Page 88 of Given

I looked up to find him watching me. “I don’t know what to expect when I return,” I said. It was more than I would have ordinarily admitted. But he knew so much about me. He probably already knew this, too. I was on uncertain ground with Laurent. His deception about the Deepnight still rankled. Briefly, I considered asking Jordan if he knew the canopy was disappearing. Just as quickly, I discarded that idea. Laurent would never share that kind of information with an outsider. If Jordan didn’t know, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

But he knew about Given—and he’d clearly guessed that her presence was something of a wedge between Laurent and me.

He tipped the flower into my hand. “No magic can truly predict the future. There are too many variables. One person’s wants and desires clash with another’s. But sometimes things align a certain way for a reason. Given of Sithistra was put into your path, my lord. When she stepped into Nor Doru, yours was the first face she saw. Magic can be unpredictable, but sometimes it doesn’t miss.”

I regarded the tiny bloom for a moment. Finally, I curled my fingers around it and looked up. “And what of Laurent? What does magic say about him?”

Jordan’s smile was as soft as the flower tucked in my hand. “Just because you can’t see blooms like that in the Wastes doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

“I’m a soldier, Jordan. Symbolism is wasted on me.”

His dimple peeked out. “I’m not so sure about that, my lord. But let me put it this way. I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for here in the north. But I have a feeling it’s waiting for you in the south.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

GIVEN

When Nor Doruvians said winter was upon us, they meant it.

For five days, the snow hadn’t stopped falling. All of Lar Katerin was covered in a thick blanket of white. Through the balcony doors, the fat flakes came down so fast and thick they obscured the view of the city. It was morning, but the sun was more of a suggestion than an actual presence.

I sat in a tub of warm water in front of the fire. Despite the heat, I shivered as I stared at the balcony’s railing. I hadn’t ventured onto it since I “visited” Sithistra. Two weeks hadn’t dulled my memories of feeling locked outside my own body. Fortunately, it hadn’t happened again. I wasn’t even certain I could make it happen again. And I didn’t want to. If I was honest with myself, some part of me hoped that ignoring it would make the whole problem go away.

But I knew that wasn’t the case. Varick had yet to return from his family’s estate, but he wouldn’t stay gone forever. The issue of elven gifts would inevitably come up.

Although, there were plenty of other issues to discuss when the general came back to the palace. Like where he expected to sleep—and who would be in his bed. Laurent wasn’t going to give him up, and I didn’t expect him to. The question was, what did this thing between the three of us look like? The idea of both men excited me, but it also twisted my stomach into knots of anxiety. The passionate kiss Varick and I shared was never far from my mind.

But a kiss was one thing. Sharing a bed while my husband looked on was another. When I tried broaching the subject with Laurent, he quickly shut me down.

“I believe I told you to leave the general to me, sweet wife.”

After that mild rebuke, I stopped asking about Varick. But it was obvious his absence bothered Laurent. He wanted Varick, but he also needed him. By now, all of Beldurn was probably buzzing with the news of our wedding. And yet Laurent’s patrols reported no movement on the Sithistran side of the Rift. No amassing of troops, no spies trying to sneak into the north.

No messengers delivering correspondence from Rolund’s court. It was as if the wedding and coronation never happened. Like Rolund didn’t care that I was now Laurent’s queen.

Laurent took this as proof for his claim that Sithistrans were too frightened of the Deepnight and its vampires to wage war in the north.

But I knew my brother. This silence was far from permanent. It was the calm before a certain storm. I just didn’t know when the first bolt of lightning would strike.

Another shiver lifted goosebumps on my skin.

“Are you cold, Your Grace?”

I looked up at the serving girl who stood next to the tub. For a brief moment, the title confused me. I’d heard it often enough since I wed Laurent, but I still felt like an imposter. As if I’d borrowed someone else’s clothes.

I forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Just watching the snow.”

She returned my expression, her fangs showing. “Ah yes, the first big storm of the season is usually a big one. I pray the gods send us a respite soon.”

The door opened and Laurent strode in, as resplendent as ever in head-to-toe black. He must have come from a council meeting because he wore his crown. Whatever his personal beliefs about Sithistrans’ willingness to fight, he wasn’t leaving Nor Doru’s defenses to chance. He’d spent a significant portion of the past two weeks locked away with his highest-ranking nobles, planning a response in the event Rolund retaliated.

The maids stopped their work and curtsied. Murmured “your graces” filled the bedchamber.

Laurent’s gaze found me at once, and his eyes lit up. Without breaking my stare, he waved a lazy hand. “Leave us, ladies. I’ll help the queen finish her bath.”

My cheeks heated as the women tittered, dropped more curtsies, and hurried from the room. As the door closed behind them, I frowned at my husband. “Do you ever knock, my lord?”

He strolled toward me, slowly rolling his sleeves up as he advanced. His silver gaze moved from the hair piled on top of my head to my breasts bobbing on the surface. When he reached the tub, he squatted and dipped an arm in the water. I held my breath as he trailed a fingertip down my inner thigh.

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