Page 139 of Whisper of Nightmares

Dagfinn’s demeanor darkens the moment the name leaves her lips.

“What do you mean about Percival?”

Euphemia had nearly forgotten she hadn’t shared any of this with him. There hadn’t been a point before he had his memories back. But now she tells him everything. About Percival’s insensitive proposal. Cybele mentioning Thurstan’s trip to Thorfell. Percival conveniently revealing a deed with Thurstan’s family mentioned in it.

When Euphemia catches him all up, Dagfinn buries his face in his hands again. “So we need to find the real deed and give the hugr what they were promised.”

“Perhaps not,” Euphemia says, a new thought occurring to her. “I could just make the wakefulness draught and give it to you.”

Dagfinn grimaces. “I’m not sure it would work.”

“Why not?”

“Because my body is already awake.” He stretches his fingers and looks at his hands front and back. “Besides, I’m not sure the hugr would even drink it. Spirits don’t eat or drink that I know of, anyway.”

Euphemia sucks in a deep breath and pats her hands on her lap. “Alright then. I’ll find the deed, get more roseroot, and make you your draught.”

Dagfinn glances over at her apologetically. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here doing nothing while you’re busy saving my whole family and inheritance.”

Euphemia laughs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure there will be battle enough left for you once you awaken. Percival says the town is demanding your presence at the next town assembly.”

Dagfinn groans. “Now I remember why I didn’t want to be lord.”

She smirks, though for some reason she thinks he will handle it all with ease.

Her gaze catches sight of splintering in the wall behind him. Soon the dream will end for her, and Euphemia can finally make things right. She’ll find the deed. Find more roseroot. Brew the draught. And her life will finally be normal.

When she notices Dagfinn again, he staring at her with something like awe. “When all of this is said and done, I might just have to marry you, Euphemia.”

Her face burns hotter than the sun.

Her stomach twists.

Heat pools in her body.

But just as swiftly as the flush takes over, in comes a torrent of doubt.

He’s only saying that out of kindness, or perhaps just to be a flirt. Once he finds out they’ve already wed and that he had no say in the matter, he likely isn’t going to be to pleased.

Before he can scrutinize the panic in her eyes, Euphemia jumps to her feet. She scrambles to the door, throwing it wide, counting down the seconds for the dream to end and save her from this moment. This proposition. This confrontation.

Dagfinn leaps after her.

He grabs the door, closing it before she even has a chance to slip through.

“Did I say something to offend you?” Then with a wolfish slightly insecure grin he says, “Or is it you no longer wish to kiss me now that I do not have a skull for a face?”

Heat rushes to her face again.

“I didn’t want to kiss you then either,” she insists.

He tilts his head. “Tell that to my neck.”

Euphemia bites her lip and squeezes her hands to fists. “Just…tell me where I’ll find more roseroot before the dream ends.”

That seems to sober him a bit. “Old Man Rayner brought some here when he came to Thorfell. He planted it on the bluff. A yellow flower with⁠—”

“A tall stem. I remember.”