Page 18 of The Dark Prince
“We need to keep moving so we can reach the village by sundown. Let’s not linger in case there are more.”
The men nodded and headed off. I turned and nearly jumped as Arne was standing right there next to our horse, his silver eyes boring into mine. He held out his hand and stared at me impatiently.
“Give him your wrist.” Tyr leaned over me, his hands on my shoulders.
I hissed in pain as I placed it in Arne’s hands, and he closed his eyes. I yelped as my hand went as cold as the snow and ice around us. With a warning look from Arne, I bit my lip, then relaxed as he cupped his hands around mine and glorious heat soared into my wrist.
Arne dropped my hand. “Fixed. Just a sprain.”
I furrowed my brow, then realized there was no more pain. And it hadn’t been just a sprain. I’d heard my wrist snap on impact with the sword! “How did he—”
“Let’s go. We move out now.”
I sputtered uselessly, confused. Arne could heal injuries?
The moment we were back on the road, I planned to ask him about Arne’s abilities. Unfortunately for my curiosity, my husband had queries of his own.
“Did you break your wrist when you fell?” he asked, his voice rumbling behind me.
“No. I broke it using the knife,” I answered, a bit defensively.
“What knife?”
I dug it out of my cloak pocket and held it over my shoulder so he could see it. “I grabbed it and tried to use it. I knew it was stupid to use against a sword, but—”
“How were you holding it?”
I wrapped my hand around the knife the way I’d done it, gripping it tightly in my fist.
Tyr huffed behind me. “That is not the proper way to hold it. It is lucky you didn’t break it.”
I opened my mouth to argue I’d done just that, but the finality in his tone stopped me. He (and Arne) clearly didn’t want to discuss it, and I wasn’t foolish enough to argue for my stupidity.
So I kept silent, unable to tear my eyes from the woods. Now I knew what possibly awaited us.
“They caught us unawares. Arne is just inside the tree line, scouting. It won’t happen again.” Tyr promised, murder in his eyes.
I wasn’t normally one to be pacified by a man’s assurances, but I trusted Tyr. I trusted his men. But I still kept a sharp eye out on the tree line, determined to catch even the smallest movement.
The day wore on.
Eight
TYR
At first, I greedily took pleasure in how Isadora kept her body huddled against mine, as if I was the only one who could keep her safe. It gave me a feeling of purpose and protectiveness that felt good, even if the attack had quickly shattered it.
Back on the road, my shoulder throbbed like hell. Arne had pronounced it only a flesh wound, and healed it enough that I could ride, so I would deal with the rest of the pain and discomfort myself. I preferred he saved his skills and energy for Isadora or for scouting ahead.
I hadn’t stopped to think when Arne had cried out his warning; I’d shoved Isadora from the horse and taken the arrow meant for her all without thinking. I’d been terrified the fall had killed her. How ironic would it be that I would end up killing my bride before I could pass on my curse?
Isadora hadn’t flinched at the blood and gore when I lost my head and murdered the man who tried to kill her. In that moment, I was going to lose control over myself, or make the man in front of me a bloody pulp.
She hadn’t reared back in horror. She’d fought my men off and brought me back from the brink of madness with those small hands and trusting eyes.
I’d take three more arrows just to have her hold me like that again.
Gods above, I was in trouble.
