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She stuck her tongue out at me.
The two of us went up the stairs to the second of two bedrooms in the cottage. There was only one bed.
“I’ll take the floor,” I offered before she could say anything.
The two of us sat cross-legged on the hardwood panels in front of the fire. The room was simple, a stone-framed fireplace and a single bed, a carved clothes press against the wall, a nightstand with a candle for the evening’s light.
She was shivering even in front of the fire, and I pulled the quilt from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“I lost your cloak,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter.” I’d taken another off a dead man anyway.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Honor. I don’t care.”
There was a knock on the door, and I jumped up to find the owner of the house with the meal he’d promised. Two bowls of thick, delicious-smelling stew and fresh, crusty bread. I thanked him politely, closed the door, and tried to summon the magic to make sure it wasn’t enchanted—but I was spent. My spell sputtered and failed.
I’d never run out of magic so quickly before. Something had shifted when Honor altered the magic. Was it permanent or temporary?
As Honor ate her soup, I watched her. Her hair was lit by the fire so that it looked as if it were made of flame. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Part of me wanted to tear down her shirt so I could see my mark on her skin. Reckless pride and longing mixed in my chest and almost made me lose my damned mind.
I’d tried to love other women, but all my life, I’d been waiting for her.
The intensity of that feeling, that sentiment, horrified me and I tried to focus on my soup.
When her bowl was empty, I took it out of her hand. “You should get some rest.”
“And you should stop bossing me,” she said, though she was too tired for the words to hold much heat.
“Fine,” I said. Instead of bossing her, I’d just move her. I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her up, and despite herself, she snuggled into my chest. Her long, lithe body felt so right against mine. The quilt slipped off her shoulders and pooled on the floor.
I carried her to the bed and tucked her in. The light was dim, just the flicker of the fire and the single candle. I lay the quilt over her, and I wanted to kiss her good night, but I restrained myself.
“Good night, my queen,” I said softly as I lay down on the floor, wrapping myself in my newly stolen cloak.
“Good night, my knight.” Her voice had that mischievous note that I loved. As long as she realized thather knightwas not going to serve the queen’s wishes if those wishes put her in danger.
But I knew she was a powerhouse anyway, even stripped of her powers—whether that was for now or forever.
I listened in the near-dark for her breathing to drop into slow, steady breaths. The fire crackled, and sometimes a log shifted, sending sparks flying. She turned over in the bed, the clean sheets and hay mattress rustling beneath her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she answered, but I heard her teeth chatter at the end.
I rose and tucked my cloak over her.
“No,” she said. “You’ll be too cold to sleep.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“At least lay down with me then.”
I let out a laugh. “I think we both know that’s a terrible idea.”
“I can’t sleep knowing you’re uncomfortable for my sake.” Then, more softly, more persuasively. “I’m so cold. I need your heat warming the bed.”
