“It was,” I agreed. “Anything else?”

  “I… I do not know how to say this without it seeming paranoid or rude.”

  “This is me you are speaking to,” I reminded her. “I am always saying shit I probably should not.”

  To that, she smiled.

  “I like that about you,” she admitted, and the words had more impact on me than they probably should have. “I just… it makes me uncomfortable the way I have seen him looking at me, is all,” she admitted.

  That did not sound like an ‘is all’ comment to me at all.

  If a woman felt as though a man’s gaze made her uncomfortable, you knew you could trust her instincts.

  “What way does he look at you?” I asked. “With hate, or with something worse?”

  “Is it possible to be both?” she asked, eyes scrunching up like she was sure she was not making any sense.

  “Hate and lust? Yes, it is possible. In certain types of men, yes.”

  See, being a warrior meant you got to see some of the best and the worst in mankind. Including sadistic torturers and killers. Some who took joy in making women their victims. And make them suffer in all the ways a man could do to a woman.

  And they did that.

  With hate.

  And lust.

  “I could be mistaken. I am not accustomed to being around many men,” she said, shrugging.

  “Do not doubt yourself when it comes to things like this. Your instincts are what keep you safe. It is one of the first things warriors learn. If they fail to learn that, they get killed.”

  “But I am not a warrior, Warwick,” she said, giving me a small smile.

  “Make no mistake, my queen, your path to getting your child on the throne will be its own sort of war. Better to view it that way from the beginning. It will keep you sharp and safe.”

  “I fear I am not strong enough to survive a war,” she said.

  “Trust me, you are. You do not need brute strength. You need the internal kind of strength. You have it. You just need to discover it and bring it out.”

  “You have a lot more faith in me than I have in myself.”

  “Only because that uncle of yours made you feel you were unworthy,” I reminded her. “Now you are amongst friends.”

  “Friends,” she repeated, like the word felt clumsy on her tongue. “Is that what we are?” she asked, waving between our two bodies.

  “I would hope you see it that way,” I told her.

  I was the odd man out, I was sure.

  I knew she was intimate with Cyprian. And I had my suspicions about her and Gwen.

  “Do you build libraries for all of your friends?” she asked.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Do you buy dogs for them?” she pressed.

  “Might be easier to admit to you that I do not exactly… have friends. In case it escaped your notice, I can be a bit of a prick,” I told her, chuckling at the way shock and amusement played across her face.

  I was not naive.

  No one spoke like that around a lady, let alone a queen.

  “I think you are a very kind man. Perhaps more honest than is proper, but I appreciate that quality,” she told me.

  “I doubt anyone else would call me kind.”

  “Then perhaps they do not know you well enough. You saved my life. You kept me warm. You got me Snow,” she said, smiling over to the puppy who was asleep on his back in front of the fire after having spent the past hour trying to pull the drapes off the window. “You got this room finished for me. You are helping me study. That is kindness, Warwick. Especially for a woman who is not accustomed to kindness from men.”

  “Is Cyprian not kind to you?” I asked, knowing it was inappropriate, that it was prying, that it was none of my damned business. But that did not stop me.

  I was a nosy bastard.

  I knew how Cyprian was with me, but all the interactions I had seen between him and the queen had been softer, sweeter.

  I was not sure she would even understand my meaning, but as her cheeks went red, there was no denying she understood precisely my meaning.

  “Cy is a kind man too,” she said. “But that is his nature. I do not believe it is in yours. That makes it feel even more special,” she told me. “Can we take a break?” she asked. “I believe I am too agitated to continue on about this war.”

  “Understandably,” I agreed, getting to my feet and offering her my arm. “Do you want to go back to your room?”

  “I think Snow needs to take a trip outside. Would it be possible for me to as well?” she asked. “I have not been out of the castle since the wedding.”

  “I believe it is about to snow, but we could take a short walk around the grounds if that would please you.”

  “I got my new cloak two days ago,” she said, giving me a big smile. “Made specifically for me because someone instructed the team of seamstresses that I catch cold easily. It weighs a ton,” she added.

  “But it shall keep you from catching a chill again,” I agreed, having inspected it myself when they had brought it to the castle. It was leather on the outside and fur beneath with a thick layer of wool between the two.

  She was right.

  It weighed more than some warrior’s armor, but would keep her warm even if she needed to be out of doors for hours in the worst of our winters.

  “How can you tell it is going to snow?” she asked as we moved out the back of the castle where the ground had a few inches of old snow already down.

  “I can smell it,” I told her.

  “Snow has a smell?” she asked, brows furrowing.

  “It does. Once you have lived here a few winters, I bet you will be able to smell it coming as well.”

  The flurries started out slow and soft as we walked, both of us watching Snow bounce around on the ground, yipping, finding buried sticks, or yanking them off of bushes and running around with them.

  Those fat, lazy flurries, though, gave us a false sense of security, allowing us to keep moving forward, going further.

