Hours later, I couldn’t say I regretted it. My head lay on his chest as his hand slid slowly up the skin of my arm and across my shoulder. He gently drew my hair away to bare my neck, and then his fingers retraced the line.
“Do you feel any different?” I asked.
His chest rumbled beneath my cheek with a sort of chuckle and I turned to examine his face. He stared at me for a long moment, finally understanding. “You don’t know, do you?”
“What?”
Eyes never leaving mine, he let out a slow breath. “We have always been bound, Freya.”
I stared at him, unable to process his words.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a gentle, sympathetic smile. The kind you give a small child when they can’t possibly understand something larger than their world. But it wasn’t offensive. It was beautiful, filled with affection.
“The bond,” he explained, “somehow we created it without intent, very long ago.”
I was pretty sure my expression fell somewhere between shock and confusion, but I couldn’t bother trying to appear otherwise.
His fingers continued to trail the line of my back. “I think it is usually created while coupling,” his face was taken over by a slow, sexy smile then, remembering, and he tilted his head up to place a kiss on my forehead before continuing, “because that is when two are the closest. Their magic, their bodies, their... love.” Here I was kissed again, more passionately, and I had to focus hard on what he was saying.
I sat up, which did nothing to discourage him.
“But that can’t be right,” I said numbly, searching for an argument.
His gaze drifted up to meet mine, the hand that had been tracing lazy circles on my skin stilled.
“The elders,” I explained, “they all said it would change us, keep us from being true to anything but ourselves. Bring our union above all others.”
He raised my hand for a kiss. “Do you mean abandoning the throne to run away with me?” he asked calmly, as if he were inquiring whether I’d like a glass of wine. He leaned forward and kissed my forearm. “Or waiting for you when you were trapped... searching for a way to release you... risking all for your return?” His lips trailed farther up my arm, pausing only as he glanced at me once more. “Keeping me close to you, all the while knowing it could cost you your life.”
We were already bound.
For as long as I could remember, I had always wanted him.
He was tied to me.
We were bound.
The idea was overwhelming, but suddenly I couldn’t spare it another thought, because his lips had reached my own and I was, once again, lost to the outside world.
Time was non-existent until the shuffle of boots in the corridor pulled me from my contented trance. I sat up suddenly, recalling our plan.
“What time is it?” I asked frantically.
Chevelle dragged me back against him, tilting his head to place slow kisses on my neck.
It almost worked.
A noise farther down the corridor reminded me that we were late. I pressed back, far enough to kiss him thoroughly, and then free of the bed. His face fell. I smiled.
I was dressed well before he was, securing my scabbard as he laced his shirt. He was in no hurry, but I knew he wouldn’t ask me to postpone again. Not after our argument, and not after last night. We would see vengeance. This, at least, would be done.
He sat to fasten his boots and I watched him as I thought again of his promise. We have always been bound. My mind had been fighting for some way to dispute the idea, but could only come up with evidence to corroborate it.
Something had always called me to Chevelle. I knew, but I’d simply never understood. How could I? How could anyone?
He raised his head and suddenly I was staring into depthless sapphire. My stomach tightened and I hurriedly turned to open the door. A hand on my shoulder stopped me, and he pulled my hair to the side to place a soft kiss on my neck. Wordlessly, we walked from the room, Chevelle settling his leather breastplate as we went.
We found the others in the study, light spilling through the windows making it obvious it wasn’t exactly dawn. Close enough, I thought, glancing around to be certain everyone was accounted for.
“Steed is readying the horses,” Ruby supplied.
I nodded. How she, or any of the others for that matter, had managed not to comment or at least betray some emotion about Chevelle and I, was beyond me.
“We are set to go,” Anvil agreed.
I supposed that was how they’d managed, knowing what we were about to set out to do. “Then let us go,” I said. “For the North.”
A harmony of agreement met my oath and we made our way to the yard as one, a small army by all outward appearances. Ruby’s curls were smoothed back, a braid from each temple meeting at the base of her neck to form a knot. She had forgone the silver; she and each of the guard donned black uniforms, insignias marking the shoulder clasps of their dark cloaks. Only the shine of Rhys and Rider’s hair stood out among us.