Land of Fury, page 30
“Something else to add to our list of remedies,” Thora mutters, mostly to herself. “Education—at least for those who wish to learn. Wait—” She gapes at me. “You mean to tell me, in all your duplicities, you did not learn? It would have helped you greatly in your secret endeavors.”
“I have learned a few things observing your mother—I have had to, in order to understand her more closely—but Reider is the one who would be most useful to you. Would you like me to fetch him for you?”
Thora waves the idea away. “He is walking with Siggy,” she says haughtily. “And it is your help I seek.” Biting back a smile, she nods for me to join her. “Bring that chair and sit with me.”
I do as she says because Thora is the Princess of Norseland and the keeper of my heart, and I would do anything she wished of me, especially with that mischievous glint in her eyes.
Settling the chair beside hers, I sit down, my knee touching hers, though I can barely feel them through her gown.
The corner of Thora’s mouth lifts knowingly, and she dips her quill into the inkpot and pulls a fresh piece of parchment from the side drawer. “Have you ever written something?”
I shake my head.
Her eyebrow lifts wryly. “Not even your name, huntsman?”
“No, princess. Not even my name.” I sit back in my chair, bemused.
“Here.” Thora hands me the quill. “Get a feel for it between your fingers.” It’s a queenly command, so I know there is no arguing with her about it.
So, I humor her instead. “It is small,” I grouse, uncertain how to grip such a delicate thing without snapping it in half.
“No,” Thora says patiently, “your hand is big.” She glances at me from the corner of her eye, and I can’t resist a smile. “Now, put the quill to the paper and move it around to feel the brush of it against the parchment.”
Again, I do as the princess says, uncertain where, exactly, she is going with this as I slowly draw loops and swirls at the bottom of the paper. It’s an odd feeling, the way the quill snags on the texture of the page, but I find it pleasantly diverting. “You mean to teach me to be your secretary?” I ask, nearly laughing at the thought.
Thora grins. “Something far more important than that.”
My brow furrows.
“Patience, huntsman,” she says, and her soft, warm fingers wrap around mine. My skin comes alive with every brush and press of her fingers.
Hands clasped together, Thora lifts them from the bottom of the page and positions the quill at the top. After dipping the quill tip in ink once more, she guides my hand in a succession of curves and loops, dots, and swoops. I revel in the feel of her hand on mine, and the cadence of the motion as the page fills with elegantly scripted words. Some of them look familiar, like her name, and then mine, as she signs it at the bottom.
“What have we just written?” I ask as her fingers loosen around mine.
Thora pulls her bottom lip between her teeth with a secret smile. “A love letter,” she confesses. “To me.” The princess points to my name at the bottom. “And you have already signed it, so I am afraid there is no going back,” she whispers. Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Ever.”
As she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth again, my trousers tighten. “It is unseemly, huntsman, to express such undying devotion to me.” Her voice is far more seductive than any princess’s should be. “Someone might get the wrong impression.”
I lean in, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. I find I’m unable to resist touching her when she’s only inches away. “Will you at least read me this unseemly love letter I have written to you, princess?” I breathe the last word, my nose grazing against the shell of her ear. I should back away—I should not give in to this. Not here in this study. Not like this.
“Dearest, loveliest Princess Thora,” she begins softly, and the moment the words fall from her lips, I know there is little hope for me. I smile against her neck, inhaling the scent of red clover in her freshly washed hair.
“You have captured my heart, and I give myself to you, body and soul.”
Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the sound of her voice.
“I will worship every inch of you, and I expect you will worship every inch of me in return—” She takes a ragged breath as my kiss moves from under her jaw down the column of her neck.
“Is that all?” I tease.
Thora’s pink, pouty lips part slightly. “I am afraid the rest is inappropriate,” she rasps, her head falling back as I kiss the top of her breasts, protruding from the dip in her bodice.
