A Vow So Bold and Deadly (The Cursebreaker Series Book 3)
A Vow So Bold and Deadly: Chapter 22

Something has shifted between me and Rhen, and I’m not sure what it is. Like something has cracked in him. It doesn’t create a new tension between us. Instead, it feels … good. Like it was something that needed to break.

You ruined nothing. You stopped me from taking an action I could not undo.

He seems relieved. I think that’s the most startling thing of all: his relief. I’d somehow forgotten that he doesn’t want to resort to drastic measures, that at his core, he wants the best for his people.

Once we arrive at Ironrose, Rhen leaves Zo and the guardsmen to tend to the horses and find lodgings for Chesleigh, then helps me into the castle, mostly carrying me until we reach the stairs of the Great Hall, where I demand that he set me down.

He doesn’t. “You could hardly dismount from the horse,” he says. “I will see you all the way to your chambers.”

“I can hold the railing.”

“Hmm.” He strides up the steps like I’m weightless. “I have seen the results of your other attempts to refuse assistance, so you’ll forgive me for insisting.”

“I never refuse assistance!”

He snorts. “Harper.”

Harrrrperrr. The way he says my name makes me blush and shiver. He must notice, because a light sparks in his eyes when he stops in front of my chambers and eases my legs to the ground. I put a hand on the wall to keep my balance, which is a challenge even when I don’t have a twisted ankle.

My other hand doesn’t let go of his arm. There’s a gouge in the leather of his armor, so I look down. There across the buckles is a deep rivet that’s gone down into the steel. One of the buckles has been sliced clean through.

I frown. “What happened?”

“I told you: one of the guards was going to kill the Grand Marshal’s son. I stopped him.”

I open my mouth. Close it. I thought he meant with … with an order. Not his arm. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his hand.

“I’ll call for your lady-in-waiting,” Rhen says softly.

“No!” I think of Freya’s tears earlier. “Don’t bother her. I’m okay.”

His eyes skip across my form, the torn dress that’s only holding on to my left shoulder by a few threads and a prayer. “You will need assistance in dressing.”

“I just need to unlace the corset. Could you—” I realize how this is coming out, and I flush. “I mean—I don’t mean—never mind.”

He feigns a gasp. “ ‘I never refuse assistance,’ ” he teases, his voice light and mocking.

“Fine.” I lift my chin. “Unlace it.”

The corner of his mouth turns up, his expression becoming slightly wolfish, which is rare for him. “Right here in the hallway, my lady?”

I smack him in the middle of the chest, which is ridiculous, because I’m smacking leather-coated armor, but he catches my wrist anyway, his fingers gentle yet secure against my skin. His eyes are intense and piercing in the dim light of the hallway.

I stare up at him until my heartbeat is a roar in my ears. My lips part slightly, and a breath escapes. He feels closer, intimidating yet not, reminding me of the moment in the crowd at Silvermoon when he looked ready to take them all on. For me.

I’d forgotten he could look like that. I’d forgotten he could be like that.

I swallow, and his thumb strokes over the base of my palm before he lets me go. His voice is lower, softer. “I will call for Freya.”

“No.” I catch his hand, and he waits. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. In a minute, his guards will be done with the horses and they’ll appear in the hallway, or Freya will hear us out here and come to check if I need her. Either way, I’m going to lose all my courage in a second, and my instincts are telling me that Rhen and I have been fighting our way to this moment for ages now, and I can’t let him go.

“Come in,” I whisper. “Please.”

For half a second, my heart stutters, because I expect him to refuse.

Instead, he nods. “Yes, my lady.”

My chambers are warm, candles already lit in preparation of my arrival, the fire burning high in the hearth. Rhen helps me to the low sofa near the window, then drops to a knee to unlace the boot on my injured ankle.

“I can do that—” I begin in protest.

He silences me with a look. When he pulls the boot free, it’s both agonizing and a miracle. I can see the swelling even through my stockings. Rhen frowns up at me. “I should call for a physician.”

“No. It’s fine. It’s just a sprain. It’s okay if I don’t stand on it.” I make a face. “It’s not like I don’t already have a limp.”

He pulls the laces on the other boot, then drags that one free, too. He’s hardly touched me, but I shiver anyway, goose bumps springing up all along my arms.

That gets his attention, but not for the right reason. “You are cold,” he says, straightening. “I should fetch a blanket.”

“You should remove your armor,” I say, and his eyes flash to mine. “I mean.” I clear my throat and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My eyes skip away from his and land on his sword belt, which is not better. I look at the wall instead. My face is on fire. “I’m fine. The armor—it’s uncomfortable.”

He studies me. I can’t look at him now. He saved my life like a fairy-tale prince, and now I’m a blushing puddle in a chair.

A knock at the door saves me.

“My lord,” calls a voice.

“Dustan,” says Rhen. He touches a gentle finger to my chin. “I will return in a moment.”

There is something wrong with me. I press my hands to my cheeks as if that will cool them. I need to think. I need to hear what he’s saying, what orders he’s giving. I need to know what he’s planning, so I can act accordingly—

And then Rhen is back and I have no time for any of that. I can taste my heart in my throat.

He’s unbuckling the sword belt, slipping the leather across the buckle. I’ve seen him do it a million times, and it shouldn’t make my heart flutter, but it does, and I have to look away again.

