by Bec McMaster
"Then this is a game?"
It felt like something was lodged in his throat. Flirting with her last night had been a test, one that opened Pandora's Box, for she'd had no compunctions in returning the favor today. Yet, the look in her eyes spoke to him as she searched his gaze, trying to work out his intentions.
It said; please touch me.
And yet, it also said; please don't hurt me.
He'd been so lost in his own anger that he hadn't noticed until now, that perhaps he wasn't the only one hurting. The realization left him slightly breathless, and changed the aim of this encounter.
Haakon pushed to his knees, giving her some space. "Roll over."
An arched eyebrow met this request.
"Just roll over," he said gruffly, grabbing her by the hips and turning her.
"What are you up to?" She pressed her hands flat to the bedroll, and craned her neck so she could see what he was doing.
He paused, resting on his knuckles above her. The pose was incredibly tempting. He'd taken her like this, many a time.
But this was not about sex.
Nor was it about revenge.
This was about discovering what was real.
"Here," he muttered, dragging her skirts up her legs. Mud flecked her stockings.
"What are you doing?"
"If I don't rub out some of the stiffness, you're barely going to be able to walk tomorrow, let alone sit on a horse."
He found the top of her woolen stockings and began to work them down her legs, trying not to think too hard about what his hands were doing. Árdís froze.
"It's not like I haven't seen it all before," he reminded her, hauling his pack closer and tugging open the tin of liniment he kept for the horses. Dabbing his fingers into the strong-scented mix, he warmed it between his palms, before setting them on her calves.
"Yes, but...." She made a choking sound deep in her throat as he skated the flats of his palms up the back of her legs, pausing just above her knees. "Oh."
Soft breathy gasps proved to be torture. She'd sound like that as he fucked his way into her, her head thrown back, and.... No.
He needed to focus.
Árdís groaned, pressing her cheek into the bedroll. "If I'd known this was what you intended, I wouldn't have argued."
"You can't help yourself."
She laughed, and that too was pure torture. He loved the sound of her laughter.
Haakon twitched her skirts higher. The simple fact of the matter was that her calves were not the part of her that was aching. Running his palms over the backs of her knees, he quested higher, each movement a little slower, as if it asked a question.
Árdís's entire body melted beneath his touch.
He pushed into the soft muscle at the back of her thighs with his thumbs. Árdís moaned, her fingers curling into the blankets. If there'd been even a hint of sexual pleasure in the sound, he might have been unable to resist, but the sound was pure surrender. Begging of a different kind.
"Sweet goddess," she breathed, turning pliant and helpless beneath him. "You don't know how good that feels."
Haakon kneaded tender muscles, rolling his knuckles across her bottom as he teased out every ache and pain. Then clasping one thigh in both hands and stroking his thumbs and fingers up her soft skin. Árdís lay undone beneath him, making soft helpless noises.
Fuck.
His thumbs skated up the inside of her thighs and she flinched, as if it hurt there the most. Warm molten skin shivered beneath his palms, and he pictured his thumbs sliding up, up, into the shadowy depths of her inner thighs. She'd be wet there. And her legs would part, just another inch or two, if he dared do it.
But this wasn't the first time he'd denied his own pleasure when it came to getting what he wanted from her.
Haakon slowly dragged his fingertips down her bare thighs, before he bowed his head, and stopped touching her.
Breathing hard, he rested over her on all fours, his knuckles pressing into the blankets on either side of her skirts. Firelight glimmered on the bare skin of her legs. He wanted to grab her by the hips and drag her up onto her hands and knees.
Or bury his face between her thighs, and lick his way up.
The thought wrapped velvet hands around his cock, a flush of heat spreading through his balls. Seven years without the touch of a woman. Seven years without her touch.
He was only a man.
"Why are you stopping?" she whispered.
Because I'm about to lose my mind.
Or all sense of control.
Somehow he reared up onto his knees, and climbed to his feet. "Because we're done here."
