Lyngfen

From almost every corner of his kingdoms, Blackworm Mountain loomed visible in the distance. As they’d traveled north on this journey, it had always lain in front of them. Now it no longer lay ahead, but rose to the west as they passed through the upper part of Lyngfen.

Fifteen years he had spent in the belly of that mountain, in the mines and tunnels that seemed a sunless world of their own. A world that Kael had destroyed almost the very moment after he’d freed those who’d been enslaved there.

Yet it was not those fifteen years that loomed in his mind when the mountain was no longer a peak in the distance but a glowering hell nearby. Instead it was the cursed road ahead and the next four days that gnawed with vicious teeth upon his heart.

In four days, they would be in Ivermere.

“Kael.”

Immediately his gaze went to Anja’s face, searching for the source of the worry that sharpened her tone. She was frowning, but not looking at him. Instead she leaned over in the saddle and watched the horse’s long and even stride.

“Is she favoring a leg? Her head bobs more than usual but I can’t feel it in her gait.”

He studied the mare’s walk. “Not one leg over the other.”

“Perhaps she’s favoring two.” Anja drew on her reins and swiftly dismounted.

Kael halted his own mount and joined her, taking Anja’s reins and remaining at the mare’s head while she ran her hands down the horse’s forelegs.

“It’s hot and swollen here.” Gently she prodded the horse’s leg below the knee. Nickering, the mare shifted her weight away from Anja’s touch. “And the other side, too. Splints, I think.”

Which would heal, given time. But they did not have much of that.

Anja let out a relieved breath, then smiled up at him. “I feared worse. Especially after that bearded bandit caught hold of her so roughly.”

“That might have helped the splints along, but it was more likely the road.” They had been traveling long distances each day.

Gnawing her lip, Anja rose to her feet. “I should not ride her. It is only more weight for her to carry.”

“Ride with me, then.” His own horse was sound and he traveled light. If he and the horse had been dressed in full armor, the chainmail and metal plating would have weighed more than she did. “The next village isn’t far. We’ll stable her there and leave word for the caravan that follows. By the time your trunks are delivered to Ivermere and the caravan returns this way, she’ll be sound enough for the journey home.”

Anja nodded, though unhappiness passed through her eyes—and he wasn’t certain whether it was mention of her going home or the idea of riding with him. But he only had four days left and would not pass this opportunity to hold her again.

After tethering the mare’s lead to his saddle, he moved to lift her onto his horse but she hesitated, moving back.

“If I am to ride behind you, I should mount second,” she said.

“You will be in front.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That is not the usual way of riding double.”

“No.” But he would do it no other way. If she sat ahead of him in the saddle, he would see any threat approaching. His body would shield her from any unseen threat from behind. “It is how a king rides double.”

Her soft lips smashed together as if fighting a smile—a battle she quickly lost. Laughing, she shook her head.

“I should never have told you that whatever you do is what a king does. Will you use it to get your way every time?”

“If I must.”

“All right, then.” But she didn’t step forward to mount the horse; instead she took off her coat and turned it backward, pushing her arms back through the sleeves and covering her front in fur. At his curious look, she explained, “It is too thick and would bunch between us.”

So it would. He hefted her up into the saddle, clenching his teeth against a tortured groan when she swung her leg over and he glimpsed the barest bit of skin at her inner thigh. Then she settled and straightened her tunic beneath her, so that bare skin would not chafe against leather. His cock stiff as a sword, he swung into the saddle.

She could not mistake the hardness behind her, for with both of them in the cradle of the saddle, the seat was a snug fit. His cock was a rigid pole pressing against her ass, yet she gave no indication—neither pressing against him or moving away. Though perhaps she didn’t feel it through her thick tunic and his straining breeches. Or perhaps she believed he was always in this state, for his cock was always hard when he held her close.

By the gods, he had missed this. He had not held her since he’d stopped sharing her bed. The sweet pleasure of binding her leg had been dulled by the shame of wanting to fuck her even while she bled from an injury he ought to have prevented. And she touched him so often of late, but that was more torment, because they were innocent touches to his hands or his face.