  “What is this?” Marielle asked, voice pitching upward as the entire world whited out around us, the snow falling in blankets from the sky, the wind whipping it at us, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of us.

  If that.

  “A whiteout,” I told her, feeling a bit of panic gripping my system.

  Because you simply never knew what turn a whiteout would take. It could blow over in only a few minutes, making everything visible again. Or it could go on for hours and hours, stranding people, killing people who could not get out of the cold.

  “I can not see the castle,” Marielle said, reaching out, her gloved hand grabbing my wrist, holding on as though she was afraid of blowing away.

  Nor could I.

  Even if I could, it would be too far to make it back if the storm kept raging like it was.

  “Snow!” she hissed, the panic in her voice growing. “Snow!” she yelled again.

  I let out a few shrill whistles, and it was not long before the dog, his white fur matted with thick snowballs, came rushing up to his owner, letting out a pathetic whimper until she gathered him up, snow and all, and slipped him under her cloak.

  “Warwick, what do we do?” she asked, moving closer to me.

  It was not an unusual thing for me to feel in charge of the safety of another human being.

  Yet there was something different about it being Marielle’s safety that I was responsible for.

  Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pulled her tightly against my body.

  “We must start walking,” I told her. “There is an old groundskeeper cabin out this way. It will not be much, but it will get us out of the wind until the storm passes.”

  To that, she said nothing as she tightened her grip on her puppy and let me lead her through the snow.

  The wind whipped our faces, numbing my skin instantly, and turning her face bright red.

  “It is not too much further,” I assured her as we walked past an old tree that had been struck down by lightning, a landmark that gave me hope.

  But hearing the pathetic little whimper she let out made me stop, stoop, lift her up, and pull her against my chest, the dog a lump in her abdomen.

  “Hold this over your face,” I instructed, yanking at her cloak to pull enough of it free to hold over her head and against my chest.

  The snow was accumulating quickly under my feet, nearly reaching the tops of my boots. Which meant the queen’s feet had likely been fully submerged in the cold for a long time.

  Too long.

  I had to get her inside.

  I had to hope that whoever was taking care of the groundskeeper cabin was smart enough to store some of the wood inside to keep it dry.

  She needed a fire.

  I had to get her warm.

  I could not let her catch that cold sickness once again on my watch.

  It felt like an eternity, but was only a few more moments, before I made out the outline of the cabin.

  It was shabbier than I remembered, but the roof and windows seemed intact.

  It was not the castle with a blazing fire in every room. But it would get us out of the cold. That was all that mattered.

  “Almost there,” I assured her, taking the last few steps at a run.

  I set her down outside the door to push the stubborn, heavy thing open as we both tried to shake off as much of the snow as possible before moving inside.

  “I will build the fire,” I told her, saying a prayer of gratitude that there was a healthy stack of dry wood set in a rack beside the fireplace.

  I only turned my back on her for a few moments to get the flames dancing, but when I turned back, she was curled tightly into herself on the floor, huddled into her cloak, her body rocking to try to create some warmth.

  “The fire is growing,” I told her, walking over toward her, gathering her up, and moving her toward the fire where Snow had already curled up to get warm. “Let me in there with you,” I demanded, undoing her cloak with numb fingers, then slipping inside it with her.

  It was soaked through on the outside and some of the fur around the neck was wet as well, but most of the inside seemed dry. It would work well to trap our heat.

  “I have to take these off,” I said, reaching for her feet to pull off her shoes. “And your stockings,” I said, finding them drenched, knowing it was only going to keep chilling her.

  She sat still, save for the trembling, allowing me to lift her skirts, then reach up her thighs to unclasp her stockings, then start to draw them down.

  I tried to focus.

  On the task.

  On keeping her well.

  But there was no denying that my heart started to pound, my skin started to flush, and my cock started to twitch to life.

  “Your skirts are drenched,” I said as she jolted hard when the wet material met her dry, bare legs.

  “You are soaked too,” she told me, teeth chattering.

  She was right.

  Fuck.

  That left one option.

  I had never doubted my strength and control before like I was in that moment.

  “Marielle, I am afraid we are going to need to do something that utterly lacks propriety.”

  “I doubt that has ever stopped you before,” she said, managing a small smile, but I did not like how blue her lips were looking. “What is it?”

  “When someone is as cold as you are, and our clothes are as wet as they are, the only choice is to remove them, then sit close to share our body warmth.”

  “Oh,” she said, her pretty lips going round with her shocked realization.

  “I can not let you get sick again, Mari,” I told her as I slid out of the cloak, standing, and quickly stripping out of all of my wet clothing, leaving on only my breeches as they were dry and would offer her at least a small amount of protection from my raging, rock-hard cock.

  When I looked back toward the cloak, I found her with her head through the hole, her pretty blue eyes watching me, roaming over me. Taking in the indents of my muscles, the lines of my scars.

