Page 15 of A Darkness So Sweet

“I have nothing else to give her,” Ragnar grunted.

Gunnar searched his gaze for a few moments before nodding. “Of course you don’t. I don’t know why I assumed there would be more. Allow me to set up your tent while you go and gather her. Make sure she’s dry.”

Helplessly, he stood there, facing his brother’s disappointment. All he could think to say was, “She thinks bathing will make her sick.”

His brother blinked in surprise. “She does?”

With slow steps, Ragnar backed to the trunks and sat down hard on top of one. He crushed the shirt in his hands, wringing it like there would be some answers in the fabric. “What do I do with a creature who believes the mere act of cleanliness will harm her? I knew the humans were backward and knew far less than our kind, but I didn’t realize I would be bringing an animal into my home. What disease does she already carry? What little else will she know?”

“I didn’t realize the humans were so...”

They stared at each other, at a loss for words. There was no chance for Ragnar to feel better. This troll wife of his was more than disappointing. She was a waste of time.

Gunnar sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. She’s your wife now.”

“Not yet. There is still another step.”

“She will be,” Gunnar insisted. “The Bone Reader saw it, as did the king’s seer. You will be her husband and she will be yours to take. You can fight it all you want, or you can accept it and learn how to...”

“Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to saylove her, brother. I was just going to saylearn her.” Gunnar circled his hands in the air. “Her. Learn. All of it. There are differences here perhaps you do not understand, but it’s a choice. This is the first time any troll has mated with a human, but it’s for the betterment of all our people. You will bring about a new age of elven blood.”

Would he? Ragnar reached for the tips of his ears, slowly dragging his fingers along the piercings there. “She doesn’t have pointed ears, Gunnar.”

“Maybe humans don’t.”

“Even with elven blood?”

Something was wrong here. He could feel it. He might not have been the warrior that his brother was, or the tactician their father had been, but Ragnar had always trusted his gut. And right now, his gut was saying something was terribly wrong.

Perhaps Gunnar felt the same way. His brother’s gaze narrowed before he said, “There is no way to know unless you ask her. Go get your troll wife, Ragnar. There are many reasons for you to speak.”

He supposed there was. But he was enjoying his time away from her. In the tent alone, he didn’t fear what she would say next, or what she wouldn’t say. There was something off about how she took whatever he yelled at her. She didn’t seem to care when he was rude or downright mean. She just curled into herself, even when the others laughed at her fears about the water.

A troll wife should argue. She should fight. She should shout at all the others to not laugh at her because she didn’t know these things. Then she should demand someone teach her.

Perhaps he would have to do it for her. The mere thought made his heart skip a beat in his chest. If he fought all her battles for her, then when he was gone, she would have no one to fight on her side. She would be picked on by all the other trolls. She would be the weakest among them.

Heading out from his tent, Ragnar stomped through the woods and told himself that his fears were unwarranted. She could take care of herself. He would return to the stream and see she’d already made her escape attempt. He’d track her through the woods easily, because there was no human who could hide from a troll in their own home, but it would reassure him that she at least had some sense. A hunt like that would do them both good.

He would be able to hunt her down and ease some of the anger in his chest. She would be able to get some of her own anger out in attempting to trick him through all of her tracking knowledge. And once he finally found her, perhaps much of their fears would lessen about the other.

When he arrived at the stream, already prepared for the hunt, he did not find a trail of scent growing cold and footsteps hidden in leaves. Instead, his dirty little creature was seated on the edge of the stream in the muck. She was plucking handfuls of sand out of the water and scrubbing her skin nearly raw. In some way, he understood why she was bathing like that, but now there was sand all through her clothing.

Clothing she still had on.

Why would she bathe with her clothes still on? The wedding dress had been ruined when she’d fallen from his shoulders, smeared with mud and specks of vomit. The fabric wasn’t meant to get wet. Already he could see some of it disintegrating and floating away in the shallow current.

He crouched, watching as she lifted her arms to her hair and... Was she rubbing sand into her hair as well? That was going to take forever to get out.

She’d bring sand into his bed tonight. The absolute horror.

Not to mention she still hadn’t realized he was right behind her. Where was this creature’s sense of self preservation? At the very least, she should have felt his eyes on her. The hairs on her arms should have stood up in fear, but no. She was just grunting and grumbling under her breath as she washed herself. Not a single realization that there was a hunter watching her every move.

Ragnar only had so much patience. He lifted a stone beside him and tossed it into the stream. The heavy plunk caught her attention before she looked over her shoulder and realized he was crouched there.

A myriad of things then happened in rapid succession. She let out an ear-piercing shriek, tried to stand, slipped on the rocks, and then fell backward into the stream. A wave of impressive volume splashed around her, nearly reaching his toes, before surging back into her face as she tried to sit up. It pushed her back underwater, and for a few moments, all he could see were her flailing limbs.

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