Even he heard the gruff tone of his voice.
Árdís rolled over onto her bottom, her skirts rucked around her thighs as she stared up at him. Firelight picked out the golden streaks through her hair, and flickered in her amber eyes. Her lips were flushed and full. Slightly parted. The press of her nipples against her dress drew his eye, but he forced himself to look away, wiping his hands clean on an old rag. Trying to think of something else—anything else—other than the feel of her skin beneath his palms.
"Thank you," Árdís said very softly.
"You're welcome," he muttered, dragging his cloak around him, and discreetly rearranging his cock.
"Where are you going?" Árdís demanded, rolling onto her side.
He'd never wanted to touch anything in his life more than he wanted to touch her in that moment.
"For a walk," he said, and turned into the darkness of the night, staggering blindly as his eyesight adjusted.
And hopefully a cool swim.
There had to be some water fresh off the glacier around here somewhere.
"Get some sleep," he called.
This time she didn't deny him.
It seemed there was more than one way to win an argument.
12
Are you corrupting my warhorse?"
Árdís drew her closed fist into her chest guiltily, though she kept stroking the silky muzzle of the beast with her other hand. "Absolutely not."
They'd stopped for lunch, and so Haakon could rearrange most of the bags, and allow the sweat on Sleipnir's back to dry. Sleipnir made sloppy crunching noises as he made short work of the wizened apple she'd been feeding him. Snorri had demurred, still not quite trusting her. He practically had a seizure every time she glanced his way.
There'd been no signs of any dreki in the skies this morning, but she couldn't help feeling on edge.
Both thanks to the dreki hunting them, and a certain husband who'd left her pleasantly boneless on the bedroll last night.
Árdís closed her eyes momentarily. Climbing back onto Sleipnir this morning had made it clear not all of her aches were gone, but it hadn't been painful, the way she'd been expecting.
Last night had been a thoughtful gesture, nothing more. She didn't deserve it.
It reminded her of when he'd been courting her. Dreki males had battled for her attention, delivering gaudy rings and necklaces dripping with jewels at her feet, but only Haakon had ever truly cared for her feelings. At court she'd been a prize to be won. Haakon made her feel as though nothing could ever hurt her, when he was at her side. There'd never been jewels, or gold, or anything a dreki princess expected to find. Instead, there had been wildflowers waiting for her on her pillow when she woke, or berries he'd gone out of his way to find for her once he realized how much she enjoyed them. A thousand thoughtful little gestures that made her heart ache so badly, now that she knew she couldn't have him.
"Sleipnir's a foul-tempered brute." Haakon looked faintly disapproving as he came to her side, glaring as though his horse had betrayed him. "And he bites like a bastard when he thinks your back is turned."
Someone was in a bad mood this afternoon, and she had a good idea why.
"He wouldn't dare," Árdís cooed, capturing the enormous bay's face in both hands and pressing her lips to his nose.
The horse's nostrils flared out as
she stared into those velvety brown eyes, letting it see the dreki in hers. Sleipnir gave a nervous snort that sprayed snot and chunks of apple slobber all over her.
"We have an understanding," Árdís said, but she looked at the mess down the front of her dress and curled her lip up. Ugh.
Haakon dragged a rag out of his pocket and caught Sleipnir's bridle. "That's what you get for coddling him."
"For a vicious warhorse," she retorted, taking the rag and brushing herself down, "he practically rolls over and shows me his belly when I pat him."
If only his owner would do the same.
But it felt as though he'd spent all night thinking of what a mistake it had been to massage her. And now she was paying the price for it. The second she broached his walls, he began bricking them back up again.
Haakon slung his saddle blanket over the bay's broad back, settling it high on his withers. The stark line of her husband's profile made her shoulders slump a little when she saw his expression soften as he rubbed his knuckles over Sleipnir's flank. There was genuine affection there.
He'd looked at her like that once.
