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“That’s why I’ve brought you here.” He stared at her for a long stretch of silence, and Blanchette felt a rising flutter in her belly. A gentle breeze rustled his wavy black hair and swept the forelock across his thick, dark brows.
Her tummy did a flip as she felt his muscled body align with hers. His arms came around her shoulders, and he took her hands in his own. He lifted the bow, and his breath and voice were in her ears. “Now… let’s resume our lessons, shall we? I made this bow to fit you perfectly. And I will teach you how to kill a man without him ever seeing you.”
Her stomach flipped and turned again. She exhaled a long breath, then heard herself say, “I’ve killed too many men already.”
She felt him stiffen behind her. His hands loosened, and the bow lowered several inches. He read her eyes and saw something there. “We all do what we must to survive. You were protecting your home and family. You were protecting yourself.”
And I failed, she inwardly thought, a feeling of hopelessness rising inside her. Her parents. Her brother. Elise. Now Governess Agnes. Tears stung her eyes. She madly blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.
“Then teach me, Rowan,” she finally said.
She felt him nod. One of his hands slid down her forearm. Long, deft fingers grasped her elbow and lifted it slightly. “Always keep your elbow up, Blanchette.” The way her name sounded, leaving his tongue—like he savored its taste—made her lightheaded. She blinked a few times and tried to remember not to let her elbow fall. She couldn’t say why, but suddenly, it was vital that she impressed him.
Because you’re falling in love with him, you foolish girl. That’s why. It’s as clear as Norland’s blue sky… and as treacherous as the winter snows and Rockbluff River.
“Good,” he said, the word sounding like an endearment. He nocked an arrow and guided her elbow back. “Now loose.”
She did. Again and again and again until her arms and fingers ached and calluses began to form. Then she practiced some more, Rowan guiding her with soft instruction and touches as they watched the sun ascend over Norland.
* * *
Huntley’s ship slid into Shadowmoor’s harbor. It pushed through a haze that shrouded his family’s sliver of the kingdom. Black towers thrust into the sky like an angry fist. The castle rimmed the edge of the bluffs and overlooked the ocean, where seven hundred longships sat in its shadow.
I’ve, too, been lurking in its shadow.
But now was his opportunity. His chance to carve a piece of the kingdom for him and his family… and God be damned if he wouldn’t see that to the bitter end.
Huntley grasped the ship’s railing as they passed through a low-hanging cloud. His free hand caressed the pommel of his dagger—he’d called it golden tooth, remembering his father’s reaction to the name. That characteristic look of disdain had curled his thin lips. “Are you a boy or a lord?” he’d asked.
He’d been a boy of only nine years, but he’d answered as best as he could with a man’s audacity. “I’ll be the lord of Shadowmoor one day and a king.”
Which is more than anyone can say about you. The boy in him stopped him from speaking that part aloud.
Huntley reached into his jerkin and withdrew a small, cast-iron thimble. He rotated it between his thumb and forefinger, his thoughts drifting to another time and place...
* * *
The long hall was cold.
But the voice was colder.
“You’re home,” his father said, though it was far from welcoming. Huntley grasped the pommel of his sword and approached his father with long, fierce strides. He stood before the hearth, which was also black and cold.
“It was time. It’s been too long.”
His father made a noncommittal noise. Maybe a grunt. “The Black Wolf ravages Norland. Tongues have been wagging from every shadow of the castle and village. ‘The Mad Dog,’ many are calling him now.”
Huntley’s mouth ticked at the corner. “Then I’m doing my job well. And I much prefer ‘The Hellhound.’ I came up with it myself.”
His father didn’t offer a compliment. Only another noncommittal grunt. Which is relatively high praise coming from this cold sack of bones.
There was a sadness in Admiral James that Huntley could never empathize with. His eyes were small and stern, his lips resembling two thin worms, his nose like a beak. Fortunately, Huntley had been blessed with his mother’s bright eyes and golden looks—something his father couldn’t quite forgive.
“I’ve been sending raiding parties into Norland’s villages,” Huntley explained, searching his father’s face. “Skeleton crews, really, attacking under the Black Wolf’s banner.”
“Not even man enough to your own dirty work?” Admiral James frowned. “No matter. It’s time we bring the other houses into the fold.” His eyes searched Huntley’s expression in a way that unsettled him and caused his bowels to tighten. Huntley cursed himself for it, and their silence reached a feverish pitch.
I’ve never grown up.
