At first, I thought it was the bond. You liked bossing me around. I liked making you regret it."

A shiver passed through me as visions of what that might look like formed in my head. And I wanted to see it, I realized. I wanted to know what happened when their kisses turned into something more. At the same time, jealousy stirred in my chest.

Ten years.

For ten years, they had carried this secret. Maybe they hadn't shared a life together, but they'd shared parts of themselves. Significant parts. Ronan claimed he loved me. There's never been another woman. Just you. It's always been you. Ronan hadn't crossed the Covenant to see another woman. I never thought to ask about a man.

On the other hand, I was hardly in a position to object to their couplings. For most of those ten years, I'd been a child. Ronan had been my guardian.

Now, he said he wanted to be more. It's too late. I'm already obsessed. Ronan didn't use the Old Language lightly. He had too much respect for magic. All signs pointed to him telling the truth about my father, as well as being genuinely in love with me.

And Sigurn claimed the same.

I looked at him, helplessly drawn to his wide shoulders and the hint of melancholy that never left his dark eye.

"Is your lifespan extended by being frost-touched?" I asked.

He glanced at Ronan, who continued to stare at me. "Yes," Sigurn said, "but I'm not sure how long the effect will last. I started fighting the Midden War when I was seventeen years old. And for seven years, my father and I fought a losing battle. We were outmanned and underprovisioned when I met Ronan. I was twenty-four years old and fully prepared to die in the next skirmish."

"But you didn't," I said.

"No." Sigurn's throat worked as he swallowed. "Because Ronan and I agreed to the bond. With his power amplifying the magic in my veins, I was able to end the war within a year. My father took the throne when I was twenty-five. I'm thirty-five now."

Not quite old enough to have gray in his beard. But he couldn't hide his link to Ronan forever. Eventually, someone in Nordlinga would notice the king never aged.

"I know it's a problem," Sigurn said, clearly reading my expression. "But it's a problem with an obvious solution. I can't stay frost-touched much longer or I'll lose my ability to cross the Covenant." He kept his eyes on me, but it was obvious he addressed Ronan. "We have to sever the bond sooner rather than later."

Did they want that, though? If their kiss was any indication, my guess was a definitive no.

"I should return to Nordlinga immediately," Sigurn added.

Displeasure crossed Ronan's features, and his voice was tight as he turned to Sigurn. "Liria is ill?—"

"I'm not ill," I said.

"—and this isn't the best time to rehash this argument."

Sigurn met Ronan's stare across the bed. "Time is a luxury I don't have. I don't expect you to understand."

Ronan's expression darkened. "You?—"

The door swung open, and Cyra swept inside with a sense of purpose on her face. "Liria? I heard you fell—" She halted at the sight of the men facing off across the bed. "Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed as she stared at Ronan. Her gaze skidded to Sigurn—and her eyes went a touch wider. "And…Your Majesty?"

"Lady Cyra," Ronan said, stepping away from the bed. "You've come at the perfect moment. The princess fainted."

"I'm fine," I said, pushing myself more upright. "It was just my laces."

Cyra looked between the two men, curiosity brimming in her gaze. Finally, she settled on Sigurn with a look of blatant appreciation on her face.

Sigurn bowed, displaying gracefulness reminiscent of his fluid movements in bed. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady."

The effect on Cyra was instant. She swayed, a bemused smile curving her lips as her blue eyes traveled from his beard to his shoulders. After a second, she shook herself and dipped a quick curtsy. "The pleasure is mine, King Sigurn."

Ronan cleared his throat. "Sigurn and I will leave you to tend the princess, Lady Cyra."

Objections gathered on my tongue, but Cyra was already nodding.

"Of course, Lord— Ah, Your Majesty." She stepped out of Ronan's path as he headed for the door.

"Sigurn," Ronan said without turning.

Sigurn shot Ronan's back a dark look before lifting one of my hands from the blankets. He bowed low and brushed a light kiss over my knuckles. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Thank you." My head spun with questions—none of which I could ask with Ronan hovering and Cyra watching with undisguised interest. "You won't leave yet, will you?"

He hesitated. "I'm not sure." He lowered his voice as he stroked his thumb down my hand. "I wish I could stay."

Ronan had turned at the door, and he watched us with an inscrutable expression.

For a moment, it seemed like Sigurn would say more. Then he released my hand and went to Ronan.

"Rest, Liria," Ronan said. "We'll speak more later."

The men left.

Cyra rushed to the bed, two bright pink spots on her cheeks. "Oh my gods, what was that?"

"I don't know," I said honestly, my gaze on the door. My heart pumped as if I'd just sprinted up a set of stairs instead of sitting in my bed.

Ronan and Sigurn. I couldn't believe it. But it was real. I'd seen it.

You liked bossing me around. I liked making you regret it.

I shivered.

"Are you all right?" Cyra asked.

"Yes." Slowly, I looked toward the hearth, my gaze on the hidden latch in the grout. "Yes, I'm fine."