“I have asked Dustan to send for dinner,” he says quietly. He rests the sword in one of my armchairs, and then his nimble fingers turn to the buckles on his bracers. “Zo said you did not have a chance to dine in Silvermoon.”

“No,” I say, but it’s a miracle my brain can focus on what he’s saying, because my eyes are transfixed by the movement of his hands. The bracers land on the armchair next. He only unbuckles one half of the breastplate before jerking it over his head and tossing it with the rest of his armor. Somehow that’s more alluring than the slow, agonizing removal of everything else.

He’s always so buttoned up, so perfect, that it feels like a privilege to see him in trousers and shirtsleeves, just that lone dagger left at his waist. His blond hair is in a bit of disarray, and the first shadow of beard growth has appeared on his jaw.

But then he’s done, and standing there, studying me so intently that I have to hold my breath.

“I should call for Freya,” he says, and his voice is a touch lower. “You will want to dress.”

I don’t want to call for Freya.

I swallow, then nod at where my lady-in-waiting has hung a sleeping shift and a dressing gown beside the wardrobe. “She already laid out my clothes.” I hesitate. “If you could handle the lacing up the back.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but his gaze burns into mine. “As you say.”

He fetches the clothes, then helps me stand, and I brace a hand against the arm of the sofa when he moves behind me. He’s so close that I can feel his warmth and hear his breathing. When his hand brushes my shoulder, moving my hair to the side, I nearly jump.

But then his fingertips slow against my skin, tracing a line lightly. “You’re bruised here.”

I crane my neck around to see him, and there’s a thunderstorm in his eyes. “Am I?”

“Lilith?” His voice has taken on a new weight. “Or the crowd at Silvermoon?”

“Either? Both. I don’t know.” I pause. “Does it matter?” I say humorlessly.

“It does to me.” His breath eases against my skin, and I go still. “You did not need to keep her a secret, Harper.”

Harrrrperrr. I close my eyes and inhale. He shouldn’t be allowed to say my name like that when I’m … I don’t know what I am. Like this.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then the laces of my corset tug and loosen as his fingers work the ties. “I did not intend to be cruel on the ride to Silvermoon. Forgive me.” His hands slow. “It was a blow to my pride. To think that you believed a visit from Lilith would undo me.”

“What? No.” I whirl to face him, jerking the ribbons free of his hands. It’s too much movement on my ankle, and my leg begins to give way.

Rhen catches my waist, holding me upright. There’s hardly an inch of space between our bodies.

“No more lies between us,” he says, and his voice is gentle but firm.

“I wanted to protect you,” I whisper.

“As I want the same for you.” He lifts a hand to trace the line of my face. “Perhaps we are both determined to go about that in the wrong way.”

I stare up at him until I realize what he’s saying. Have we spent so long seeing each other’s vulnerabilities that we forgot each other’s strengths? Is that why it was such a shock to see him stride through the crowd at Silvermoon?

“Shall I finish?” he says, his voice a gentle rasp.

It takes me a moment to realize he means the dress. His hands are barely holding the loosened corset in place. I have an underdress beneath it, so I’m not in danger of everything falling to the floor, but still. Since coming to Emberfall, I’ve learned what people mean when they talk about a glimpse of ankle or shoulder being sexy.

I turn in his arms, and his fingers take up the lacings again. The corset finally gives, and I toss it onto the sofa, folding my arms against my chest instinctively. Rhen doesn’t move from behind me. His hands have settled on my waist again, and I can feel every finger. A tiny gasp escapes my mouth.

“The skirts as well?” he says, and he’s moved closer, because his voice speaks right to my ear, his breath warm on my neck.

I can’t breathe. I nod quickly.

He doesn’t hesitate. His fingers brush the small of my back as he works the lacings there, and my entire body flushes. “Ah, Harper.” His mouth finds my shoulder, and a tiny sound leaves my throat. The lacings give, and the skirts pool on the floor, leaving me in the thin underdress. I don’t know if my knees will keep holding me.

They don’t need to, because Rhen’s arm snakes around the front of my body, pulling me against him, and I hiss in a breath. His mouth finds my neck, his free hand sliding along my hip. I’m dizzy and breathless, but everywhere he touches, it lights a fire inside me. I try to turn, to face him, but he’s strong enough to hold me in place, his hands slow and seeking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my neck.

“Rhen,” I whisper. My hands fall over his, but I’m not sure if I want him to stop or keep going. “Rhen.”

“My lady?” he says, and there’s a touch of humor in his tone—but there’s a true question there, too. His hands have stilled.

I lean into him, into his warmth, into his strength. This thin fabric leaves nothing to the imagination, and goose bumps spring up along my skin when I realize how very closely we’re pressed together. I shift slightly against him, and Rhen makes a low sound that’s half growl, half plea. The hand at my hip tightens.

A knock sounds at the door. “Your Highness,” calls a muffled voice. “Dinner has arrived.”

Rhen sighs, then rests his forehead against my shoulder. “Silver hell,” he says, his voice both rueful and amused. “Fate must truly hate me.”

I laugh under my breath, then draw his hand up from my hip to kiss his knuckles. “Grab my dressing gown,” I say. “Maybe fate is giving us both a breather.”

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