“I think you nearly gave me a compliment, Sentry.”

You read my words poorly.

I laughed. “I read them perfectly.”

Roark stared over the rail of the bridge. Together, we reveled in silence for a time until he brushed a hand across my arm, drawing my attention. You are more than the scars in your eyes.

On instinct, Roark rubbed the line of puckered flesh on his throat.

Blood heated. I drifted nearer to his side, so our bodies touched from shoulder, hip, to legs. This close, I was surrounded by his strong oaky scent.

“You are more than the scars on your skin.” I shuddered when his eyes dropped to my mouth, unashamed.

Roark tilted his head. Heat and desire pulsed across my body. His mouth, full and parted, drew closer. A need to lean in, to taste him, throbbed low in my belly. I tilted my chin up, and our noses brushed, a whisper of a touch.

The gods-awful ram horn bellowed from the towers of Stonegate.

Roark blinked, his heavy breath heated my lips, then wretchedly slow, he pulled away. The Myrdan caravan has arrived.

31

Lyra

The caravan had gathered nobles from across Jorvandal, all here to celebrate the vows. Gowns the color of bone or blue dewberries glittered in the fading sun as folk crossed the bridge from the lower marketplace to the palace gates.

Furs from high-mountain bears or meadow foxes were added to the shoulders of men. Newly shorn beards braided in bone beads. Gold chains around wrists and necks of ladies.

Territory jarls strode in with pomp and arrogance. They offered greetings to their fellow noblemen and rulers, but underneath their felicitations was subtle measuring—as though each jarl wanted to be counted greater than the others.

I dipped my chin at the sight of Jarl Jakobson; his wife, Mikkal; and Astra, who looked around with awestruck delight.

Jakobson scanned the crowds, and I hoped he was searching for Kael. I hoped he knew his son would not greet him.

Kael had enough regard among the Stav and Sentry. I did not think he would crave the slightest attention from his blood father.

From Stav reports, the seashore was clotted with longships. All here to pay tribute to the prince and his betrothal. Then there were those who were surely here to gawk at the new melder and the Sentry who’d been brought together in violence only to work side by side to save the prince.

I could not soothe the heated waves in my stomach.

“Oh, there’s the Myrdan royal coach.” Hilda patted my arm, pointing over the heads of people.

Canopies over carts, flags of black and crimson, marked the arrival of royals.

Courtiers, jesters, and Skalds clad in finery, they all made merry on their way. Some regaling the folk of Stonegate in grand sagas of the gods’ chosen formation of the kingdoms.