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“My point is, have you thought of the ramifications of such a potential mating? Has Fadon? Where will Sierra live? Will you share her half of the year, the other half with the captain, in Goth Mor Helle?”
Fucking good point.
He rubbed the back of his head. “I follow.” There was too much going on right now to even begin to untangle all those scenarios. “Something to think on when we ride out.”
“Which is when?”
“Right now.”
Chapter Twenty
Fadon
She smelled clean and sweet, but underneath the soap and her natural scent, Fadon’s sensitive nose could pick out her two mates. It was obvious that, at some point since she’d been taken, she and Demos had mated. It burned him, yes. But… Well, he chose to ignore how he felt about that. Now, he was simply more than satisfied to wrap his arms loosely around her in front of him, have her between his thighs as the horse under them moved gracefully through the wintry woods.
They had left the camp an hour ago, and since it was already late afternoon, the team of Ongarhi were riding as hard as they could and as long as they could before they’d have no choice but to stop for the night somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
It would be days before they would reach a village, and he wasn’t looking forward to sleeping under the sky, in the growing frigid temperatures, in another tent. Yet he also didn’t want to ride either. It seemed he was always riding now; even in his dreams, he was forever on a horse. He almost missed those boring days back at the Mor, where the only worry he had was how to stay busy.
He wondered how his Second was faring and wished Jon rode by his side. But with the current situation with the Owl and all the other one hundred troubles outside Goth Mor Hell’s door, he could at least be assured House Trajan was in good hands with Jon at the helm.
The riders slowed down. Up ahead, Fadon could see that the path they had taken—not a man-made one—was obstructed by a row of heavy brush. They’d have to go around.
He pulled back on the reins just enough to let his mount know, then decided he wanted to use the opportunity to talk. To his left and right, riders passed by, eyes focused ahead.
Now falling to the back of the group and away from prying ears, Fadon let go of the reins and swept Sierra’s hair off the side of her nape, where he planted a kiss, much too close to her blasted osnat for his liking. He’d kill to have his own osnat on her, the one he’d clasped around her slender neck back in Providence.
She shuddered in his hold and tilted her head so she could see his face. She looked content, peaceful. Safe.
“Thank you for agreeing to ride with me, Sierra,” he said, an inch away from her sultry mouth. She seemed both welcoming of his attentions and wary. The latter he could understand.
“We have a lot to say to each other,” she said, facing forward again. “Who knows when we’ll get a chance to really talk.” She took his hand and laced her fingers with his, resting them against her warm stomach.
“That we do.”
“I hope you’re not too mad, Fadon. I know you dislike Lucius. But he’s not what you think. I love him. And I trust him. We had a… disagreement and I took it badly. We’re good again, though. So please don’t think he coerced me or anything like that.”
“Ander told me about your heat, how Lucius came to claim you. What happened with those tonics?” No matter what she said about the House Dega leader, Fadon wouldn’t put it past him to being the one who’d compromised those tonics that his own people had made for her.
Ongar, he wished he had never left Ordelpho. Turned out, he didn’t even need to, what with Servant Sarbo escaping the first day at Goth Mor Helle. All for nothing. And now look at what had happened.
Her words came out bitter, and Fadon frowned, not expecting them at all. “It was planned by a group of Ordelpho women. Their Sapera has a lot to answer to. They wanted me and Lucius to marry, to carry out some grand plan that has yet to be shared with me. So, it was them who was responsible for those tonics not working. They must have replaced them with…”
“Sugar water,” he supplied, obviously not pointing out that he had made that accusation to her long ago. That would only add salt to the wound. “Why would they do that?”
“Because of some prophecy. I’m supposedly their—well, yours as well, I guess—White Queen. The Heart of Ongahri.”
When he didn’t say anything, Sierra turned around to look at him again.
“You knew about the prophecy, didn’t you?”
Fuck. “I did, yes.”
“When? How?” she demanded, looking hurt and very angry.
He tried to meet her eyes. But he was a coward sometimes when it came to her. “Lady Lordes told me the night Lucius took you.”
“For the last time, Lucius did not—”
