“I’ve spoken all I need to,” she said with a stubborn lift of her chin. “I will not live at Venngraith.”
He took an abrupt step forward and grabbed hold of her chin. “And tell me, wife, will you honor our marriage and join with me like a dutiful wife?”
She brushed his hand away and he didn’t stop her. “Not until I come to know my husband and trust him.”
“Aye, that works both ways, wife. Until I can trust you, I will not lie with you.”
“And what if we never trust each other?” she asked, a strange unease creeping over her.
“Then you will live in Leighfeld, and I will live in Venngraith stuck in a useless union.”
Rain and wind suddenly pounded at the window as if the storm wished to join the brewing one inside.
Such fate was not to her liking, but neither was living at Venngraith.
“I will sleep beside you in bed, but we will not join, or perhaps never join, until this matter is settled between us,” he said and raised his goblet as if toasting to it.
Elara felt relieved. There was time for this but not now, not with the king’s maddening treatment of the healers and war looming from across the sea. This had to wait, it must, since she simply had no idea how to handle it.
The king’s chamber was vast, lit only by the glow of the hearth and a few tall candelabras that stood like silent sentinels throughout the room. Shadows pooled in the corners, shifting with every flicker of flame.
Adira lay on a small sleeping pallet before the hearth, her red braid spilling over her shoulder, her face pale from pain and fear. Her bandaged arm rested against her chest, fingers curled as if still bracing for the blade that had cut her.
King Dravic stood a few paces away, hands clasped behind him, watching her with a stern expression. The firelight carved strong lines across his face, sharp cheekbones, a proud jaw, and eyes of an intense, icy blue that missed nothing.
Though his voice carried the weight of command, he spoke less roughly. “You do not understand a word I say, do you, lass?”
Adira blinked back unshed tears, her gaze remaining on him, uncomprehending but attentive.
Dravic stepped closer, stopping beside the pallet, his shadow falling across her. “In a strange way, you may be precisely what I need.”
She continued to stare at him, shifting uneasily on the pallet.
He crouched beside her, not close enough to touch, but close enough to study her face, her trembling lip, the dried tear tracks on her cheek. Her wide green eyes reflected the firelight like fractured glass.
“You sense and feel what others don’t.” He tilted his head slightly.
Her breath quickened, but she didn’t look away.
“You are not like the others,” he continued, reaching out, not to touch her, but to lift a strand of her hair that had fallen loose from the braid and was caught by the glow of the flames’ light. It glowed like copper.
His gaze roamed over her face, not lustful, but intensely curious… as though she were the first puzzle that had ever troubled him.
His voice dropped. “You cannot hear nor speak.” A muscle in his jaw tightened. “I have advisors who listen too much. Spies who speak too often. Courtiers who whisper things they shouldn’t.” He let the strand of her hair slip from his fingers. “But you… you could never betray me, could you?”
He stood slowly, straightening to his full imposing height.
“You will remain here tonight,” he said, though she could not hear the words. Still, he gestured clearly, pointing to the pallet, then to himself, then to the door, closing his fist to indicate it would stay shut.
She clutched her injured arm and watched him with wide, uncertain eyes.
He stepped toward his table, filling a goblet with wine, though he didn’t drink it. He stared into the goblet instead.
“Scotara is on the brink of war and whispers of unrest circulate,” he said, thoughts churning in his head. “But where did this unrest start and who perpetuates it? Who can I trust and who should I not trust? Who wants my crown, those from across the sea or those within my own lands?”
He looked back at Adira.
Adira’s lower lip trembled, but she held his eyes.