The villain |18+|

Chapter 1

The stone of the manor gleams white in the bright Blooming Season sun when I turn the corner. Ivar hasn't called on me yet, but the shutters are open, so I know he's returned. 

It's still early. I should stroll through the park and let him sleep a little longer. But it's been over a month since I've seen my love. My steps falter at his door.

"Lady Norena," the butler greets, gesturing for me to follow him inside.

I jump up the familiar steps to the drawing room, glimpse Ivar's emerald dressing gown at the window and push past the slow footman. I had no idea I could smile so wide the corners of my lips nearly touch my ears.

A flicker of red catches my eye. I ignore it. Nothing in his drawing room is ever red, and I will deal with the offending color later.

Ivar's face brightens when he notices me moments before I crush into his arms, his full lips parting as I kiss his chin, too eager to feel him. Warmth and muscle surround me as we stand there, trying to swallow each other. Or maybe merge into each other's bodies. I don't care. He is back.

He lifts his head and trails his fingertips along my cheek.

"I missed you." He is breathless. I am too.

Red snags my vision again. I frown and turn.

A foot away, a woman stands in a long red silk dress, a thick light braid with two moss green streaks falling over her shoulder, down her chest and all the way to the floor. Never before have I seen such long hair. Her hands are clasped before her as she watches us with interest.

"This is Aniken," Ivar says as he draws circles on my back.

The gesture would soothe me on any other day, but now a strange chill shoots down my spine. He's finally secured a witch, something he's tried and failed to do for seven years since coming of age.  I should be proud of the man who is to be my husband. Yet I'm not. 

Shaking off his hand, I step aside. 

The woman is younger than me, between eighteen and twenty. Her skin is luminous where the sun kissed it, but pale in the crook of her neck. Almost a head taller than me, she's not as thin as I thought a witch would be. Her hips are narrow, but her breasts full, and her arms are muscled.

Forcing out a breath, I drop my shoulders. This beautiful creature isn't my rival. If anything, I should pity her. Such good looks wasted on someone treated as a tool.

I paste a smile on my face and reach for her hands. "It's nice to meet you. Welcome."

A maid comes in with tea and Ivar gestures for us to sit. I take my favorite place on the settee, right in the middle, and Ivar sits beside me. Relief loosens my ribs.

"I'm so happy for you," I say, capturing his attention. "Now you'll be a member of the Order." He smiles at me, then glances at Aniken. I don't like how often he looks at her.

"Not yet." He reaches for a cake. "I need the visions to start."

I pat his knee. "You have everything you need." He nods. "Her. The title. Me."

He nods again, and unease pricks my heart. He doesn't take my hand, doesn't feed me the cake, but eats it himself and doesn't even look at me. Did he change his mind? No, he could not. He promised to marry me.

"I love you," I whisper. I shouldn't feel ashamed to tell the man that I love him, but heat rises in my cheeks and I curse inside. It must be the witch. I meet her eyes.

"I love you too," he murmurs into my ear, and I smile at the woman who, just then, drops her gaze.

His fingertips graze my hip. I know that gesture means he is ready to retreat to the privacy of his bedchamber, and though it has been over a month since we last had each other, it will have to wait.

"I have news," I tell him.

My mouth refuses to utter more words. The witch watches us, surely eager to hear it too. I hope she doesn't care for him because the news would shatter her. Still, worry knots my stomach, and I swallow a dry lump in my throat. I should send her away. But deep down I want her to hear it.

Ivar plops another cake into his mouth and chews, his tongue slipping out to lick the cream. I watch him, a powerful archlord of Engard, soon to claim his own place in the Order. At only five and twenty he's achieved everything he could ever want. There's no way he'll be disappointed with me. I did it for us, for him.

"I'm with child," I say.

His hand freezes halfway to his mouth. The bulge in his throat bobs as he swallows. He sets the cake back on the plate and turns to me. His face pales.

I wait for the shock to pass. In a couple more seconds his eyes will widen, and his face will regain its color when he realizes he's going to have a child with a woman who loves him. Soon happiness will soften his features. He'll laugh and hug me and maybe even go down on one knee right here with the witch as witness.

Another breath, and his eyes do go wide, but his mouth tightens instead of stretching into a grin. His pale face turns ashen. His gaze skitters away from mine. He looks frightened.

No, he cannot be. What is so frightening about having everything you want?

I squeeze his hand and lean in. "What's wrong, my love?"

He sits unmoving for another heartbeat, then pulls his hand from mine and turns to the witch.

"Would you mind going to your room, my dear?" he asks her. "I need a private moment with Norena."

Worry pierces my heart, but I push it aside. I love him. He loves me. He must be shy to propose in front of her.

He follows Aniken to the stairs and waits, looking up until she disappears into the darkness of the second floor. Yet he keeps standing there, raking his fingers through his hair.

Rising, I walk to him and place a hand on his back. His breathing is shallow, and for a moment he stands still, facing away.

"Aren't you happy?" Regret bites the instant I ask. Of course he's happy. It's something else.

Ivar turns, sighs, then sets his hand on my back. "There's been an unfortunate development."

A knot tightens low in my belly.

He guides me back to the settee and pulls me into his lap. His fingers trail through my hair, and my body heats at the feel of his warm thighs beneath me. He lets his hand drift from my nape to my bare shoulder, fingertips skimming my skin, then he pulls me close, clutching me as if his life depends on it.

My heart pounds. "What unfortunate development?" 

Ivar says nothing for a while, holding me as I struggle to draw air.

"Are you worried because you were unfaithful to me?" I ask. We're not betrothed, but he promised to offer for me when he returns.

Color rises in his cheeks, and he drops his head to my chest. I love him, but he didn't call on me when he arrived. He must've been busy with her and now cannot admit it.

"It doesn't matter," I tell him. "It's your duty." I wrap my arms around him, showing I love him no matter what.

He's so taut. Visions are what the archlords must have to rule the land. To see our enemies before they strike, to plan attacks, to keep nature from turning on us and bringing hunger and death. And visions come only through a witch.

"Did you see something in your visions?"

His head shakes. "No." He rubs his nose against my breast twice before he lifts his face and meets my gaze. "I have married."