Page 44 of Cursed Shadows 1

In passing, he steals my hand in his and—as is proper for betrothed—kisses my knuckles, my hand, my inner wrist. Or when I have dinner with father in the offices, Taroh sometimes joins, and he finds moments to brush a lock of hair from my shoulders, tuck it behind my ear.

Such a sweet gesture to anyone else but me.

It’s the cold gleam of his emerald eyes that speaks only to me.

A warning.

Next time will hurt.

And now, I wonder if he’ll strike as I leave Pandora’s room.

She’s still poorly. I visit once, sometimes twice each phase.

The corridors are quiet since most folk are in the Hall, drinking, as they usually do midway through the First Wind.

Taroh shouldn’t be in the garrison, not at this time, it’s so late, and yet, I’m not totally shocked as I turn a corner and see him coming towards me.

Maybe it’s pure chance, maybe bad luck and ill favour of the gods. Whatever it is, Taroh is meant to be down in the nearby town, Kithe. He has family there that he stays with, and I don’t often see him around the garrison after the First Wind starts.

I let those thoughts run rampant through my mind, a whispering voice chiding me for letting my guard down, for taking quiet corridors so late in the phase.

But we stand there, both still, watching the other. Not so far apart, just staring—waiting for the other to move first.

It’s me.

The moment I yank out of my stunned stance, and turn for the main staircase, Taroh is after me. I don’t even reach the end of the corridor before his stronger legs power through a run and he’s caught up with me.

No alcoves this time, no narrow corridors. He just shoves me up against a wall, then makes ashowof grabbing at me. His eyes don’t leave mine, not once as he grabs at my thighs, my neck, my breasts—then he licks my fucking mouth.

Taroh is getting his scent all over me. He’s mocking me with it, the bastard. I bathe so often now just to get it off me.

I don’t fight him this time.

He just leaves on his own accord. Leaves me here in the corridor with a simple message, “See how kind I am when you submit?”

Once he’s gone, I should head for the washroom. I should be in a tub of scalding water, scrubbing my body raw, washing away any trace of his scent.

But I find my boots wander in another direction, like they have a mind of their own, and they take me to the place I love when my insides are gutted clean out.

The tower.

Like last time, the flat roof of the tower is peppered with thick cushions and warm furs and glowjars. Eamon helped me pinch it all from around the garrison. Looted even the cases of honeywine he seems to be helping himself to as I wander through the archway.

His golden-amber eyes lift, his grip loose on a bottle he’s worked halfway through already, and the wide grin that sweeps his warm face is a guilty one.

But I only pay him a heartbeat’s thought before I shift my attention to the large, feathery cushion opposite Eamon. The one with the slender female who twists around to look at me.

Aleana.

We haven’t really talked yet. Nothing beyond a tight smile in passing or exchanged greetings when I’ve stopped Eamon in the corridors to chat to him for a few moments, update him on Pandora’s health or complain about Taroh.

Aleana… She’s hogging my friend.

But I don’t find any resentment in me as she, too, gives me a grin that reeks of honeywine and guilt.

I wander over to them, pausing only to snatch up a bottle from the wood crate for myself.

I drop onto the plush plum-velvet cushion, my favourite one because I can recline on it and the way it shifts under my weight forces enough feathers to support my back. It’s a good reading cushion. Also it gives me a good view of the archway entrance, so I feel a tad safer.

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