Cohen, the monk, walked quietly beside her, his presence warm and friendly. He was as tall as he was skinny, with straw-colored hair that stuck out around his face. And behind her . . .

Her stomach lurched and her fingers curled around the edge of her cloak. Lord Damien followed a couple of feet behind, his steps firm. No, not lord. Not to her anymore.

Damien. Her husband.

Selene kept her eyes ahead, but every part of her could sense him. The moment the monk had finished the rites and the flame had jumped between their hands, she knew him. Most of it she had already discovered during her dreamwalks, but having that knowledge imparted into her innermost mind and soul, rather than seeing it as memories, were two completely different things. And just as much as she now knew him, he knew her as well. He knew who she really was. He knew what she could do.

He knew her gift.

She could still see the shock on his face the moment her dreamwalking gift was revealed to him. Yet he was still able to turn away and maintain enough mental capacity to raise the river barrier in time to save them.

Selene lifted her hand and brushed her cheek. That power. To raise water. It was amazing. And terrifying. And if he hadn’t chosen to bond with her minutes before . . .

Her hand slid down and rested on her throat. She would have drowned alongside those men.

Instead, Damien had chosen to save her. In a permanent way.

A wave of dizziness hit her, darkening her vision for a moment. Mere days ago she was heir to House Ravenwood’s secret and training to be a dreamkiller, only now to be crossing a whole new country on her way to a new home and new life.

A dead branch caught her foot, and Selene stumbled forward. A hand caught her by the forearm while something gripped her cloak and pulled her back.

“Are you all right?” Cohen asked beside her.

“Careful there,” Damien said behind her.

“I’m fine. I didn’t see the branch.” She didn’t want to explain how her thoughts and emotions were a jumbled mess, making it hard to concentrate. That, and she was tired. So very tired.

Damien kept his hand on her back—a light touch, but every part of her was focused on that spot between her shoulder blades, right where his hand was.

Right where her mark was.

“We should be close to Riveram. Then we can all rest for the night.” He removed his hand, but Selene could still feel the imprint of it. Would she ever get used to him? She was not a woman who touched people or liked to be touched herself. The only person she ever truly let past her physical barrier was Ophie—

Her heart clenched and she missed a step, but no one seemed to notice this time. She held a fist to her chest to ease the pain inside as she pictured her youngest sister. Her sweet smile. Her dark curly hair. The way her eyes communicated what she was thinking in a way she could not say with her mouth.