4. Chapter 4

four

N evander’s ears roared with the pounding of his own blood. Vivid, gruesome scenes flashed before his eyes, each more haunting than the last. He gasped for air, thick with the stench of fear and adrenaline. His muscles coiled tight, nerves crackling with tension as he fought to regain control over his trembling body.

Bile rose in his throat. He forced slow, deep breaths, struggling to anchor himself in reality.

War had honed his instincts to a lethal edge, his senses heightened by the slightest movement or sound. Even after a year, his body remembered, reacting to the slightest disturbance. But it wasn’t an enemy he’d captured in his arms. It was a frightened woman.

Her soft, warm body pressed against him, curves molding to his frame. The floral scent of her hair made his head swim with dangerous longing. Her heart raced against his chest, her breaths quick and shallow.

What was he doing?

He released her, his hands shaking as he set her back on her feet. Without thinking, he brushed back the dark curls framing her exquisite face, his fingers grazing the front of her dressing gown.

Beneath it, she wore only a gauzy white chemise that clung to her golden skin, revealing more than it concealed. Nevander’s mouth went dry as his gaze traced that line downward. Heat crept up his neck and he stumbled back, desperate to put distance between them before he did something stupid. Or more stupid than he’d already done.

As he let go, she wobbled, hands flailing for balance. Their eyes locked and he instinctively grasped her wrists, electricity shooting through his fingertips. Her eyes widened, a mix of fear and... something else.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Nevander murmured, his voice husky. “I’m sorry, my lady. You startled me, that’s all.” The words felt inadequate, clumsy on his tongue.

She yanked her wrists free, shoving her curls back from those large, expressive eyes that had so entranced him. With a huff, she stomped away from the hay onto solid ground.

Her plump lips parted in a breathless gasp, the thin chemise rising and falling with each ragged breath. Nevander’s own breath hitched, a spark of desire igniting low in his belly.

“Forgive me,” he whispered again, raising his palms in surrender. She didn’t seem to hear him, or if she did, she gave no sign. He remained rooted to the spot, afraid any movement might spook her further.

Those captivating golden eyes held him transfixed. In the flickering lantern light, they seemed to harbor secrets, stories waiting to be unraveled. But, as he watched, her face grew paler with each passing moment, her fear transforming into something else. She stood frozen, staring at him as if he was the devil himself. Maybe, in that moment, he was.

Then, without a word, she spun on her heel and fled into the night, leaving nothing but a wool blanket at his feet and the lingering scent of canary blossoms in the air.

How could she have been so stupid? Kallessa’s heart hammered against her ribs as she fled up the inn’s stairs, bursting into their room. Hay stems stabbed her feet through her slippers, each prick a reminder of her idiocy. She halted, gasping, ears ringing as fear and excitement warred within her. But it was quickly replaced by overwhelming embarrassment.

In the dim room, she rebuilt the fire with trembling hands.

Her reflection wavered in the small mirror above the washstand—dark eyes wide in a dust-streaked, pale face, hay poking out of unruly curls. This wild creature looked nothing like the refined image Dovina strove for her to maintain.

She yanked off the gown, her chemise clinging to overheated skin. How would she explain this to Dovina?

No.

She wouldn’t breathe a word of what had just happened. She hardly believed it herself.

Kallessa inspected her once-fine blue silk slippers. Mud clung to the soft bottoms, snags marring the fabric where sticks and hay had attacked mercilessly. She tried wiping them clean, but it was useless. Fine slippers were a waste on her, anyway. At home with Aunt Gevene, she wore soft leather boots that just needed a brush to look good again. All this finery Dovina had thrust upon her was a perfect example of why she no longer belonged to society. The gowns were constricting, the hairstyles hurt her head, and the shoes were completely impractical .

Dovina would argue that ladies didn’t need to be practical, they only needed to be pretty to catch a future husband’s eye. That was the extent of her seventeen-year-old cousin’s wisdom.

Kallessa wrapped the ruined slippers in a scarf, stuffing them deep into her travel bag. Dovina had also provided her with another pair in a delicate shade of pink. She’d have to resign herself to wearing those in her cousin’s presence from now on.

As she brushed her hair, releasing fluttering bits of straw, a shiver coursed through her body. What had she been thinking, going out like that in the middle of the night?

