**BOOK II OF THE FOUR REALMS SERIES**
When war came for Azura, Fara of Calate lost everything. Her husband, her new home, her freedom. When her captor - the formidable commander of the Leoth army - saves her life, she begins to see the enemy as som...
Oops! Această imagine nu respectă Ghidul de Conținut. Pentru a continua publicarea, te rugăm să înlături imaginea sau să încarci o altă imagine.
Valdr lay with his head nestled against her breast, his arm thrown over her body, his fingers gripping her hip while he slept. If she had slept at all, it did not feel like it. Her eyes stung, her mouth bitter and dry, the flesh of her thighs stinging and wet. She gazed down at him, disgust turning her empty stomach. She pushed the memories of last night from her mind as they tried to flood in.
Gods, how far she had travelled only to return here to this?
This is different. I am different.
Theodan, I need for you to come for me now. I cannot fight this war without you anymore. I am weak. I am not who you think I am.
Valdr's dagger lay discarded on the table by her head, dormant and quiet, no longer the instrument it became in his hands. She reached for it now. It was light in her grip, lighter than it looked. When she brought it closer the light streaming in through the large windows turned its blade from dull yellow to bright gold.
She looked down at him, at his beautiful, depraved mouth soft with sleep. His soft pale throat open and unprotected. How much blood would pour from it, she wondered. Would it arc across the chamber as Torrik's had? Would it be warm as it covered her? She tried to imagine how she would feel after it. Elated. Powerful. Free.
Would he still smell the same after he was empty of the blood of Gods which ran hot and wild inside him? The same blood that ran inside her? Her heart pinched at the thought of his slowing to a stop. At his eyes losing their green fire. At his lips moving for the last time.
She thought about what would happen next. Ravol would come first, of course. He'd scream for the Nati, scream that the king had been murdered, before ordering she be put in chains at once. How many lords would speak for her then? Would the last few who stood on her side turn on her finally? She could see no reason they would support her then. With Valdr dead, Dacian would see no pardon either. She would see no trial. A public burning, surely.
Then, with Panos lost to Leoth, who would rule Calate? Pagel? Ravol himself? The thought sickened her. Frightened her.
'Where would you cut me, love?' he asked, his voice heavy with sleep. He turned his head to look up at her. Then pressed his mouth to her breast to kiss her. She lowered the blade.
'I thought about slicing open your throat while you slept,' she admitted.
He smiled, almost proud. 'And then what? Would you open your own?' Another soft kiss, lower this time, on the flat of her stomach. 'They would roast you alive otherwise.' She made a move to get out of bed, but he pulled her back, a provocative look in his eye.
'Valdr, you do not want your wife to find me here?'
He laughed. 'Gods, you do not think I care? Anyway, it is unlikely - Ravol says she is in some kind of sleeping trance. Have you ever heard of such a thing? She has apparently not opened her eyes since her collapse at the council. Mayhaps she won't wake at all,' he sighed, burying his face in her neck. 'Which would certainly make everything far less bothersome for me.' When his hand tried to move between her legs, she pressed her thighs together, denying him. He pulled his head up to look at her.
