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“Are you sure you’ve never gone to battle?” Have you killed one of my own, is what I want to ask her.
She looks at me incredulously. “Absolutely not. I’m not a Battle Witch. Not in the least. Only Battle Witches fight.”
I don’t understand any of this. What kind of witch is she? Who did that bitch queen send us?
“Then what are you?”
A guarded look comes to her eyes. “Just me. Not a warrior. Warriors are the most respected among my kind. You can imagine why.”
I stare at her for a long time without saying anything until Rinan breaks the silence.
“We have to be ready for the morning,” he reminds us.
Every muscle in my body tightens. We’re leaving to follow the river in search of the cause of the Illness tomorrow. It won’t be an easy journey, but it’ll be made even harder if we run into any bears. We’re taking a risk, but stopping this fucking requires a risk.
Arlys folds his arms over his chest. “We cannot get the bears involved. Now is not the time for us to have a run-in. We have a mission. So we proceed with caution.” He finishes his words, casting me a glance, but I fucking already know what he’s saying.
A battle, even a skirmish with the bears right now, would compromise everything. We don’t need any distractions, including me. Curing this illness has to be our focus, so the king can get better, so that our people can get better. I have to let this business with Princess Tara go. For now.
The servants are readying our supplies tonight, making sure we have everything we need for a few days out in the wilderness. The four of us just need to discuss the plan, rest, and eat, and be ready for anything tomorrow might bring.
“We have to sleep tonight,” Arlys continues, staring at me.
“Ay ay, Captain,” Princess Tara says, grinning.
I should answer, but I’m too busy staring at Tara, studying her. Something about her just bothers me, and I can’t figure it out. It’s like someone created the perfect person to get under my skin, to get past all my defenses, all in the form of my enemy.
It doesn’t help that my wolf fucking wants her, bad. It’s like there’s two sides within me warring, and I want to lean into the one that’s easy. That I feel safer with.
“We’re going to study the maps,” Arlys continues, but my gaze is still on her. “Princess Tara, just ready yourself.”
“I could make some weapons for all of us,” she suggests lightly.
“No,” we all say as one.
Just the idea of Tara with Rivet is enough to make our wolves go nuts, and we know it. If she comes back smelling like him again, I might just have to fuck her until she smells like me, and then our whole plan will be out the window.
“Go get some sleep,” Rinan tells me, clapping me on the back. I hate when his gaze shoots from her to me, like he knows just the thought of her has been keeping me awake at night. “Tomorrow’s going to be a rough day.”
“Good night,” Princess Tara says, and then her gaze swings to Arlys. “Should I be expecting you tonight?”
He looks visibly shaken, but I don’t blame him. Sleeping next to her without touching her is pure hell. “Yes, I’ll get some things settled and come back.”
Rinan is grinning, like he’s enjoying Arlys’s misery. “Goodnight, Princess.”
She sinks down on her bed and snuggles under her covers, like she’s really just going to go right to sleep without changing. I doubt it, but she looks… peaceful. I stand, planning to say goodnight and not finding the words, and stare at her for a moment longer before heading to my own room.
Only, my room feels empty, cold. Cold and empty. I realize I don’t want to sleep alone, and the notion is strange. The simplest thing would be to go out and find some woman to warm my sheets, but even the notion turns my stomach. And then I think of Arlys, in her bed, warm and nestled against her. I wish it was me. Angrily, I grumble to myself, realizing that Princess Tara’s gotten under my skin.
I’m supposed to be stronger than this. Better than this. But as I undress, hard and miserable, I accept that I’m not.
SIXTEEN
Tara
I’m dressed for bed, brushing my long dark hair while I study the scars on my chest. They’re getting better. Less red and puffy, and more scabbed over. Even so, they still look awful. It’s no wonder that my husbands don’t want me.
No, that’s not true. Their erections are pretty clear signs they at least find me attractive on the most basic level. I wonder, briefly, what their other women were like. Probably tall and graceful. Probably charming and strong, like them.
