Page 25 of Bound
Chapter 9
Amoret
I awaken, my face stiff from dried tears. The room is dim, only the faintest hint of afternoon sunlight streams through the pulled curtains. For a moment, I huddle under the blanket, feeling the ache in my chest and wishing Gage was still with me. Holding me.
Sighing, I cast the blanket to the side and climb from the bed. I step into the bathroom and run cool water into the sink. Rinsing my face of the last vestiges of sleep, I pat my skin dry and lean against the counter as I try to breathe.
There is a touch of dismay mixed with my worry.
Falling apart in front of Gage …
I let out the small groan building, muffling it with the soft towel in my grip.
Ever since he told me about Branwen, I have tried to hold it together. To stay strong, like Bran would want. If my mind is scattered, how can I handle getting him back? I have to be sharp. Calm.
But the sea inside me churns.
And that is fine, I remind myself.
I can project calm on the outside. I can hold it together until we get Bran back.
I can. And I will.
Setting the rag on the counter, I ease back out into the room and try to smooth the wrinkles from my rumpled dress.
The door is cracked, and soft voices filter up from the floor below as I exit.
Gage’s deep rumble does not sound, and I can only imagine he is back to his stoic stance of silence.
I descend the stairs, my hand gripping the baluster as my body continues to fight the fatigue still wrecking my system. One tear-laden nap can only do so much.
At the table, the guards look up, their expressions kind. Gentle. I incline my head in greeting.
“She awakes,” Wena calls, her voice soft but playful.
I turn as she nears. Her warm hands clasp mine, and she pulls me under her arm. I take her support gratefully. “What time is it?”
“6 PM,” she tells me. “You slept for quite a while.”
“It does not feel like it was that long,” I mutter.
Her hand rubs up and down my arm. “I know.” She gives me a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Sila made lunch, but we didn’t want to wake you. Are you hungry?”
At the very thought of eating, my mind sparks the soft caress of sweet fruit over my bottom lip. I sigh. “Has the Captain eaten?”
Wena stills.
I peer at her. “Wen?”
“Gage was called away.”
The voice is deep, rasping, and like thunder in a turbulent sky. I turn fast at the unfamiliar cadence.
The man is tall, maybe taller than even Gage. His hair is like spun gold, identical to Bran’s color except for the shorter length. The burnished strands brush his wide shoulders, and his eyes seem made from molten amber as he appraises me.
“I—” My voice falters as he walks closer.
Garbed in jeans and a white tee, my eyes drift to the baldric across his chest and the hilt of the massive sword peeking over his shoulder.