  “Sorry,” she said, gaze lowering to the floor.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can look all you want. I am not shy. But we need to get your dress off,” I reminded her, reaching down to pull her onto her feet, then pulling off her cloak. “Be quick. I will hold this up for you,” I told her, pulling it up past my eyes because I was not sure I could stand seeing even her goddamn bare shoulder.

  “Warwick?” she called a moment later.

  “Yes?”

  “I need assistance,” she admitted, reaching to pull down the cloak with her cold-reddened hands. “I am not accustomed to unfastening my stays,” she told me. “These new fashions, they have them in the back,” she added.

  “Turn for me,” I demanded, letting the cloak fall to the floor between us.

  Her dress was gone, leaving her in her off-white stays and her barely-there chemise.

  I tried to focus on the task at hand. Keep my desires in check.

  She was my queen first.

  And a woman in need second.

  Both of those things made her untouchable in that way.

  “There,” I said when the material loosened, prompting her to pull it off. “Chemise too. It’s wet,” I told her.

  It took a lot of determination to reach down and grab the cloak, lifting it once again to give her a little modesty since she was clearly uncomfortable.

  “Alright. Come here,” I said, opening the cloak and inviting her in as I scooted closer to the fire.

  I could feel the heat we were generating instantly, much warmer than before.

  “Come closer,” I demanded as we both lowered to the cold ground. “Here,” I added, reaching to turn her so that she faced away from me.

  “That is much better,” she agreed, but her body was still trembling.

  “Not good enough.”

  Taking a deep breath, I grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back against my chest, then wrapping my arms around her chest over the arms she was using to shield her breasts from view.

  “How are you so warm?” she asked.

  “I am much bigger than you,” I reminded her. “More muscle means more warmth,” I explained.

  “So I should start warrior training,” she concluded, relaxing back into me.

  “You will always have me to keep you warm,” I told her. “And Snow,” I added when those words sounded too intimate. “When he gets older and realizes that is his entire purpose in life,” I added as the dog, now warm enough, took a log out of the pile and was gnawing on it to ease the ache of teething.

  “Gwen told me that I will adjust to the cold eventually. Though I believe her method toward that goal is to make me put on weight.”

  “There is some solid logic there. Though I believe Gwen shows her affection by taking good care of you.”

  “That is her job,” Marielle said, choosing the words carefully, knowing how dangerous the truth could be not only for Gwen, but herself.

  “We both know it is more than that, Mari,” I said, feeling her stiffen at the words. “Your secrets are safe with me, Marielle,” I assured her. “Cyprian has entrusted me with all the secrets going on. But if it makes you feel safer, I can share my secrets as well.”

  “You do not need to do that. I trust you. Completely.”

  “Regardless,” I said, though her words made my heart feel like it was swelling in my chest. “The kind of relationship you and Gwen have, that is the kind that Cyprian and I share as well. Those types of secrets bind us all together,” I added.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “They do. Do you judge me for my choices?” she asked.

  “Do you judge me for mine?” I asked.

  “Never,” she said.

  “Are you feeling warmer?” I asked. “Fuck,” I hissed when she shifted her legs so her frigid feet pressed to my legs.

  “It is getting better,” she assured me, and I noticed the trembling had lessened.

  Her legs shifted again, making her cloak start to fall from around us.

  She moved out of pure instinct, reaching for it with both hands.

  Meaning the arms that had been around her body, covering her breasts under mine, fell away.

  And my hand shifted, grazing over her bare breast.

  I could not say which one of us sucked in our breath harder at the sensation.

  Her, with my large hand moving over her skin. Or me with her soft flesh against my palm, her cold-hardened nipple pressing against me.

  I needed to move my hand.

  I needed to apologize.

  But I did neither of those things.

  “I am going to need you to tell me to move my hand,” I told her instead, hearing the rough edge to my voice, the raw need clearly showing through.

  “I… I can not do that,” she said, voice going small and soft, a little breathless.

  Dare I even think it?

  Heated.

  For me.

  Fuck.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Marielle

  I had never experienced snow like the storm we had gotten caught in.

  Despite having Warwick there with me, I had been sure we were not going to make it, that the cold was going to get me before we could find shelter from the wind and snow.

  I should have known that Warwick would move heaven and earth to get and keep me safe.

  Right up and past propriety.

  Thinking only of me and my well-being.

  Which was why it was so inappropriate that I could not keep my greedy gaze from moving over his nearly bare body when he removed his clothing to try to keep me warm.

  And even more inappropriate that as I sat back against his chest, all I could seem to think about was having his hands move down my body, slipping between my thighs.

  No.

  I had to stop thinking of such things.

  The problem was, just when I had decided to put my mind to other things, the cloak had started to fall.

  I reached for it without thinking.

  Then his big, strong hands were sliding over my breast.

  Desire shot through my system, a sensation that seemed to take over me little by little until every inch of my body was humming with the need for more, for everything.

 

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