She could have been hurt. The man’s eyes were dark and wild, lurking with untapped violence. He’d seemed to be in a distant place, a distant time, as he pinned her down. The memory of his rough, warm hands tightly gripping her still lingered, leaving her skin feeling chafed.

The room was silent except for the sound of her bare footsteps as she approached the large copper tub, the water inside now icy cold. This was going to be awful, but only a bath would rid her of the clinging dust and itchy straw.

As she slipped off her last layer of clothing, she cautiously stepped into the frigid water, gasping as the icy chill raced across her skin. She vigorously scrubbed, the scent of soap mingling with the haunting memories of calloused hands and whispered words. Every scrub, every wince at the cold was punishment for her idiotic errand.

A soldier. That’s what he'd been. She'd seen them come back to Teansong in the past year. Boys that left with valiance in their hearts and returned jaded and hard .

Her shudder had nothing to do with the freezing water. The faster they left this place, the better. Thank goodness she'd probably never see him again.

The soft woolen blanket, now disheveled and dotted with bits of straw, lay in a crumpled heap at Nevander’s stocking feet. The woman had brought him a blanket.

And what had he done? He’d lashed out, seizing her as if under siege, his nightmare-fueled hands acting before his mind could catch up. Self-disgust twisted in his gut.

The dark landscape of violence intertwined with the calm night of reality, and he struggled to shake it off. As he gazed out, he could almost feel the weight of the battlefield pressing upon him, its grip unyielding. Even a year away from it hadn’t been enough to free him from its clutches.

At least the night terrors had subsided after he stopped drinking into the night with his older brother, Tarrick. Imbibing might work for his brother, but it only exacerbated the shadows that clung to Nevander’s soul, making life an even bleaker existence. It had been six months since he’d come to his senses and stopped trying to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle, yet the emptiness remained. What was left for him now? A gray existence of duty and desperation, devoid of the vibrant hues that once painted his world.

Three months ago, he’d received a commission to draw the new maps of the northern territories. After the war, the Birazahian empire had broken apart, forming new kingdoms. Yet the commission still sat on his desk, gathering dust beneath the weight of his procrastination. Every time he looked at it, dread overwhelmed him as the memories of that cursed conflict flooded back in vivid detail.

Crisp air whistled through the stable door, and Sunu whinnied. He stroked her head and tried to calm himself.

The faintest scent of citrus and vanilla canary blossom tickled his nose, transporting him back to the softness of the woman in his arms. She aroused feelings in him he didn’t want to feel, desire and a craving for what, he didn’t know. Something clean and pure.

He scoffed. That wasn’t how she viewed him. Without a doubt, she thought him the worst kind of scoundrel.

Why couldn’t he have been awake when she’d come? He could have thanked her, coaxed a smile from those full lips. At the very least, he could have learned her name. Now all he had was an enticing scent, and a look dark enough to cast a shadow on the sun.

Morning arrived reluctantly, lavender clouds scuttling across the sky. Nevander hadn’t slept a wink, his thoughts circling like vultures. With each pass, shame burned hotter beneath his skin, warring with the memory of her softness. He groaned as he rose from his bed of hay, back aching and arms itching, and saddled Sunu.

The aroma of baking bread and clatter of pans drifted from the inn’s kitchen. His stomach growled in protest, but he ignored it. If he hadn’t acted like such a brute, he could have shown his face at breakfast, maybe even introduced himself properly. Instead, he was slinking away like a thief.

He gritted his teeth. Fine way to start the day.

As he led Sunu out into the courtyard, Akeela appeared from atop a hay bale, leaping down with feline grace to rub against his leg.

“Decided to show up, did you?” he murmured.

Akeela simply purred in response before sauntering off toward a patch of clover.

The inn’s bizarre owl theme struck him anew as he entered. If he hadn’t needed supplies, he would’ve avoided it altogether. He thrust the list at the owner, impatience thrumming through his veins as the man gathered the items.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

The innkeeper’s gaze skittered away from Nevander’s. It wasn’t this poor sod’s fault that a woman had once again gotten the upper hand. If there was still dust on his cloak and his boots were ruined, well, it wasn’t his fault.

“Do you have any sugared ginger?”