He hiccups, and the three of them laugh raucously.
Larus makes his way across the gangplank first, having had quite enough of their celebration. “The mission was a success, your majesty, as you might have been able to guess. The Nithyrian legions are on the move.”
I squeeze Ronan’s hand. Maybe my first sortie will be the last.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Istand in a narrow corridor beneath the walls of Faros, not far from where I healed Elia the night before, the weight of my chainmail hanging heavy on my shoulders.
There are a dozen soldiers before me and a dozen more behind. But at my side is Ronan.
He’s a vision in his armor, tall and proud and as natural as if he had been born in it. I feel as though I’m seeing a different Ronan here than the one I’ve known, a version of him that is both foreign to me and deeply familiar, a general standing in the boots of the man I love.
He helps me with my helmet, stealing a kiss before lowering it onto my head. Though it wasn’t made for me, it fits well, Ronan having insisted on making me try on a dozen before finding the one that suited me best. “Remember, there’s no shame in falling back. If the fighting gets too heavy and the line starts to break, retreat, no matter what I do.”
I nod noncommittally.
“That’s an order, soldier,” he says. “Out here, you listen to my commands, and you obey them without question.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, rolling my eyes at him a little, but I know that he’s right. He’s the far more experienced fighter and soldier, and I’d be foolish not to listen to him regardless of his status.
Although if he orders me to leave him in danger, he can take that order and shove it up his ass.
He must sense that thought because he leans over and whispers right next to my ear. “If you’re good, I’ll give you a very different set of orders. And maybe a chance at your own command.”
I sweat at the thought, my mouth running dry. “I’ll take the orders,” I whisper back. “And the punishment, if I disobey.”
“Fuck,” he mouths.
I don’t know if it’s the heat of the bodies in the tunnel or the threat of our impending death or the words we’ve just said, but my need for him overwhelms me. I lift my helmet and kiss him, hard, my grip on him bruising, and he kisses me back just as fiercely.
Someone behind us whoops, the sound of it along with Taran’s throat-clearing cough sending me into giggles.
“Well, it’s a bit different from how I usually psych myself up for the fight, but I must admit it worked. My blood is pumping, that’s for sure. Who’s with me?”
The soldiers yell back. “We are!”
“Then ONWARD!”
The postern opens, and out we run.
The light of day is an assault on my eyes as we clear the tunnel, dozens of soldiers pouring out from the walls onto an empty stretch of land marred by wide ditches and defensive wooden pikes. But it isn’t long before a shadow looms overhead: arrows pelting our shields in a deluge as we scramble to cover ourselves from fire-born flame.
Then an even larger shadow advances. I cower down, but it passes over my head and into the wall behind me, a huge bolder shattering on stone, the ground shaking from the impact.
The soldiers charge out into formation, lining up to face their foe. My feet move under me automatically, driven by some instinct to stay with the crowd, to stay near Ronan.
He’s nearly unrecognizable to me here, shouting out commands, waving his sword with so much certainty, so much skill. And so little fear. He’s not just a king here; he’s a warrior, a soldier. A hero. He belongs in paintings and weaved into tapestries, his deeds sung through the ages and carved into the walls of the temples.
A living legend.
And me?
Well, I’m here.
I’m here on the field at last. It’s what I wanted and waited for, what I spent years dreaming of while my family fought and bled and died for our cause.
And here I am, after all this time, in the thick of the fight.
