Still unsure how she felt about more Alliance members joining their band, Evylin set her empty cup on the table. Shedrifted to the bed, leaning back against the pillows. Though she liked the Calders, she wasn’t sure she was ready to have more devout members around, spoiling their fun little band. It seemed that every day brought new reasons to continually disrupt the troop they’d once been, trained by Hewitt as part of the Ephrian Army.
And what if they determined they didn’t support the Alliance? They knew so little about the organization. It worried Evylin that they might discover some unsavory monarch at the helm or a cause they were unwilling to champion. The Administration they were meeting with appeared to be part of the governing force, but what did that even mean? Was this the same group of individuals who’d decided to wheedle the Ephrian soldiers into working for them? Their penchant for secrets and manipulation made her all the more uncomfortable. But then, Deckard’s promise to serve them bothered her too.
What if they discovered the Alliance wasn’t worthy of their help? What if they were cruel and tyrannical like King Blount? Or insipid and selfish like King Ephren? Would Deckard uphold his promise then? Or would he break it, to hell with whatever consequences came?
Evylin took a deep breath, staring out the window as she stretched her legs across the bed. And yet, what if the Alliance was true and noble? What if the Calders were right? What if this plan to return Allund to its original state, to the nation of Allore’s calling, was pure and righteous? Deckard would certainly hold up his end of the bargain in that case. But would that include their own Bonding?
Playing with the buttons on her blouse, Evylin considered the idea. Could she be happy with that life? Life as Deckard’s Warrior, Bonded to him, body and soul.
A smirk tugged at her lips. Yes, she could beveryhappy with that life. A hundred years with Deckard would never be enough. She’d settle for two centuries quite cheerfully.
Evylin’s thoughts devolved over the next several minutes. Deckard would return soon, coming to claim his continued “conversation.” She rolled onto her side, imagining him lying beside her, kissing her, touching her...and then promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
The gentlest touch drew Evylin to open her heavy-lidded eyes. Deckard’s deep voice thrummed through her ears, reaching down into her heart as he whispered her name. She rolled into the touch, his palm warm against her cheek. At last, he had returned.
Deckard pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s time to go,” he said softly.
Evylin’s eyes flew open. “What?” she gasped.
Smiling down at her, Deckard’s form was outlined by the bright amber light of sunset. “Well, we have a few minutes still,” he said. “I thought you might need time to prepare.”
Evylin stared at him in shock. “How long have you been back?”
He shrugged. “A little over three hours.”
“You didn’t wake me?”
“You were tired.” Deckard’s thumb brushed her cheekbone. “I wanted to let you sleep.”
Evylin didn’t know how to tell him that she’d rather have lost sleep to him and his affections than be well-rested. Women in Ephrian society didn’t discuss such brazen topics, not even with their husbands. And while she normally didn’t care about being perceived as a decorous lady, this was Colonel Jonn Deckard—he prized propriety more than most things. Perhaps he wouldn’t appreciate her wanton thoughts.
Capturing his hand, Evylin held his gaze. “Next time,” she said, “I give you permission to wake me.”
He smiled, but Evylin wondered if he’d listen. He always was a bit too courteous for his own good.
Rising, Evylin asked about the time. They had fifteen minutes until they were expected in the foyer, where Vayden and Isla would escort them to the meeting. Not long, but just enough time for her to slip behind the changing screen and brush down her sleep-mussed hair in the looking glass.
“What were you doing all this time?” Evylin asked, readjusting her blouse.
Deckard’s voice drifted to her from the other side of the screen. “Preparing. Thinking. Reading.”
“The Alliance gave us books?”
“I foundyourbook in your saddlebag.”
“Oh.” Evylin grabbed a woven shawl from the wardrobe. She’d forgotten that she’d brought the novel with her, but it was small, and she readily tucked it in with her belongings when they were preparing for their journey into Wauld. “Do you like it?”
Deckard waited patiently on the settee as she turned the corner. He wore a steel-blue coat and tan trousers tucked into his black boots. His eyes practically twinkled in the evening light. “It’s no ‘King’s Knight,’” he said playfully, “but it’ll do.”
As Evylin approached, he stood, and she brushed his smooth jawline. “You shaved,” she lamented.
“Was I not supposed to?”
“I’ve told you before,” she said, angling her face toward his. “I like you with a bit of scruff.”
“My sincerest apologies,” he replied. “But Idon’t.”
