Page 61 of Stolen

“I love you,” he said against my lips. “Come home.”

I pulled back.

“It’s not an order. It’s a prayer. The most important one I’ve ever said.” He stroked my cheek, rubbing away moisture I didn’t feel until that moment. “I love you, baby. Please come home.”

“All right,” I rasped. I captured his hand and brought his knuckles to my mouth. “All right.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

GIVEN

“I brought this for you, Your Grace.”

I looked up from my chair. A knight stood just inside the tent, a black cloak slung over one gauntleted forearm. His gaze dropped to the elven sword resting across my knees.

“Thank you, sir.” I stood, sword in hand. “Why do I need a cloak?”

“His Grace wishes to leave for Lar Katerin within the next half hour. The men are breaking down the camp as we speak.”

The anger that had been brewing under my skin heated to a boil. I’d returned from Eldenvalla—some might say returned from the dead—and Laurent couldn’t be bothered to greet me. Now, he sent a knight with a cloak and assumed I would meekly follow him to Lar Katerin as ordered.

For a moment, I considered sending the knight back with a message of my own. One with instructions for precisely where Laurent could shove his cloak. But that would have put the knight in a horrible position. I’d grown up watching Queen Amantha abuse servants. My next-mother had counted the castle’s knights among those ranks, even though most soldiers came from noble families. Whether he was nobly born or not, I wouldn’t take out my anger on the male before me.

“Thank you,” I said, going to him and accepting the garment. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

“His Grace asked me to escort you to your horse at once, Your Grace.” The knight’s eyes dipped to the sword again. “I believe he wishes to speak to you.”

Wonderful. I forced a smile. “All right.”

A few minutes later, I trailed the knight through a camp that looked a lot different from when I’d entered it. Knights from the warrior class labored everywhere, collapsing tents and saddling horses. It was controlled chaos, with male shouts lifting over the sound of rippling canvas and horses’ whinnies. My hooded cloak and the bustle of activity allowed me to move through the males without attracting notice.

But that ended when we stopped before a cluster of knights grouped around a figure I would have recognized anywhere.

Laurent stood with his back to me, his head bent over a map spread on a crude wooden table and secured with rocks at each corner. A black cloak streamed from his shoulders, but his hood was down. As if he sensed my presence, he lifted his head and turned.

“Given,” he said, his raspy voice triggering memories of tangled sheets and passion-filled nights. And threats. The same voice that had whispered carnal promises in my ear had also shouted for guards to imprison me.

“Where’s Varick?” I demanded.

“Here.” Varick strode from somewhere, Jordan on his heels. Like the camp, Varick was wholly changed, his bedraggled clothing replaced with black armor and a crimson cloak. He wore a sword on one hip and his elven-steel dagger on the other. Gone was the male who’d washed my hair in the hut. Now, he was the formidable general once more. He stopped a short distance from Laurent and inclined his head. “Your Grace.” He looked at me and repeated the gesture. “Your Grace.”

It took effort to stand there in my stained, borrowed gown and say, “Lord Varick.”

An awkward silence descended. I looked between Laurent and Varick, and I’d never felt more out of place. One dark, one light, they were a study in contrasts and yet they complemented each other so perfectly. Midian’s words snaked through my head like poison. “How does it feel knowing the men in your life could never want you like they want each other?” The demon king was a liar, but even the worst liars told the truth sometimes. When confronted with a choice between greeting his wife or his general, my husband had chosen the latter. And now Varick was resplendent in Nor Doruvian armor and everything appeared well between them.

One of the knights around the table addressed Laurent. “Your Grace, we should depart. If we linger too long, it will be nightfall by the time we pass the Rift.”

“Of course,” Laurent said. “Ready the horses.”

The knights moved quickly, one of them rolling up a map, tucking it under his arm, and striding away like he was fleeing a fire. As the others followed suit, I looked at Varick. “You’re going to Lar Katerin?”

He glanced at Laurent. “You and I settled this—”

“No, we didn’t. It’s not settled for me.” Under my cloak, I rested my hand on my sword’s pommel. “I could go to Aberwas.”

“That’s not an option,” Laurent said.

My face went instantly hot. I opened my mouth—

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