Page 67 of The Blight of Hollowmire

“No. But I do possess hands.”

She harrumphs, and the movement shifts the bed slightly.

“I’m afraid that explanation creates far more concerns than it resolves,” she says. “Is this your idea of facing the wall and forgoing all impropriety?”

Despite myself, I grin into the dark. “On my honor as a knight, you may trust me.”

“Is now a good time to remind you that you are a knight no longer?” she presses.

“Your observation strikes true. On my honor as a farmer, then, you may trust me.”

“You know, I find that a much more earnest profession, anyway.”

“So do I,” I admit.

She goes quiet for long enough that I assume she’ll refuse. Then, with visible reluctance, she rolls onto her back beside me.

Warm, dim firelight spills softly across her face. The shadows beneath her eyes look darker now that she’s finally stopped fighting her exhaustion. Loose silver strands spread across the pillow around the antlers curving through them, giving her an unearthly appearance that makes my chest ache with reluctant tenderness.

Carefully, I move closer carefully and slide one hand into her hair.

The moment my fingers find the tense hollows of her temples and the angry, overheated skin stretched and shining beneath the antlers, Vireth exhales sharply, her relief evident.

“There?” I murmur.

“Yes,” she says after a moment, voice quieter now. “Gods, yes.”

If I were set upon by a bogunder, a lythettan, and a wyreboar all at once, I still don’t think I would have the wherewithal to stop after such an exhalation. Every muscle in my body draws as taught as a bowstring, my heart thundering and my cock straining in my breeches. I swallow thickly—the sound thunderous in the gentle quiet. I work slowly, carefully applying pressure at the base of the antlers where strain has gathered beneath the skin. They feel warm beneath my fingertips, almost like they grow even now.

Vireth gradually relaxes as her discomfort starts to ease. The tightness leaves her shoulders first, then the rigid set of her jaw. Every so often she leans unconsciously into my hand before catching herself and going still again.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” she says drowsily. “Once again, I am perplexed at the breadth of your skillset given how ignorantly you came into my world.”

I chuckle again. “Cease your insults to my honor, Lady Fae, or I might stop.”

“That would be a tragedy. This is the best I have felt in days. I might decide not to destroy the world, if this continues.”

She means it in jest, but her words summon a brief, awkward silence. There’s only the sound of the fire crackling softly behind us, and the faint scratching of Nibblebones building her den somewhere in the rafters.

“It is not my place to comment on what you’re going through, Vireth,” I hedge. “But for what it’s worth, I do not believe you will destroy the world.”

“Then you are the only one who thinks so,” she says stifling a yawn. “Not even I am certain about how this wretched fate will play out, but I doubt anyone will hold a parade or a feast day in my honor.”

Outside, fog presses against the windows while the inn settles deeper into nighttime quiet.

“The world may yet surprise you,” I say, only because my own heart seems keen on bleeding out at her despair.

Vireth opens one eye slightly. “You moved closer.”

“My arms are only so long,” I lie.

“Hmm.”

The suspicious little sound should not affect me as much as it does. Gods, but this is dangerous. Touching her like this feels natural in ways I don’t quite understand, and no longer know how to defend against. I think suddenly of Ursula’s cottage and the ancient stories about balance correcting itself through decay.

And Arden. Always Arden now, much to my everlasting shame. The more I think about him, the more I am enraged by his careful calm inside the barn after he’d sent a score of starving squires dressed up in armor to cart me back to the seat of usurped power. I find myself nearly choking on resentment with the way he spoke about sacrifice with such measured certainty.

I do not regret my path to become a knight, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that those who command armies are often far too certain of the necessity of sacrifice only when it is measured in the blood of others.