“The nerve of me,” I murmur. Without the weight of so much uncertainty and danger circling, it’s as if I can bask in Thora’s affection without distraction. I have seen her come into her own, and I no longer doubt what she wants—the looming future no longer sways her.
“You do,” she says, her voice breathy as I gently rake my fingers up her thighs. “Have quite the nerve,” she clarifies, and she gasps as I grip hold of her waist.
Everything inside me stirs in this woman’s presence. It comes alive from what felt like a never-ending winter, and fire fills my groin and races through my veins. “Then, I should leave you, princess. You have far too much to do.”
Thora nods, her eyes still closed as I run my fingers along her cleavage. Chills cover her supple chest, and she murmurs something inaudible.
“As you wish, princess.” I pull away, failing not to grin as her eyes flare in the absence of my touch.
“But you won’t,” she commands roughly.
“No?”
Thora shakes her head, and gripping my shoulders, she pulls me closer. Her breasts press against my chest as she winds her arms around my neck. “I have need of you, huntsman,” she says unevenly, arousal gleaming in her eyes. Her hiss is urgent and desperate.
Gripping her hips, I pull her onto my lap, her skirts bunched up between us. But the heat of her—the feel of her legs on mine—sends a ravenous groan from my throat.
“My letter,” I say against her mouth. “You haven’t finished reading it.”
When she doesn’t answer, I lift my head, relishing the sight of her flushed cheeks as the same fire I see blazing in her eyes burns through every inch of me. I want nothing more than to feel her body bare against mine—to make love to her, here and now.
Thora, imp that she is, knows my thoughts and grins. “There is no need to read it, huntsman.” Leaning in, she licks the skin just below my ear and whispers, “Come with me. I will show you.”
48
THORA
Our rushed footsteps echo through the halls as we hurry toward my chambers. My fingers entwine with Zander’s, both of us refusing to let go. He glances at me. I stare at him. Light flickers on his face from the torches lining the corridor. There’s a promise in his eyes of what’s coming, and I can’t help but laugh.
“—as long as you are feeling better.” Reider’s voice reverberates down the hall as he and my sister head back to her rooms.
I pull Zander to my door, pushing it open before we’re caught. I barely have time to glance back at my sister’s approaching shadow, when Zander pulls me inside and shuts the door softly behind us.
Unable to help myself, I stifle another laugh, my eyes meeting Zander’s. He’s smiling, a genuine, beautifully full smile, and my heart melts into a puddle at his feet. “Always saving the day, aren’t you, huntsman?” I say, nearly out of breath.
I tug at his vest, urging him closer, and our bodies fall back against the wall.
“Only because you are always getting into trouble, princess,” he replies, and as his gaze drinks me in, I realize we’re really doing this. He’s standing before me, his chiseled features glowing in the firelight. In my room. Finally.
“Shall we have some wine?” I ask, a little breathless, and I wonder if I’m not more nervous than I expected.
I know what comes next will be a mix of pleasure and pain. But my experience pales compared to his, and that sends a new sort of anticipation through me.
“As you wish, princess.” Zander backs away and walks to the wine carafe on my chest of drawers. I follow, assuming he will fill the only glass I have for us to share, but he uncorks the carafe and hands the entire decanter to me instead. Mischief lights his blue eyes, and I can’t resist a smile.
“Are we so uncivilized now?” I reach for the wine in his hand with a shaky laugh.
Zander pulls it away before I can take it, a smile tugging his lips. “Apologies, princess. If it is a gentleman you want—”
I grin, stealing the carafe from him. “No, a huntsman will do,” I counter as his easiness seeps into me again.
Zander raises his eyebrows with mock offense. “A huntsman will do,” he repeats, shaking his head.
I watch him over the crystal brim as I gulp one drink, then two. The wine is tepid and fruity on my tongue, but I take little notice as Zander’s attention shifts over my face and down my throat with each swallow. But the longer he watches me with rapt attention, whatever inhibitions I thought I had fade again—like Zander is a drug, and I will not be sated until he is mine.
