As much as she craved to be as certain as he was. A niggling thread of doubt lodged itself in her abdomen, refusing to let go.
For someone as young as she was, she had faced more death than others. And the idea of letting herself feel fully for someone whose death loomed above them an ominous cloud made her stomach twist with nausea.
For Njáll, it was merely a part of who he was. Of his life. He never questioned it. Never feared it.
Death and duty intertwined.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to mimic the stoic acceptance that Njáll had. When her throat bobbed, it only left her mouth drier. She hated many things about Njáll, his indifference to death now top among them.
To not be plagued by grief and loss was a dream she couldn’t fathom. Eventually, she looked up, not sure how long she had spent staring at the ground, lost in her thoughts.
An emotion she didn’t recognize glimmered in his gaze, reflecting the lights illuminating the star-strewn sky. Her mother had once called them fairy lights, glittering gems awakening when two lovers came together.
Her muscles relaxed, and she offered him a soft smile, acquiescing to his demand not to mourn what hadn’t come to pass.
There was still so much life left to live. Elara couldn’t enjoy it if she focused on what hadn’t happened. She had spent the last year grieving, and now she was determined to live the life promised to her.
She still felt out of place. A foreign person in a foreign place with foreign powers she didn’t understand. But for one fleeting moment, she could exist without burdens. Exist with a man who stared at her as if she were all the stars in the sky.
“Brave, girl. My little flame could be nothing less.”
He stepped back, a guttural sound hissing through his teeth as he gazed at her from under hooded eyes. The warmth of his touch on her throat left her, even as his other hand made to map her freckles with his thumb.
“Please, tell me your name, little flame,” he said, his voice thick with his desperate plea. “Let me speak it, and know you are completely mine. I would lay my soul at your feet for a taste of it on my tongue.”
Deep down she wanted to tell him, to see how her name sounded when spoken in an accented rumble.
She squashed the feeling down, and all the indecent thoughts that came with it. The little voice inside her revolted, demanding she tell the gorgeous Dane her name.
“What would you do with my name?”
The question escaped her with more confidence than she felt. Dark glints flashed in his eyes as he crowded her jeweled braids framing his sun-tanned skin.
“Worship it.”
The sinful promise burrowed into the depths of her soul, igniting the hate that still lingered there. Sweat coated her palms, and she rubbed them over her dress, ignoring how her heart thumped against her ribs.
Something propelled her forward. Something she had as much control over as her visions. She pressed a palm against his chest, and she swore he moaned.
“If you wish to worship me, you must earn it.”
She had no idea why those words rolled off her tongue, and by the time she realized it, it was too late to take them back.
Not that she would. Not when the muscles in his body flexed at her challenge.
“Oh, little flame,” he purred, covering her hand with his. “I’d battle to the last breath to be worthy of devoting myself to you. What would you have me do to deem me worthy?”
The harsh demand of his request made shivers dance down her spine, and an ache throb at her apex.
When she didn’t respond, a wolfish grin curled at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, he lowered a leg to the ground, followed by the other until he knelt before her. The ground seemed to shake under her, her ears ringing as she stared at the warrior on his knees.
For her.
He blinked, the motion slow and unhurried as his rough hand skated up the backs of her thighs. His gaze never broke hers, and she was transfixed on him, unable to do anything but watch this jarl submit himself to her.
An unbidden moan hummed in her chest. His mouth parted in a silent laugh. She enjoyed the dangerous rush of heat flooding her abdomen, but this was madness.
Nails dug into the mottled skin near a large scar on his biceps, running below the gold cuff.
