Page 168 of The Sun He Buried

“Did he say why he was outside?”

“Not really. But I could tell he’d been beaten.” I squeeze Baldr’s hand. “His knuckles were split. One side of his face was bruised.”

He exhales through his nose.

I lean into his shoulder. The clean shirt is warm from his skin and smells faintly of pine soap.

“I told him I was still angry.”

“How did he take that?”

“He drank the coffee.”

Baldr looks toward the fire. “A powerful apology.”

“He said he knew.”

“Eirik knows many things. It’s never improved him.”

I think of bare hands around the cup. The bruise beneath his eye. His quiet answer when I said he’d hurt her.

I know.

Snowpetal’s back legs disappear beneath the bed.

Her tail remains outside and begins sweeping dust from the floor.

“What’s she doing?”

“Cleaning.”

Baldr turns his head toward me.

His fingers slide beneath my hair and close around the back of my neck.

I know that touch.

My stomach gives one small turn.

He bends and kisses me.

I kiss him back.

His mouth opens over mine. The hand at my neck holds me closer, and his other arm goes around my waist.

The bed shifts when he pulls me across his lap.

Snowpetal’s head appears beneath my foot.

I lift it before she decides my toes are involved.

Baldr kisses the corner of my jaw.

Then my throat.

His hand moves up my thigh beneath the nightdress.

I put my palm over it.