“I guess I should be honored,” he murmurs, dragging his eyes back to my face as I hand him the wine.
“Yes,” I tell him, licking my lips. “You should. I find I have much more shocking tastes than I realized.”
Zander’s expression is unreadable as he takes a drink of wine. With the tilt of his head, he offers it to me again.
“No, thank you,” I say, already feeling the warmth of it in my blood. Or is that Zander’s presence as he stands in my bedroom like he belongs here?
He sets the carafe on my vanity before stepping closer, until we’re chest to chest. The scent of him fills my nose, a bawdy mix of soap and leather and woodsmoke, and leaning in, I claim another kiss, too eager in his nearness to second-guess it.
Everything about Zander invades my senses, making me feel manic and weightless all at once. My heart beats faster. The air between us sizzles, and my body strains against the bodice cinched around me, begging to be freed.
“Zander,” I rasp, running my hands up his chest. I stare into his covetous, glossy gaze. “Make me yours.” It’s a plea, and as want and need coil within me, I know I can’t bear to be apart from him a moment longer. “Please.”
“As you wish, princess.” There’s only a flicker of hesitation before his hands grip my hips, and Zander spins me around. My palms hit the wall, bracing myself as he presses against me. His mouth brushes the column of my neck as he deftly unties the stays at my back. He nips and kisses a path to my ear as if he can’t stop tasting me.
“Are you sure this is what you want, princess?” His ragged breath fans across my jaw, and the sweet scent of wine fills my nose as the stays loosen. A clawing need courses through me. It tightens my belly and pools deep inside, warming my insides to burning all at once.
I arch into him as he unfastens the last of my ties. “Yes.”
As my bodice opens, the cool air seeps in, tingling my skin and tightening my nipples.
Zander runs his fingers along my collarbone, scooting my sleeves off my shoulders. The dress falls down my skin, giving way to chills as it puddles on the floor around my feet.
Nipping gently at my ear, Zander cups my breast with one hand, his finger tracing the hardened tip until I can barely stand it. I have to clench my thighs together to keep my knees from buckling.
“Zander.” I moan his name as his hand moves down my body, and turning my head, I claim his mouth. My fingers snake into his hair, gripping hold as tight as I dare. His arm flexes as it ventures farther down, beyond my belly button and over my mound, before his fingers slip inside of me. I gasp.
“Princess,” Zander growls, so guttural and drawn out, I nearly burst in his arms. He spins me around, lifting me onto the vanity as trinkets and bottles clatter and roll around us. His gaze rakes over me, leaving a fire trail in its wake. But he’s too far away. “Zander—”
He stills, staring at my body in utter disbelief.
“Huntsman,” I murmur as cool air rakes over my skin in his absence. Gripping his collar, I pull him closer, greedily tugging at the ties of his tunic. I need to see him, to feel his skin on mine. The longer I fumble, the more impatient I become. “I command you to remove your clothes,” I say hoarsely.
Zander chuckles, dark and delicious, and effortlessly, he shrugs off his vest and lifts his shirt over his head. He tugs his boots and pants off, and I wait with bated breath as he bares every glorious inch of himself to me.
Whatever misgivings Zander might have had about his scars before are gone in this moment, and warm shivers flood my body as I take the sight of him in. He stands in front of me with the body of a warrior, the heart of a hero, and the look of a man who is going to devour me from my head to the tips of my toes.
He steps between my legs and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling slightly back as he peers down at me. “Better, princess?” he asks. As he leans in, I lose myself in Zander’s gaze—a kiln of lust and blue fire.
I can’t reply. His breath caresses my lips as he presses another kiss to my mouth. Urgent and careful at the same time.
My hands trail up his stomach and chest of their own accord, exploring the plains and valleys of every corded muscle and well-earned imperfection.
