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57
The warlord studies his mate for a brief moment: the hardened set of her shoulders; chin tilted up just enough to exude confidence or a lack thereof. Pitted dark circles of exhaustion line the underneath of those dull brown eyes that watch him.
He sinks back into the pillow. “We will speak of it tomorrow.”
She sucks in a sharp whistling breath as though he had slapped her. “Hadrius-”
“Tomorrow.” The dangerous tilt to his tone is as brittle as glass, pricking at the centre of her chest. Rolling onto his side in finality, the warlord shuts his eyes and steadies his breathing, indifferent to the cold finger of dread that touches his heart.
She remains silent and shuffles.
Even with his eyes closed, Hadrius can almost envision the slight rush of red to her paling cheeks, the weak slumping of her mouth as she tries to scowl but is too tired to do so, along with the balling of her fists.
River draw
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The warlord does not sleep throughout the night. Lying on his back, he stares at the darkened ceiling lit by slants of cold moonlight peering from the window. Beyond the wooden walls, a long mournful wind billows like a foghorn, drawing clouds of darkness and snow.A blizzard would ensue sometime during the day. The snow would disrupt their war on both sides.His chest rises and falls solemnly, his mind drifting by emptily, ears only conscious of the stilted breaths of his mate.She too is awake. Sometime in the hour he had untied her and she lay unmoving by his side. At some point she stirred and her thigh brushed his own, a subtle reminder of her presence, before growing still once more.Her shallow breaths tell him that sleep deserted her as well, and he hears her teeth working back and forth— lips parting to speak only to press shut in hesitance.For a dull, desperate moment, Hadrius wishes she would talk. The curious part of him tilting
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“Can you fight?”River glances up at the familiar voice, hoarse from endless weeping. Sumaya stands by the living room’s doorway, her hands wrenching tight by the front of her stained dress, face downcast, two paths of dried salt on either cheek. She peers at River apprehensively from beneath long dark lashes.River’s attention returns to the sword in her hand. To take her mind off things, she had placed a sharpening stone in the living room and began to sharpen her blade’s edges- back and forth, up and forth- the scraping sounds filling an unnerving silence in her mind and hollow chest.She smiles warily, “I don’t know,” Hadrius had trained her but not as much. Within ten or so sessions she could wield a sword yet she had neither killed nor battled with anyone beside the warlord.In comparison to her past, there is a sliver of confidence in her capabilities, however, as of now she would never truly know the
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Hadrius stares.The numbing shock that cripples his nerves only thickens at the sight of his human. She still watches him, a slight haze to her cloudy eyes and she blinks once more, the earthen color shifting to golden if not for more than a second before dissolving.His lips part to speak but no sound leaves.His hand tries to rise and reach for her but leads weighs them down. A shocking anchor rooting each limb to the spot.Seemingly undisturbed, or perhaps unaware of his distraught state, River searches his face over and over, suddenly alert and confirming a dreadful suspicion that did not come to pass.She sinks back into the table. “I thought you had died—” A startled huff of breath vacates her lungs as the Warlord’s large body suddenly climbs atop hers.Hadrius does not know what he is doing, not until his hands reach for her face with desperate urgency, his mouth finding her own in a bruising kiss as teeth graz
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