It is my cheeks, now, that are glowing. “Yes, lace. They were for in case I married you. My wedding-night bloomers.”
Golmarr clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. “I missed out on some scandalous bloomers,” he says. I gasp and swing my staff at him again, but he jumps out of the way with a laugh. With me still in the lead, we continue down.
The Glass Forest, we discover, climbs partway up the side of the mountain, choking the native pines until they are nothing more than skeletons shooting up into dense, wide leaves that hide the sky. The sunlight shining through the leaves is filtered to a murky, thick green. The air becomes damp with moisture, which curls along the ground in gray wisps, and Golmarr has to use his sword to cut our way forward through ferns and vines and wildflowers.
“Welcome to the Glass Forest,” Golmarr mutters, hacking through a particularly thick vine. “Home of soldiers who deserted the Trevonan army; the Satari, who were chased out of their stone cities a century ago by the stone dragon; and all manner of foul bandits and ruffians who prefer living in a lawless land.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, touching the thick, moss-covered tree trunks as we pass them. “I have never seen anything like this.” I stoop down and pluck a handful of tiny purple flowers from the ground, bringing them to my nose. They smell like peaches and vanilla. I start humming as I walk, and pick every new flower I see until I am holding a rainbow bouquet. “I have always wanted to see the Glass Forest, but I never imagined it to be this breathtaking.” I press the flowers to my nose and sniff. Golmarr stops walking and looks me up and down. His dark brows furrow.
“What?” I ask, lowering the flowers and examining myself. My clothes look like a pile of rags draped over my body, and to think that they were once white almost makes me laugh. Now they are mottled gray, and the deep brown of old blood, like the very dirt beneath my feet. My left sleeve has a jagged tear in it, and my right sleeve is a torn, fraying mess that hangs above my elbow.
Golmarr sheathes his sword and untucks my baggy shirt, covering the knife at my waistband. Next, he crouches down and stands back up with a handful of damp soil. He studies my face for a moment and then wipes a streak of dirt down the bridge of my nose. I drop the flowers and force his hand away from me. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Am I not already filthy enough?”
He shakes his head and smears his hand over my chin and down my throat, covering my skin as far down as the two missing buttons expose it, all the way to the top edge of my camisole. I gasp and pull my shirt closed, and his eyes twinkle with amusement. “Sorry,” he says. “But you’re too beautiful. We need to make you as unattractive as possible.”
“Beautiful?” I ask, thinking of my sisters, the true beauties of my family.
“Very beautiful.” He examines me like an artist examining his painting, and then cradles the back of my head with one hand. Cupping my cheek in his other hand, he slowly wipes his thumb under my eye. “Almost perfect,” he says. “But there’s one more spot that I need to make far less tempting.” His thumb gently traces a smudge of gritty dirt over my lower lip, and I freeze. The hand cradling my head tightens in my hair. Golmarr stares at me and licks his lips, and I turn my mouth up toward his. I place my hands flat against his chest, and my thumbs extend past the edge of his vest and rest on his smooth skin. I can feel the crazy pounding of his heart, faster than my own. “It didn’t work,” Golmarr whispers, resting his thumb against both my lips. “Those lips are still begging to be kissed.” He shakes himself and backs a step away from me. “You can’t call me Golmarr while we are in the forest,” he blurts, wiping a streak of dirt over his eyebrow.
With my heart still pounding from him smudging me with dirt, I nod. “I will call you Ornald.”
“And you will be Jayah.” I cringe at the name of Golmarr’s sister-in-law—the woman who I thought would be my sister wife. “Jayah isn’t so bad,” Golmarr says, slashing a trail through the forest once more. “And speaking of Jayah, do you want to meet her?”
“No, not really.”
“Are you sure? She is a great cook, and my brother, her husband, has some of the best cattle in my land. When I come home, they will throw me a feast.”
“I don’t care to meet her,” I snap as I gingerly step over a rotting log with the aid of my staff.
He turns to face me. “Sorrowlynn, I am asking you if you want to come home with me,” Golmarr says. He studies my face, watching for a reaction.