But never did she open her mouth and ask for more.

He would have given anything she asked for. At her command, he would have razed Blackworm Mountain itself. But for now she only leaned back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. The coat draped like a blanket down her front and was long enough to cover their legs.

Her soft laugh shook gently through his chest. “This is quite comfortable, in truth. I could nap here.”

“I will not let you fall if you do.” Already he held her securely, the reins in his right hand and his left arm wrapped around her waist.

“I am not tired.”

He heard the smile in her voice when she answered, yet despite how often she’d talked these past days, she seemed content with silence now.

As was Kael, though it was all he was content with. To have her against him, to know the soft feel of her, to breathe the sweet smell of her—never had he been so overwhelmed with need.

And this journey would be all that he ever had of her. He ought to have spent every moment like this, holding her close.

She reached up, and the soft touch of her fingers against his jaw thundered through his veins. Gently she turned his gaze to the west. “That is Blackworm Mountain, is it not?”

“It is.”

She said nothing after that, but let her palm curl back around his nape—as if in comfort.

A comfort he didn’t need, but would take. “Ask me,” he told her. “I know you have wanted to all day.”

She sighed, and he was sorry he’d spoken when she slid her hand from his neck and let if fall back to her lap. “I don’t want to dredge up painful memories.”

“It does not.” There had been pain, but he had survived. That was all that truly mattered. “But there is little to say. It was as bad as you likely imagine.”

“Probably worse than I can imagine.”

Kael could imagine worse than he had suffered. He had seen worse. “I was enslaved as a boy and became a man within the mountain—and if the Dead Lands were the fire that created me, the mines hammered me into sharpened steel. Others were not so fortunate. When stories of the mines are told, it should be theirs. For they still suffer and I do not, and it’s too easy to believe there were no other consequences when the story most frequently told ends in victory.”

“With you killing Toatin Zan and Geofry losing his head?”

And his guts. And everything else. “Yes.”

Nodding, she fell quiet for a moment, then said, “Have you ever returned to the Dead Lands?”

“There is nothing for me to return to.”

She made a soft noise and her hand found his at her waist, lacing their fingers together. Another comfort he didn’t need but would take. “You had a story before that, though, didn’t you? You have been called the Wolfkiller—were called that even before you began your campaign against Geofry. It is said that you killed five wolves with your bare hands when you were only four years of age. That the pack had bedeviled your clan for a full winter before attacking. And while the adults were fighting them off, more cunning wolves stole into the village from the opposite direction, slinked into your hut and dragged you off to be eaten, but you killed them and escaped.”

Kael grinned against her hair. “It was not my bare hands. I used a rock.”

“Oh, come now!”

“Truthfully.” Partially.

She scoffed.

Laughing, Kael said, “I will show you the scars on my arm from where I was dragged. They are clearly from a wolf’s teeth.”

“Then I will believe you killed one.”

That would be closer to truth. So was this. “I spread the tale and the name—along with the name of the Butcherer. It is always an advantage when enemies fear you long before you arrive to kill them.” Wryly he added, “Perhaps I did it too well.”

“You speak of how the people fear you?”

“I do.”

Emphatically she shook her head, her white braid whipping against his shoulder. Her fingers tightened on his as if not to allow him escape from what she said next. “As someone whose life has been saved by your butchery, I will tell you that it puts the savagery in a different light. To only hear of it…in truth, you sound like a monster. But upon the road, as horrible as it was, I only felt gratitude when I saw what you did to those bandits. Your people feel the same. Whether you freed them from the yoke of slavery or from Geofry’s reign of terror, they know they have been saved and are grateful.”

Her fingers might as well have taken hold of his throat, his tongue. Kael knew not what to say.

“Let me ask you,” she said now, “why do you always remind them of your savagery? Such as at the sentencing—you made certain to describe what you did to Qul Wrac. But you do not revel in the memory, like hunters sharing stories around a fire. And with me, you do the same. Often because I ask, but you do not spare the gory detail.”

Grimly he replied, “I do it so there is no mistaking who I am.”