"How far can we get today?" Árdís demanded, trying to force down her confusing feelings. She'd made her sacrifice seven years ago, knowing full well what it would cost her. "These beasts move so slowly."
"Maybe fifteen miles, if we're lucky. Sleipnir isn't used to carrying two people." He patted Sleipnir's glossy neck, muttering in the horse's ear. "How does that apple taste now, you traitor? She's talking about you, you know?"
Fifteen miles. She felt the frustration of it all the way to her bones. "I could cover that in ten minutes," she muttered. "Or less."
"I thought the point was subterfuge," he said, easing the saddle into place, and cinching it tightly.
"Or hiding in small nooks and crannies whenever something flaps in the wind?"
"If we make it to nightfall without any more sightings, I'll start to rest easy." He looked at Sleipnir. "Breathe out, you big bastard."
"He doesn't like it when you speak to him like that." Árdís watched the horse's ears flicker back and forth, and stepped closer to rub her hand over his velvety muzzle, his whiskers prickling her.
"He'll like it even less if I slide right off the other side when I try to mount." Haakon grunted under his breath, and dragged the girth tighter. "If we move too fast, we'll draw attention."
"And here I thought you just wanted to spend more time with me." She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.
Haakon paused, swiftly buckling the girth into place. His attention shifted toward her, his pale eyes narrowing in upon her with a tight focus that made her catch her breath.
It felt as though the world around them vanished.
"I want my grandmother’s ring back," he finally said.
"And that's all you want?"
His pupils dilated, and he took a jerky step toward her, before stopping. "No, that's not all I want. But it's all I'm going to get, so what is the point in pretending otherwise?"
Árdís folded her arms over her chest, even as her sex clenched tight with need. Being with him for so many nights began to seem an agony of its own. Seeing his cold, closed-off face counterbalanced against the heat in his eyes had given her nothing but a restless sleep ever since they'd set off. "We don't have to be at odds. Last night—"
"Last night was a mistake, Árdís. I shouldn't have touched you like that." Haakon clenched his eyes shut, leaning against the saddle.
"I didn't mind."
"Why?" His lips pressed firmly together, stark, angry color flooding through his cheeks. "So we can pretend there's anything left between us? Why bother, Princess? It's only a lie."
She felt sick to her stomach, hating the way his tongue caressed the word princess, as if to mock her.
"I want you safe," he said, turning to his saddlebags and the assorted weaponry he carried. "I want you to see your brother again. Then I owe you nothing else but a goodbye."
Árdís captured Sleipnir's muzzle between her hands again, trying to swallow down the choking fist of hurt in her throat. She'd broken the part of him she loved the best—the part that looked at her as if she'd set the very moon in the skies, the part that promised her forever and made her believe it.
And she couldn't even tell him why.
Somehow she forced herself to smile, though she didn't dare let Haakon see her eyes. They felt far too warm, and she blinked to clear them. "Let us be going then. The sooner we arrive, the sooner you can be rid of me."
She simply didn't have the strength of will to continue the conversation. Turning around, she began helping Haakon to load up both horses, though Snorri, predictably, refused to allow her anywhere near him.
It wasn't until Haakon had mounted and reached down to offer her his hand that she realized perhaps her subterfuge hadn't gone unnoticed.
"I didn't mean it like that, Árdís," he murmured, helping her to swing up behind him. "I just meant, can there be anything left between us when all is said and done? Is there anything left?"
Somehow she wrapped her cold arms around him. "No."
There was a moment where he might have said something else, but instead the words died on his lips.
Árdís looked up, into the hard line of his profile. Though he was in her arms, it felt as though the distance between them had never been greater. And she wanted to change that distance. She wanted to obliterate it. To tell him how she truly felt.
But that would only cost him his life. She couldn't be selfish.
It was better this way.
"Perhaps we should be going?" she said instead.
"Two dreki," Árdís pointed out, though even he could see faint hints of the second one.
