Page 62 of Stolen

“Given,” Varick said in my head. “Don’t do this here. Say whatever you wish to Laurent in private, but don’t cross him in front of his men. Not even I do that.”

I clamped my jaw shut. As tough as it was to swallow, Varick was right. A hush had fallen over the camp, the sounds of packing dying down as knights waited for the showdown between Laurent and me to unfold. I was his subject as much as anyone else assembled. If I resisted his orders, he’d have to retaliate, and that would make things between us even more unbearable.

I dipped a stiff curtsy. “Very well, my lord.”

A beat passed. Laurent signaled to a nearby squire. “The queen will ride alongside me.”

The tension eased. Almost at once, the noise started back up.

Everything moved quickly, and before I knew it, the camp was disassembled, and I rode at Laurent’s side with a small escort of knights. Varick had helped me into the saddle, giving my calf a reassuring squeeze before mounting his massive warhorse and galloping to the front of the column.

I knew it was unfair to be irritated with him for leaving me with Laurent. Varick was the commander of Laurent’s army, and I was Laurent’s wife. Nor Doru was far more progressive than Sithistra, but even the vampires had limits on permissible behavior for a wife—and a queen. Varick and I couldn’t leave Laurent in the dust and return to Lar Katerin side by side. It would cause a scandal none of us needed.

At the same time, I couldn’t help feeling abandoned. Varick and I had repaired much of what had been broken between us. But now the warm, safe haven of the hut was already a distant memory.

My horse tossed its head. A second later, one of the knights shouted as trees rustled to our left. Two riders emerged from the forest, their leather breastplates bearing the mountain and laurel insignia of Wesyfedd.

I locked gazes with Rhys the Fair, my breath catching in my throat. Immediately, Nor Doruvian knights surrounded him. He reined in his horse and lifted his hands. “I greet you, King Laurent. You are welcome in Wesyfedd.”

“Stand down,” Laurent called. “Let him approach.”

The knights moved away, and Rhys gave them a loaded look as he urged his horse forward. His man stayed behind. When I looked more closely, I realized the man held the reins of a third horse with two bodies slung over its back. My stomach dropped as I recognized the mages who held the demons at bay so Varick and I could escape the Thicket.

Rhys brought his horse to a halt. “Your Grace,” he said to Laurent. His brown eyes moved to me…and then lowered to the hilt of the elven sword strapped to my side. If the sight of it surprised him, he hid it well. He lifted his gaze, and his voice softened. “Given. It’s good to see you safe.”

Words stuck in my throat. It felt wrong to apologize when I wasn’t sorry for leaving—especially when I knew he’d meant to stop me from going after Varick. On the other hand, he’d saved my life. He’d sheltered me when I needed it and, according to Igrith, his intentions had been pure.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I said finally. “I wish we had parted under different circumstances.”

He offered a smile tinged with regret. “As do I.” His gaze moved past me, and his smile faded. He bowed his head. “Archmage.”

I turned in the saddle and saw Jordan just behind me, his hands folded over his saddle’s pommel.

Archmage?

I couldn’t help swinging my gaze to Laurent. My husband watched Jordan with narrowed eyes, a bemused smile toying around his mouth. If I wasn’t mistaken, the “archmage” title was news to Laurent, but he’d decided to find it clever instead of threatening.

Jordan nudged his horse forward and addressed Rhys. “You collected your dead.”

Rhys straightened. “Yes.” He lowered his voice. “We found them just inside the barrier. I believe they were put there as a message.”

My gut tightened, and blood rushed in my ears as I recalled those last moments in the Thicket. Men I’d never met had given their lives for me. I wasn’t sure I was worthy of their sacrifice.

For a long moment, Jordan was silent. Then he nodded at Rhys. “Bury them with honor.” He wheeled his horse and clucked his tongue, spurring the beast into a trot.

When he was gone, Rhys’s gaze flicked briefly to me before resting on Laurent. “Well, I suppose I’m for hearth and home.”

“The best place to be,” Laurent replied, a silky edge in his voice.

Rhys’s jaw tightened. He turned to me and inclined his head. “Safe travels, Given.”

“You too,” I said, trying and failing to ignore Laurent’s eyes on me. “Thank you…for everything.”

He nodded. As he backed up his horse, he shot Laurent a final look. “Your Grace.”

“Chieftain,” Laurent murmured.

Rhys spun his horse around and galloped to the trees. Within seconds, he and his man had melted into the forest.

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