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That’s what it truly came down to—Silas knew I despised fate dictating the desires of my damn heart, so he was willing to let me go. But let me go to do what? Touch another? Kiss another? Bed another? Take vows with some sod I didn’t even know? Live alone with Forbi and Danna and Oviss?
With a flurry of kicks, I tossed the furs of the bed off my body and paced near the foot of the bed. Hair stuck to the damp on my forehead, my skin was flushed in prickles of heat, and my bleeding pulse was on fire in my veins.
My royals were under attack, no mistake, but he wasn’t wrong. We had our own battles coming to our shores. There was untapped power, magic, seidr, the lot, inside this soil. I could feel it, as though every pump of my heart spewed more heat in my veins. More strength.
I simply couldn’t reach it. There was a step to take, one that I knew in the deepest part of my gut would help my family in the other kingdoms.
But was the flame because fate dictated who my heart was destined to love? Was it real?
I dragged my palms down my face, groaning, and leaned my brow against the chilled glass of the window. All I’d wanted was freedom from fate, from darkness, from fear. I’d taken the step, discovered the truth of my existence, now the man who’d unraveled it all had placed my future back in my hands.
“Dammit.” I let out a rough breath.
I didn’t know what was happening in the other lands, but hot, sharp tears burned behind my eyes. Were they alive? Injured? Was that bastard of a battle lord cutting down their forces?
I wished they were here. I wanted to speak with Saga; she always seemed to know what to bleeding say. I wanted Elise to give me that grin that said it would all be well. I wanted Malin to tease the scowls off Kase’s face until we all laughed.
I wanted Sol.
He’d sit beside me and listen to my fears of being a slave to fate’s whims. He’d let me rant and rave, then softly give his advice.
I wanted them all, but the wanting for the folk who’d shoved into my heart was a soft ember to the fire burning to find Silas. To feel his skin under my fingertips. To hear the rapid beat of his heart thrumming in time with my own.
While I paced, I caught sight of a torn piece of parchment beneath the crack in the door. The words brought a new thickness to my throat.
Spoke to Olaf. It was horrid, if you must know. I rather hate speaking to folk, but he assured me that signals are being sent to the kingdoms, and the Rave will inspect the sea at the dawn to ensure the water is devoid of sea folk and safe to sail upon. We won’t leave them defenseless, Little Rose.
—S
“Gods.” I clutched the parchment to my heart. That bleeding bastard and his damn fidelity. He’d stepped outside the gates, stepped into a crowd of folk that likely kept his heart racing, all to see that my royals would be supported.
I turned into the room, aimlessly touching and digging through drawers, as though my hands needed to simply keep busy.
Inside a drawer, my fingers brushed over the ridge of parchment. A book of childish charcoal drawings was inside. Scenes with rabbits with ears that dragged on the grass. Rose bushes with monstrous stingers buzzing about. Sunlight and stick-like horses.
This had been ours. I remembered it so clearly. A book of blank parchment we’d drag about, drawing tales during dull days when he was not required to study with the Rave youth or my father, and I was allowed to wander and explore without irritating nannies.
Hells, even now, I could recall how much I looked forward to the moments with him as a small girl. A soft laugh tangled in a sob as long-forgotten moments flooded through my mind with each page.
Silas, skinny and with his irritated scowl on his face, stood in my doorway. “What the hells are you doing?”
I’d spun around, fumbling with the sash over the dress I was told to wear by a stern-faced servant. “Getting dressed.”
Silas let his head fall back and groaned at the rafters before storming into the room. “You hate these stupid skirts.”
“I’m supposed to wear it.”
“And you’re just gonna let folk tell you what to do? I’m not going riding when you’re wearing that ugly thing.”
I huffed. “S’not ugly, you sod.”
“It’s ugly. Boots. Trousers. I’ll be in the stable if you find your backbone.”
My mouth twitched in a small grin as I turned the pages. More memories, more moments, choked the back of my throat.
“Old Mays is outta her damn mind,” Silas said when he’d found me with a knife against my tangled curls. He took the knife and dragged a hand down my hair, smoothing out the tangles, after an old cook insisted sparrows would soon take up and nest on my head. “Do you like your hair?”
I nodded.