Haakon cursed, watching the skies from the overhang of a vast shelf of rock. They'd taken shelter beneath it the second Árdís noticed the dreki. "Why isn't it bloody raining? It rains nine days out of ten here. I had to clean mold off my riding leathers last week. But the second you decide to flee the royal court, we receive a blast of sunny, clear days."
"It was raining the night I fled. I had to crawl up hills slick with mud. I, at least, am not cursing the sunlight."
"What are they looking for? Do you think they know you're on the ground?"
"I doubt it. What dreki in her right mind would choose to flee in mortal form?"
"Then what are they looking for?" He squeezed his leather gloves in his hands. "They've been doing sweeps all morning."
"Perhaps they think I'm trying to hide in some crevice? There are mountains, fissures, and glaciers all over the island."
"I've seen your brother, Rurik, in dreki form. He gleams like a gold twenty-crown coin. It's not precisely the best color to blend in with the rocks, and he said you're the exact same color."
She hesitated.
"What?"
"It's nothing."
"Árdís."
"I've rarely left court," she snapped, more than a little defensively. "I have a small mountain and territory I call home, but my mother insists I spend most of my time close to her wing. Perhaps they think I would be foolish enough to hide on a gray mountainside."
"Then they don’t know you well enough." She'd never been a fool.
The answer seemed to mollify her, despite the lingering tension between them. Haakon scrubbed a hand through his hair. They couldn’t travel at night. Not only was it dangerous, but they’d never see the dreki coming.
"There's one place we could go where they won't fly over," Árdís said.
He looked at her sharply, alerted by her tone.
"You’re not going to like it."
"It’s off-road, isn’t it?"
Árdís nodded.
If they had to hide like this every two minutes, then they’d never get to the coast. He breathed out his frustration. "Why won’t they go there?" Not much scared dreki.
Árdís shuddered a little. "Because it’s the territory of He Who Should Not Be Woken."
He Who—? He loo
ked at her sharply. "Is this some sort of dreki legend?"
"No. It's my great-grandfather, Fáfnir."
"I've heard stories about Fáfnir. He's a myth."
"I assure you he's not. He's a grumpy, spiteful old dreki who’s not very fond of the rest of us. Fáfnir was once the king of the dreki court," she said. "He helped forge the treaty between dreki and mankind in this country, until his grandson—my father—overthrew him. He's near the end of his existence now, and spends most of his time in a hibernation state, deep in the heart of his volcano, listening to the rumblings of the earth. Some rumors state he's almost turning to stone himself, but no dreki wants to find out the truth for himself. Just in case they wake him.
"If we skirt the edges of Fáfnir's territory, then we can ride north with no one the wiser. By the time we leave his territory, we should be clear of the sweeps they're making, and can rejoin the road."
"And what makes you think your great-grandfather will allow you in his lands?" From what he'd seen of Rurik, most dreki were frightfully territorial.
"He probably won't even know I'm there. My resonance is smaller when I'm in this form."
"Resonance?"
She shrugged. "It's... got to do with dreki magic. In our natural forms, we're more focused on the earth and the elements. We exist in a state closer to the magical and the spiritual, and hence we exude stronger magical emissions. In this mortal body, the echo I cast is smaller." She held up her wrist, producing the manacle. "And I daresay I'm emitting virtually nothing at this moment. I feel blind to the world around me."
Haakon stared north, along the gravel road. Then he turned and glanced to the east, and the spine of snow-capped mountains that existed here. A single pyramid of stones shaped like an old woman marked the trail into Fáfnir's territory. The locals called them kerlingar.
"Trust me," she whispered. "Please. I don't want to be caught any more than you do."
Haakon sighed, and turned Sleipnir east. "Let us hope your great-grandfather doesn't wake."
Thunder rumbled.
Árdís scrambled up the slope at Haakon's side, tugging the hood of her cloak over her head. "You had to question the lack of rain, didn't you?" she yelled.