“But you only give one part of who you are. The bloodiest part. You almost never speak of courage and strength. Never the part that the people want to celebrate: of freeing them, of inspiring them, of giving them hope.”

He frowned—but again, he could not answer. This was not a view he had of himself.

Turning her head, she leaned sideways so she could look up into his face. Her own expression was one of wonder. “You do not even realize that is how they see you? Or you don’t accept it,” she said thoughtfully. “Or think you do not deserve it.”

That he could answer. “I’m not certain I do.”

“Your people have decided you do. Trust them.” Her eyes brightened with amusement. “How strange to think that you doubt yourself. The more powerful someone is, the more certain they usually are of their worth—and their estimate usually inflated. Do you think because of the blood on your hands, the savagery that put it there, that you are some kind of monster who deserves to be ousted and alone?” She shook her head and answered her own question before he could. “I have seen monsters. You are not one.”

She said it with sheer conviction that allowed no argument, but Kael did not care to argue about himself, anyway. “What monsters have you seen?”

Her cheeks colored slightly and she pulled back against his chest again. He could not see her face but she snuggled in so sweetly from hips to shoulders that it was a fair exchange.

Every step the horse took stroked his cock against her ass, a rhythm that was pleasure and torment in equal measure. Mostly likely he would spill his seed before this ride was finished.

His only regret would be that it wasn’t inside her.

“In Scalewood.” She leaned her head back against his shoulder again, turned her face so that every breath was a white cloud past his jaw. “Even though I had no magic, I still wished to be useful. And there are threats that are impervious to spells and must be fought with weapons, instead. So I believed that, as a future queen, I should know how to protect my people—from the creatures within Scalewood or from monsters abroad. Like Geofry.”

“Or me.”

He caught the curve of her smile. “Yes. At one time, I thought Ivermere would be your next conquest.”

“So you dreamed of killing me even before you decided to become my bride.”

She laughed. “Yes.” Her hand squeezed his again. “But this was before you began making your names across the four kingdoms. My parents wished me only to study magic and learn the workings of our kingdom. But I begged the Mistress of the Hunt to teach me the sword and more.”

The hunters who destroyed the magical beasts that broke through Scalewood’s wards. Just as spellcasters did, the monsters had a natural protection against magic—but instead of being resistant to the scaling, they were resistant to spells cast.

“And she agreed?” Then taught her well, by what Kael had seen.

“Yes. And that training was not secretly done, but my parents never liked to hear of what I did—and of course studying always came first. So it always seemed very…private.”

She seemed unhappy with that word, yet Kael understood well enough. Learning the sword and hunting was something that she’d loved and was hers.

And there was a wistful note in her voice as she continued, “So I rode with the hunters when I could—and that was almost always at night, when my other duties were finished. Usually we patrolled the borders of Scalewood and I saw many monsters then, but they never passed the wards. All of Ivermere holds them, did you know?”

Kael nodded. Every ward had to be maintained by a spellcaster or its power faded over several days—and that ward was only as strong as the sorcerer who cast it. But it could be cast by more than one. So it did not surprise him that all of Ivermere held the wards; it would be suicide not to.

“Yet something escaped?”

“Yes. There began attacks on villages near the wood. Just…slaughter. And the bodies partially eaten. But we didn’t know at first that it was one of the Scalewood beasts. No one saw anything of the like, and others reported seeing a man during the attacks.”

“The human sort of monster.” In his experience, more common than the magical sort.

“So we believed. But it wasn’t. It was a wolf who could cast a transformation spell and shed his skin, then pass through the wards—because they allow humans through.” Her fingers tightened on his. “When we came upon him the first time, he’d butchered a family—and though his skin was still off, we could see he wasn’t a man. Not with those claws and teeth. And we chased him. But he passed back through the wards and put on his wolfskin, and we didn’t dare pursue him into the wood.”

“But you knew what he was, then.”

She nodded. “So we waited for him to come out again. Every hunter in Ivermere was there—and he was so fast and strong. Not like a man at all. We used spelled arrows that never missed their mark, yet they barely slowed him. And when hunters came close with their swords…” She let out a long sigh. “There were many killed that night. We feared that he would reach his skin and we would have to do it all over again, but the Mistress of the Hunt finally got close and beheaded him. He did not heal from that.”

