She could not avoid it now. Stiffly, she waited for Maddek to let her down.
Instead he held her, his gaze level with hers, her feet dangling. Automatically Yvenne gripped his forearms to steady herself. Heated by the sun, the drepa skin covering his vambraces was warm as life, the pebbled texture worn smooth between the scars of battle.
Aside from that small movement, she remained quiet, her body rigid.
Abruptly a frown darkened Maddek’s expression. She couldn’t imagine what prompted it, until he said, “You no longer soften against me. Have I made you fear my touch?”
No. Trust would not come easy again, yet she feared no physical harm at his hands. But she was already hurt and feared that her future held more pain if she softened.
So there was no simple answer, yet his question was likely simple. He wondered if she was terrified of him. So there was truth in the shake of her head.
That response seemed not to relieve Maddek—or perhaps he assumed that she lied again. His frown deepened into angry frustration. “Your face tells me nothing.”
Yvenne could not be sorry for that. If she wore her emotions as plainly as the Parsatheans did, what would her face say to him now? That her heart yearned and ached? Should she give him reason to declare again that she could never earn his trust or his love?
She should not. So this time she gave no reply at all.
Eyes narrowing, he studied her for a moment longer, before hissing a breath from between his teeth. “Do you sense dark magics here?”
Irritation burned away the ache. Did he trust nothing she said? “I vowed to tell you when I do,” she snapped. “And as I have no desire to see thrice-cursed wraiths sucking the blood from my dripping entrails while I scream my last mortal breaths, if I sense anything amiss I will let you know.”
And Yvenne could read his face easily, but she could make no sense of what it told her now, for Maddek seemed pleased. Not amused, as if finding humor in her answer or laughing at her vehemence, but satisfied by it. Yet what pleasure could he take in her response?
“So my punishment has come to an end?” he softly asked.
What punishment? Utterly confused now, she arched her brows in question—Maddek could surely read that upon her face—but instead of giving an answer he gently set her to her feet.
“You will ride the roan mare when we start off again.” Wearing a faint smile, he loosened her cinch knot before turning to unsaddle his own horse. “If you must tend to your own needs while they rest, do it quickly. We will not remain here long.”
Only long enough for the horses to drink and briefly eat. However, it was not the length of this rest that concerned Yvenne, but the next, when they would stop to make camp.
Slipping her fingers beneath the band of leather he’d loosened, she tugged until the knot came free. “How far until the next village?”
“Two days’ hard ride.” A soft grunt accompanied his answer, and then he turned again to face her, his great roll of furs propped upon his shoulder and his saddle gripped in his left hand. “Did you hope for another bed at an inn? My furs will be soft enough. Only this time, I would keep you against me the full night.”
Then he must have forgotten what she’d told him when she left the bed—that she had no desire to share his until her moon night.
That had been absolute truth. And although she yearned for the pleasure he’d given her, she could not protect her heart if she allowed him so close. Even now, it pounded like the hoofbeats of a galloping steed, as the thought of another night with him raced through her blood.
Yet she had to starve the sweeter emotions that accompanied that fire. Not feed them.
“I hoped not for an inn,” she said, reaching up and taking firm hold of her pommel and cantle, “but to purchase my own bedding.”
Dragging the saddle from her mount’s back took all of her strength—as did bearing its weight without staggering—and so she could not even note Maddek’s response until, abruptly, she bore no weight at all. He hauled the seat out of her grip. Then his response was all she could see, for he crowded close. Thick biceps bulged, the sinews of his wrists and hands standing in sharp relief, as if holding her saddle were an effort, yet she knew it was not. Leather creaked under the tightness of his grip, the knuckles of his powerful fingers whitening. His faint smile had vanished. Below dark eyes that flashed hot and feral, volcanic tension pulled the skin across his cheekbones taut.
Yet despite the barely restrained violence within his massive body, still Yvenne did not fear him. Lifting her chin, she met his enraged gaze and silently challenged him to deny her.
He did, his response emerging on a dangerous snarl. “You will sleep in my furs this night. And every night.”
“And as I said last eve, I will not lie beside you until my moon night.”
Perhaps he had not forgotten. Perhaps he had—once again—not believed her word. Now his smoldering gaze scoured her face, as if searching for truth. He must have realized that this was no lie, for the rage in his gaze dimmed. She knew not what to make of the bleak resolve that replaced it, or the softness of his gruff reply.
“Then I will let you sleep alone. But you will be in my furs.”
That distance would have to be enough, then. She could see no use in arguing further, as purchasing her own bedding today was impossible—and, if they were to be married and serve as queen and king of two territories, surely it would not be the first compromise that she and Maddek made.
They had both made demands. They would both get what they wanted . . . with modifications.
On a sharp nod, she offered her agreement—then looked for more anger but could see none.
Instead he wore that same grim resolve in his firmed mouth and clenched jaw. His dark gaze held hers for another long moment, and then he glanced over her head, to where Banek and Ardyl were caring for the extra horses. “Shall I carry this for you?”
Her heavy saddle. Her throat oddly tight, she shook her head. “I prefer to do as much as I can.”
Carefully he gave it back to her, making certain she had a steady grip before releasing the full weight.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
An equally soft grunt dismissed her gratitude. He gathered her horse’s lead. “I will take them to water. Stay near Ardyl when you piss. You are not yet a warrior-queen.”
And able to protect herself. Yvenne knew that very well. Maddek did, too, and he had told her so many times before. But to hear him say it so differently now—not yet a warrior-queen—filled her with such pain and hope and confusion.
She bore them along with the saddle’s weight across the small clearing—though it was not even properly a clearing, but an area of flattened grasses that formed a thick mat upon the ground. All around them grew stalks taller than Yvenne. When mounted, she could see over their seed-heavy heads. Now she could not, and it was as if a nodding wall of green surrounded them.