Page 93 of War Queen
“Northman,” Tahla’s voice came, and he whirled to see her step from behind a hanging panel that separated the adjoining room.
She was more beautiful than the day he’d met her, if that was even possible. Her skin glowed in the candlelight like sparkling sands under the sun. Her dark hair hung long and wavy from its loosened braids.
Caspian couldn’t speak. He could only step closer. He reached up and brushed her cheek with his fingertips, and she smiled as she brought her hand over his.
“Tahla,” he whispered.
“After Salara fled the North, I feared I wouldn’t see you again,” she told him. “I thought something had happened to you. But Soren told me you lived, and I knew you’d come again.” She held his hand and looked down at their entwined fingers. “I’ve missed you, Northman. And I’m glad you’re here.” She stepped closer. “We have so much to talk about. With the child.”
With the child. She had to be considering their lives together now. Surely.
She gave a warm smile. “Do you want to see him?”
His heart stopped. Of course he wanted to see him. But he couldn’t speak. All he could do was nod. She pulled his hand and led him behind the panel to the adjoining room. Inside sat a small crib with the sleeping child. His breath shook as he drew closer to look at him—he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Can I hold him?” he whispered.
“Of course.”
Tahla reached into the crib and gently lifted the child without waking him. Ever so carefully, she placed him in Caspian’s arms.
Caspian moved and sat down on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t take his eyes from the boy. He drew the infant’s small hand between his fingers—the skin was so soft and warm. He moved his fingertips to the roundness of his plump cheeks, grazing them lovingly. The child opened his eyes and let out a large yawn.
Caspian chuckled as tears came to his eyes. This was his child. His son.
“Katakah,” Tahla said. “His name means golden light.”
He chuckled again, looking at the boy’s dark hair and brown eyes now staring back up at him. “I don’t think there’s any gold about him.”
“He’s filled with it. From his father.”
Caspian looked up at her. This woman in front him, his child in his arms—never had his heart felt so full. He stood and stepped to her, holding the child between them. “Tahla,” he said softly as he reached his hand and pulled them together. “Marry me. I know I’m not worthy, but I would be a good husband, a good father.”
But sadness filled her eyes. “Caspian.” The way his name sat on her lips crushed him. “No one is more worthy,” she said. “But it’s not about being worthy.”
She took the child back and gently laid him in his crib, and Katakah promptly closed his eyes and fell back asleep.
“I can’t,” she said.
It was as he feared. “Why?” His voice broke to match his heart.
Tahla sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him down beside her. She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.
“Are you betrothed to another?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, of course not.”
“Then why?”
“You know why. I will be chieftess. I belong to the Uru, and so must Katakah. And you belong to Salara and the North. We can’t pull each other from our duties.”
“I would never pull you away from the Uru, nor will I abandon Salara. I only want to know you as my wife, and for my son to know his father.”
“Katakah will be chief one day. I can’t have him torn between the North and the Uru.”
What did that mean? “So you would keep him from his father altogether?”
“There will be strong men in his life. My father. Salar. Soren.” She looked at him. “And you—lord justice of the North, a role model for any man. But I want him to know he is Urun, and only Urun, and his duty is to the Urun people.”