“Because a severed head can’t cast a healing spell.”

A soft breath of laughter escaped her. “No,” she agreed, then lifted her arm and indicated her sleeve. “This is him. We dared the forest long enough to collect his skin, and divided it equally between the hunters who’d chased him that night. There were thirty of us in all.”

Yet her coat was as long and generous as a giant’s cloak. Truly a monster. “You deserve that name,” he said. “Anja the Wolfkiller.”

By the turn of her head, he could see the barest hint of a sad smile as she ruffled her fingers through the thick gray fur. “It was my last hunt. I was forbidden by my parents after that. It was too dangerous for a princess, the heir to the crown.” Her voice caught thickly. “But not very long ago, the council took my crown anyway.”

Tension gripped him. “Who took your crown? And…you are Ivermere’s heir?”

“No longer. Did you not wonder why the only daughter of a king and queen would leave her realm to marry elsewhere?”

In truth, he had not. “None of my kingdoms came by inheritance. So I did not even think that yours might.”

She laughed. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“Who took yours?”

“The High Council of Ivermere.” She tipped her head back against his shoulder again, and her throat worked before she continued, “My parents fought the decision. They had seen to my education; I knew all there was to know about spells and potions and ruling Ivermere. But the council determined that anyone without magic could not claim the throne—and neither can anyone in my line, though it’s entirely possible that this curse would not afflict any children I have. So the crown will pass to a cousin instead. And my parents were…so shamed. Devastated that their line would end.”

He could not bear the pain he heard in her voice, the tears that were unshed but that dripped from every word. “I will take Ivermere’s crown for you.”

She gave a watery laugh, shaking her head. “There is no one in Ivermere who wants to see me wear it. Even my parents, it was only a matter of pride—if they’d ever had another child I’d have been shunted aside. And I see no point in fighting so hard for a place there, when they will never want me. Especially not after I have seen the people of your kingdoms, and how they love you. I would be forever yearning for that, instead.”

Yearning to be wanted, but not yearning for him. “I would give to you Lyngfen,” he said, gesturing around them, “but it is a worthless swamp.”

She laughed again, and this time there was a true, merry note within the sadness. Then she drew another breath and said, “But now I recall why I told that story—and it was about your people fearing you or loving you, and whether you deserve the second.”

By the gods, his Anja was tenacious. “You do not have to—”

She ran roughshod over his protest. “And I have seen a monster, Kael. I have seen his glee as he killed innocents, how uncaring he was of the pain left behind. I have seen how he reveled in his cruelty, and in their agony and fear. And I have seen you butcher men, but there was no glee. No revelry. Rage, for certain, but they had earned it. You are not a monster; you are a man who makes certain that what needs to be done is done. You are simply very…thorough.”

Undisputedly so. “I will place that on my seal beside my other names,” he said dryly. “‘Kael the Thorough.’ Not a gut left intact, not a limb left unhacked.”

She nodded primly. “Not a skull left uncracked.”

A breath passed, then she giggled, and Kael’s own laughter roared out across the fen, shaking him so hard that he had to grasp the saddlehorn and wrap his arm tighter around Anja so they didn’t tumble to the ground. Her fingers clasped his wrist as she bent forward, her body quaking and her ribs expanding as she gasped for air, then lost every breath to another bout of laughter.

Then she sat up again, and the movement was a long stroke down the length of his cock. Kael’s laughter was silenced, choked by a stifled groan. Anja abruptly went still, her fingers clenched around his forearm, her entire body trembling and tense.

Imagining what Kael did? That his hands would slide into the open back of her coat and cup her breasts, find her nipples hard and ripe. Or that his fingers would slip between her legs and tease her clit until she was wet and ready to take him. That he might grip her hips, and lift her, and fill her sultry sheath with his length, and they would rock together, slowly, until she found her release and he filled her with his seed.

Though he could not do that. A virgin was she, and he would not take her upon a horse. Not the first time.

And a virgin was she, so the same thoughts were not likely what held her so still. For certain she gave no indication that she wanted anything more. She only trembled and waited. For his cock to subside?