With a groan and a nip at my lips, Zander sweeps me in his arms. His eyes affix to mine as he carries me to my bed and lays me on my furs. There’s no longer only lust in his eyes, but adoration, making it impossible to ignore the swell in my chest.
I am completely exposed as Zander peers down at me, but it isn’t my body he’s looking at, but deep into my eyes. “Tell me I am yours, princess,” he says, his voice low and rolling over me like the murmur of distant, crashing waves. He isn’t teasing this time. And what I see in his eyes is something far more potent than ego. It’s insecurity, as if he might actually question my feelings for him.
Rising to my knees, I take his hand, warm and rough from long days, gripping reins and wielding weapons, and I splay his fingers over my racing heartbeat. “We are bound, Zander. We have been since the day we met.”
In an instant, his lips capture mine, and I hold Zander as close as I can, wanting every aching part of my body sated by him.
With a kiss and loving whisper, Zander lays me down and nudges my legs apart with his knee, nestling between them. His length presses against me as he kisses me like it’s the first time—soft and sweet, as if he is savoring the moment. His hand skims down my side, and I arch against him as his fingers enter me once more.
“Oh my gods,” I breathe, my nails raking over him. The way he fills me—the pressure and pleasure, the maddening need for more—is unbearable and I groan into his neck. “Zander . . .”
When Zander’s eyes meet mine, they are soft and patient, and I know what comes next. I nod, and licking my lips, I brace myself.
“Breathe, princess,” he says softly, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from my face. “It will hurt less.” His gaze, a heady mix of lust and concern, watches me—reassures me—until I exhale the tension knotting inside. Satisfied, Zander presses a chaste kiss against my lips, and slowly, he sinks into me. An avalanche of pleasure-pain surges through me, and I gasp.
My body molds to his, and I squeeze my eyes shut as Zander embraces me, his arms locked around my body in a protective shield. His breath is hot and calming against my neck, his touch tender as he drags the tips of his fingers over my skin, eliciting a thousand goose bumps in its wake.
Zander’s muscles tremble, his entire body humming with coiled tension and need as he waits for me—patient, loving, so gentle that tears fill my eyes—and I wrap my arms around him.
“I love you, Zander.” I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Knowing that no one has ever cared for me the way he does—I feel it in my soul.
Zander’s mouth opens as if he might say it back, but I press my finger to his lips and shake my head. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want him to feel obligated, but deep down, I know it’s because my heart is too full to bear it.
Instead, Zander moves slowly inside me as he kisses a rogue tear from my temple, and the pain subsides as pleasure awakens in its place.
Head back and eyes closed, I run my hand down his side, following the trail the flames left over his skin, and I marvel at the strength of this man. Zander—the one I have always wanted but has always kept himself at arm’s length—is finally mine.
Years of need and longing take over as we promise each other with every kiss and caress that he is mine and I am his, whatever happens next.
It’s only when the fire dies in the hearth, and we lie in each other’s arms, my mind drifting off, that I hear Zander’s voice in the haze of my dreams. “I love you too, Thora.” His arms tighten around me, and together, we sleep.
49
THORA
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
Aside from the sound of servants pouring water and wine, the room is quiet. Siggy and I peer across the square table in the great hall, our hands clasped in front of us as we assess our six visitors.
Killian and Brynn sit directly in front of us. With Brynn’s brown hair braided back from her face, showcasing her high cheekbones and blue eyes so striking and similar to Zander’s, their kinship is uncanny. Killian is otherworldly with his swarthy, windswept hair and sun-kissed skin—a strange combination of the north and his life at sea. Had I not seen his cocky smile on multiple occasions, I would think his furrowed brow and dark features were threatening.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell them. “We heard you were planning to set sail at the end of the month, so we wanted to meet before it was too late.”
“Thank you, Brigida,” Siggy whispers as the maid sets bread and cheese platters in the center of the table. “Please,” she says, waving to the food. “Eat. Drink. We know it has been a rushed, long journey for most of you.”
