For the past several nights, he had been forced to sleep alone because of a beast that bristled the moment it caught sight of him. Welcome as her decision was, it left him uneasy.
He wondered if his patience would truly hold to the end.
Looking down at the woman breathing evenly in his arms, Varkas exhaled a slow breath and stepped toward the door.
“Here… please take my cloak.”
Marisen hurried after him, pulling a wool cloak from the wall peg and holding it out. He took it, bundled Talia securely against the damp, and stepped into the open air.
A gray dusk had settled deep over the rear courtyard. He carried her down the hazel path, shrouded in shadow.
The rain had begun to taper off, but droplets still soaked into his shoulders and back. He felt none of the cold. Every nerve was fixed on the warmth of her breath brushing against his throat. Careful to shield her from the drizzle, he adjusted the hood drawn low over her brow.
Her thick golden lashes threw faint shadows across her pale cheeks.
When his thumb gently brushed a stray bead of water from her temple, her thin lids fluttered open, revealing clear, vivid blue eyes.
“Varkas…?”
“Yes. It is me.”
His low, raspy answer dissolved into the damp air.
Clearing his throat, he added, “Go back to sleep. I will carry you to bed.”
Drowsy from the medicine, she looked at him with unfocused eyes before letting her face sink into his chest.
Varkas tightened his arm around her waist.
Her warmth through the wet fabric and her sweet scent, laced with herbal smoke, struck him with sudden vertigo.
Drawing the cloak tight around her, he lengthened his stride through the dark, sodden wood.
By the time they reached the inner keep, his clothes were as thoroughly drenched as if he had plunged into a river. Yet beneath his skin, the heat raged.
Varkas mounted the stairs with long strides, passing servants whose eyes widened in alarm.
“Stay back.”
He threw the order behind him like a lash and kicked the bedchamber door open.
Inside, candles burned bright. Crossing the room, he unwrapped the wet wool from her. Fortunately, the cloak had kept her mostly dry.
Tossing the soaked mantle onto the floorboards, Varkas set her down gently on the made bed.
Her slender arms came up and wound around his neck. As he moved to draw back, a sharp breath caught in his throat. A husky whisper grazed his ear.
“Stay. I’m cold.”
“…My clothes are soaked.”
“Then take them off.”
She looked up at him through lowered lashes, her fingers trailing soft and warm across his brow to push the wet hair from his forehead.
His heart struck hard against his ribs.
He stood frozen, looking down at her parted lips, then forced his head aside. He tried to unlace her arms, but her hot mouth pressed against his.
The moment the tip of her tongue slipped past his lips, his resolve broke.
Varkas cradled the back of her head and pulled her deep into the kiss.
Her mouth tasted rich and sweet, carrying the faint tang of herbs. He took it with fierce, single-minded hunger, crushing her fragile frame to his chest. Dampness from his soaked tunic bled straight into her silk gown.
The wet fabric clung to her skin, tracing every curve without mercy. As his hand traveled down her waist, Talia pulled back just enough to murmur against his mouth.
“I’m soaked too.”
Her fingers slid beneath the hem of his tunic, resting lightly against the hard lines of his stomach.
A surge of desire blurred the edges of his vision. Gritting his teeth, Varkas caught her wrist.
“Do not touch me so thoughtlessly.”
Irritation flickered across her face.
“Why?”
He frowned, thrown by the sudden challenge.
She spoke with the same stubborn edge that used to torment him when they were young.
“You touch me whenever you please. Why do you push me away the moment I reach for you?”
He narrowed his eyes, studying her defiant expression.
Did she truly not understand?
She scattered temptation in his path as if deliberately baiting him, yet turned naive the next second, as though she knew nothing of men. Varkas drew a long breath.
“Because when you touch me, my restraint breaks.”
The blunt confession widened her eyes.
Her gaze traveled slowly downward. Only then did color rush to her cheeks, realizing how hard and heated he had become.
“If it’s hard… you don’t have to hold back.”
Pushing his tunic higher, Talia smiled faintly, her fingertips skimming the taut muscle of his hip.
Varkas swallowed hard.
Every muscle in him screamed to give in, to take what she offered. But he could not gamble with her life again.
Using every ounce of will he possessed, he pulled back.
“…Change your clothes first.”
“What for?”
She sat up, her eyes flashing.
“You can simply take them off.”
At the sharp demand, what little softness remained on his face hardened into nothing.
Varkas stared at her, tension tightening his jaw.
Between the raiders, the cultists, and that damned beast, they had shared few moments alone, though he had taken what caresses and kisses he could whenever they found quiet.
He had feared that admitting he did not want an heir would shatter whatever peace they had built, so the words had stayed locked in his throat. But he could not keep deflecting her with transparent excuses.
Running a rough hand through his wet hair, he spoke in a heavy, strained voice.
“I do not want to put your body at risk.”
“What are you saying?”
Her voice came out thin and hoarse.
Watching the warmth drain from her eyes, Varkas set his mouth in frustration. When he spoke again, an edge of anxiety crept into his tone.
“I mean I cannot allow the risk of Your Grace carrying a child.”
Blood rushed from her face, leaving her stark white.
“Do you… think I can’t bear one either?”
Varkas’s eyes turned cold as iron.
“Who told Your Grace such a thing?”
“What does it matter who said it?! You’re thinking the exact same thing!”
She glared up at him, her voice shaking with hurt and fury.
“You believe I cannot give you an heir, don’t you? That’s why you push me away. Then say so plainly. Why give me false hope? Do you pity me?”
His expression set like stone, Varkas leaned over the bed. Catching her trembling shoulders, he crushed her mouth under his to swallow down the wild, reckless words.
Stunned for an instant, she shoved hard against his chest.
He ignored the blows, his hand curving around the nape of her neck as he forced her tear-slick lips open and thrust his tongue inside.
The fists beating against his chest soon faltered, fingers twisting into the wet linen of his tunic instead.
He dragged her waist against him, eliminating every inch of air between them. Bringing his mouth close to her flushed ear, he drove every syllable home.
“Do you think this is what pity feels like?”
She kept her lips clamped shut, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes.
Pressing a kiss to the corner of her eye, he softened his voice.
“House Shearkan has two others to carry on the bloodline besides me. There is no reason for Your Grace to ruin your health just to bear an heir.”
“…Still, I want a child again.”
Her whisper was thick with quiet desperation.
“Tiuran helped me recover. I know I can carry one safely this time.”
END