Page 25 of End of the Sword


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She was capable, yes. But should a queen have to? No.

“There are laces to be done up. I can’t very well reach behind me and tie them myself.”

Burke looked down at his hands. “I think I might be capable of doing that.” He gave her a fleeting cheeky grin. “I do have experience with that.”

A blush, crimson and hot, spread across her cheeks and burned all the way down her neck. She should smite him right here. Gods, she wanted to. There was no way she could allow him to have the upper hand.

“Are you making a reference to the morning after your first drunken night?” She arched a slender brow, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. Though a kiss of red still darkened her face she wouldn’t allow herself any other show of embarrassment.

Ambrose watched with unfaltering curiosity as Burke’s tongue ran across his bottom lip. Was he reliving the memory too?

They were nothing more than a boy and a girl back then. He’d just turned of age shortly after she had and her parents had promised him her hand. She had not been the daughter he was seeking to marry but she was the one he got.

Ophelia from an early age was taught to be more than what her poor family was. She was the first daughter. She was the stepping stone to higher status and connections with wealthy families. Burke’s family built their living from hunting. Selling meats and pelts to the small town of River Bend didn’t offer much money. Or status.

His family still tried their best to give him an outstanding coming of age party. He’d drunk with everyone all evening till slowly they all wobbled home and it was only him and his future wife. Ambrose had only drunk a lady’s fair share, a cup of wine every hour and no more.

He’d closed the door on the last guests and sauntered over to the couch she’d propped herself on. His body flopped down bouncing her toward him when the cushions dipped under his weight.

Burke had chuckled then. A deep belly laugh as if he himself did not believe that the night was real. He turned toward Ambrose offering her the sloshing brown liquor with half hooded eyes.

“It’s just you and me now. It shall be like this for the rest of our lives. You don’t need to act like a lady when it’s just us. Here. Drink.”

Eager to please and prove her worth over Ophelia she’d snatched the bottle up and chugged the liquid down. It created a searing path all the way down into her stomach. Together they’d sat on that couch talking more than was considered polite until the talking turned to kisses and the kisses turned into something more.

He’d been her first. He was supposed to be her husband.

Things changed.

Her parents died, war came, and when Burke actually got to choose his life instead of getting second best, he picked Ophelia.

Though the memory was often a dark stain on her past, Ambrose did take some comfort in knowing she’d had him before Ophelia ever could. She wasn’t certain they’d ever shared a bed but if they had Ophelia had not been first.

“I’ve often wondered if you remembered that night.” Burke straightened.

“How could I forget?” She tossed the words over her shoulder, swiftly turning on the balls of her feet, and strolled to the wardrobe.

The doors stuck when she first pulled and groaned loudly as she opened them. While the room had been cleaned it was obvious it hadn’t been used much. Ophelia must have saved the fancy little prison cell just for her. She should be flattered.

Fingers skimming over fabric, Ambrose scowled at the dresses. These were not gowns fit for a queen. A guest perhaps. Or a person of the court.

Certainlynotfor her.

“Are these my only options?”

“We both know they aren’t.” His voice was closer now, just over her shoulder.

She turned and looked back at him. Her fingers itched for her staff and the tingling sensation raced up and down her spine when the urge for magic pulsed strong enough. So he wanted a show.

Burke was playing with her just like Ophelia did. Ambrose didn’t much care for being the prey to such unworthy predators.

Silk whispered against skin, the simple nightgown carefully slid from her shoulder and down the curves of her body. Fresh air licked at her nakedness. A trail of goosebumps rose up and her nipples hardened.

The intensity of Burke’s stare bore into her but as she pulled a dress from the wardrobe and turned to face him, he spun to look away.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Ambrose said plainly.

“I was very drunk that night. Your image was much fuzzier in my memory than it is in person.”

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