Whatever happened, whoever put her through this hell, I want to kill them.
And that they’re making requests of me has me wanting to lobotomize the fool who dared text her phone mere hours after they goddamn branded her.
Every tear she let loose, every time she vomited—I make a running total.
Someone will pay for her distress.
As I stroke her hair, staring at the book I tossed at the foot of the bed earlier, I settle my head back on the pillow.
The way she held the book, the way she looked at it—I know it’s bad news.
The bandage on her arm, how she flinched and shook when the water collided with it—I know my bride is a Veronian even without her uttering a word about it.
I press a kiss to the crown of her head in thanks.
Because whatever happened tonight, she tried to include me in it. She showed me the book. She offered to let me read it.
But I haven’t.
And I won’t.
If they ask, and I doubt they’ll refrain, I want her to be able to speak the truth with no fear of reprisals.
I ignore their message. I don’t give a fuck if they wait all week for an answer back from us, not after hearing her scream my name, or watching a town car sweep her away from me.
It was no consolation that her guards followed her.
No consolation that I tracked her to the lodge, even stayed there until I saw her leave it hours later.
Those bastards will regret stealing her from my house.
Kissing the crown of her head, I hold her close and fall asleep with her tucked beside me, her arm laid out so her hand can rest on a pillow.
I’m greeted with the sight of tears coursing down her cheeks as she wakes up.
The urge to kill someone is overwhelming, but she doesn’t need me to be homicidal.
She needs her husband.
Clucking my tongue at her, I clean the wound and change the bandage.
“They didn’t want you to see the brand,” she whispers.
“They’re shit out of luck then, aren’t they?”
Her lips curve in a faint smile that’s a milk-and-water version of her regular one. “Did you read the book?”
“No. You can tell me what I need to know. I prefer you to be able to plead the Fifth.”
“Not sure the Veronians care about our Constitution.”
“I’m not sure I give a fuck what they care about.” I glance at the wound that’s already seeping pink through the gauze. “I’ll get you a watch that’ll cover it.”
Her throat bobs. “That’d help.”
“First things first, we need to get it healed. I’ll have a doctor come around?—”
“No one can see it!”
