Page 16 of Vows of Sacrifice

Given my rank and who was accompanying me—my husband!—the old servant seemed astonished by the flagrant absence of a maid in my service. Little did he know that, despite my status as a princess, this was something I had wanted since childhood. I’d believed from an early age that I’d never have to marry, so respecting etiquette was a burden I’d quickly rid myself of. Yet here I was, the eldest of three daughters and the first to marry. I closed my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

“I don’t need anyone, thank you. You’re dismissed.”

The two men exchanged funny glances, then the one who had addressed me shrugged his shoulders. This time, I was careful not to look in Dovah’s direction. The hot water worked almost miraculously on my aching muscles. The day had been long. Far too long, in fact. I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

I had brought with me several soaps from the castle, made with trona, olive oil, honey, and milk. I took my time, washing thoroughly from head to toe. Dried and dressed, I decided to knock on the door to let Dovah know that I was done with my bath. When he turned the knob, I stepped back, clutching my woollen shawl tightly around my shoulders. Seeing him appear, his hair damp, I questioned him with my eyes.

“I went to the river to wash up. Don’t worry. I posted two guards outside the room while I was gone.”

At this time of year, the water in the river must have been frozen!

“You’re mad! You’ll catch your death!” I exclaimed as I let him in.

He shook his head like an excited puppy, clearly pleased with himself.

“I doubt it. Even death fears me. How was your bath? Was it pleasant? Did you miss me?”

I chose to ignore his words and walked over to the side table, grabbing one of the dry towels to throw at him. He caught it before it even grazed his face, then thanked me with a cheeky grin. I placed my hands on my hips, making my disapproval clear.

“It’s not exactly the right season to go splashing around with the fish,” I said. “You’re in Muvaria.”

“Good thing you clarified that. Just imagine if I’d got the wrong country . . . You smell amazing.”

The attempt to change the subject was rude. But I appreciated the effort to make up for his blunder after mentioning the burning and bloodshed of my kingdom.

“This is my soap. It’s made according to an ancestral Muvarian recipe.”

Suddenly, I realized he was undressing.

“But . . . What are you doing?” I asked in a strangled voice.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“You’re right. You’re right,” he said flatly.

With one hand on my heart, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“We must eat. I’m starving.”

With his shirt open, revealing the black ink designs on his skin, he opened the door wide to address his men in Osacanian:

“Get us some food. Quickly, please.”

As he vigorously dried his hair with the towel I’d given him, I couldn’t help but stare at the drawings on his body. They intrigued me. Of course, he eventually noticed.

“Want a closer look?”

There was something promiscuous in the way he said it. I immediately looked up into his face and locked my gaze with his. His eyes were like bottomless pits filled with darkness, the windows to his soul.

“What do they mean?” I asked.

Dovah slowly removed his shirt and tossed it into a corner. I swallowed hard and instinctively took a step back. He had quite an impressive build, if I’m being honest. A broad chest, pectorals that seemed to be as hard as his armour, and a stomach so muscular that it formed small, intriguing ridges. I took another step back. Every time I distanced myself from him, he took great pleasure in getting closer.

“These are curses.”

My eyes widened in amazement.

“What are you saying?” I whispered.

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