Aureate Fates

42

TORTURED SUNRISE

—MARISOL—

She had fallen in love.

Deeply and madly in love with Verskyia. Its people and its sweet soil. She wouldn't let anyone destroy it now.
As she looked over the balcony from her chamber, she imagined that it was simply an ordinary night where she'd spend it talking with Erik.

But the sounds of clanging weapons and nervous chatter told her that she would not be sleeping anytime soon. The lights over Quellton and the villages near the castle were dark. Quiet.

The door to her room swung open and she whirled around, knife in hand. It was only Erik, hands out in front of him.

"You can't kill me yet, dear," he said, once she put her blade away. "I'm still your husband for a few more months."

She turned back to watching the balcony, finding it impossible to turn away from it.

What if they attacked before the four days expired?

She heard Erik approach her, joining her on the stone balcony. Their view was a mass of green trees and a recently disputed-over enchanted stream.

Zardan's men camped around it.

Beside her, Erik undid his collar, eyes on where she trained hers over the balcony. As he unbuttoned his coat, his fingers seemed to tremor, but in an instant, it was gone.

"It's late," he said, his voice rough and edged with exhaustion. "You should sleep."

Marisol had changed into her nightgown, but it did nothing to lull her to sleep. "If they take Verskyia, there would be nothing stopping them from conquering Ziralem, too," she let her thoughts travel out through her mouth.

Erik threw his coat aside. It hit the floor softly. The night air was stiff and warm, with a slight wind that lapped at his air. "I've thought about that," he said, resting his forearms on the rim of the balcony. "But I don't think they'll ever succeed."

"Because Drew is secretly a badass?" Marisol inquired, walking up to the rim of the balcony. His wedding ring shone against the moonlight.

Erik turned his head to nod, humor dancing on his enervated features. "Sometimes the kid freaks me out." He briefly looked down at her nightgown, expression softening. "His weaponry is astonishing. If he was ambitious enough, he could take anyone's crown. Anyone's empire."

"Including ours?"

"Especially ours," Erik admitted, but he shook his head like he was remembering something foolish. "But he's too well-groomed for that."

"He's kind," Marisol said, rubbing warmth into her arms. She yawned before adding, "And modest about his intelligence. I bet he'd make a great king."

Erik turned his attention from the sight outside and met her eyes, assessed her. He pointed to the bed. "Sleep, Marisol."

She supposed that staring out the balcony all night would have caused more harm than benefit, but taking those steps to the bed were cold. Uncomfortable.

Risa lay near the hearth, sleeping. Marisol wished she could nestle herself inside that fire, find a home there.

Erik had taken steps toward the couch, where he had slept every night since they arrived. It was routine, but something about the thought of the palace now being raided by enemy soldiers made her wish it hadn't been.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Sleep with me tonight."

Erik paused his movements, then he turned, eyes becoming unreadable. She suddenly felt bare, like she hadn't been wearing her night gown.