She would have to wait forever.

His forearm an iron band around her waist, he dragged her against his chest again, as snug as they had been. She made a small sound—of dismay or disappointment—and when she tipped her head back against his shoulder, her cheeks were flushed and her breath came in soft pants.

Yet although he wished it with all of his being, she didn’t turn her head and place those panting lips against his throat. Didn’t look up at him with want in her gaze. Didn’t give an invitation, and he could not know if this was arousal or if she was simply overheated beneath her coat.

Instead she closed her eyes and trapped her lower lip between her teeth, and remained that way for what seemed an endless time. A village was visible in the distance when she finally let go a shuddering breath and asked softly, “What name would you take, if you had only one?”

He did not even have to think. “Kael the Free.”

A soft smile curved her mouth and she looked down the road, her dark eyes contemplative. “Do you think I might be happy here in your kingdoms, if I leave Ivermere?”

Sudden hope filled his chest. “Why would you return here?”

For him?

“Because there is nothing for me in Ivermere.”

Not for him. “Is that why you answered the call for a bride?”

“Yes. It seemed suitable. I was raised to be a queen. But I can be useful in other ways. As a hunter, perhaps.”

He frowned. Being a queen was only suitable? Had it not been what she wanted?

“You said that you wanted what I had,” he reminded her. “You did not mean my kingdoms?”

“I suppose it is more precise to say that I wanted to do what you had done—and you made a place for yourself.” The curve of her sad smile was like a scythe slicing through his chest. “I meant to carve out a place for myself, too. Even if I had to carve out your heart first.”

She had made a good start. That organ was no longer his own. She had already taken it. “I carved out my place with my sword,” he told her. “It was a fine plan to use your blade to kill me to gain the same.”

She turned her head against his shoulder, hiding her face from him. “But you do not want a bride.”

No. He did not want a bride. He wanted Anja. And if she ever showed a hint of desire, a sign of wanting him in return—a desire not seduced or forced from her, but freely given—then he would marry her in an instant.

But she gave no indication, no invitation. She didn’t want him. She wanted a place where she fit.

He could give that to her. Again that hope rose. He could give her a place close to him—and slowly win her heart as she had so quickly won his.

And he would rather any torment than never seeing her again. Even the torment of having her near, knowing she would never want him in return.

“After we have killed the spider, return to Grimhold with me. There is room for you in the stronghold and plenty to do.”

With a startled gaze, she glanced up at him. “I am not a sorceress. So I wouldn’t be of much use to you in your court.”

“Just as well, for I have no use for a sorceress. Only a ward-keeper, and I have one already.” And he cared not at all what she did, except that she obviously wanted to have purpose. “You should come as my…royal advisor. Already you have served me better in these past ten days than they have in over a year. So I would rather have you than the fools around me now.”

A smile tugged at her lips and a hopeful light brightened her dark eyes. Her gaze moved down the road again, but he didn’t think she looked at anything—instead she chewed her lip in quiet contemplation.

After a long moment, she asked quietly, “Do you think you will ever marry?”

Only if she would ever have him. “I don’t know.”

“I suppose…” She hesitated, and her breath stuttered before she finished, “I suppose you have no need for a wife. There must be many women in the stronghold who would see to your…needs.”

“There are.” Though he had no interest in touching them. Only her. Never again would he want anyone as he did Anja.

“Oh.” That small reply was followed by a long silence in which she did not look back at him. She let go of his forearm and hugged her middle, as if cold beneath that long coat. Finally she continued in a thick voice, “It is very kind of you to offer. But I do not believe there is a place for me there.”

No place with him.

She had once said there were things worse than death. Kael had not believed it then, for despite all that he had suffered, death seemed far worse. But now he understood. For he had only thought of physical suffering. He hadn’t known the depths of pain a heart could feel—and whatever torments were worse than death, he would know them all when he let her go.

If he let her go. And if he did not, may the gods forgive him for not heeding her choice, because after he chained her to his side, Kael didn’t think Anja ever would.

But better to have her hate him than not to have her at all.