A rueful smile tugs at his lips as he shakes his head at me. “You know, if you react like this every time I mention her name, you’re in for a long winter.”
I turn as Praxis walks toward us, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Looks like you’ve been put through your paces this morning, Liam.”
The wind whips through Liam’s hair as he retrieves his sword. “Your brother’s in rare form today. Must be all that pent-up frustration.”
It’s almost comical to listen to Liam talk about pent-upfrustration. He never goes a day without having a woman, while I’m much more selective. Lately, I haven’t had time for a woman—much less time for one in my bed.
Praxis’ attention shifts between us. “Is that so? Well, how about I give you a real challenge?”
“He’s all yours, Praxis.” I sheath my sword. “Try not to break him too badly. We still need him.”
Liam rolls his eyes. “Your concern is touching, Cen.”
My boots crunch in the snow as I head toward my command tent. Their grunts and good-natured taunts fade as I put distance between us.
As I approach my tent, my thoughts drift back to Everly. The memory of her standing at the camp entrance—covered in mud but still holding her head high—refuses to leave me.
There’s more to her story than she’s telling, and I intend to find out what it is.
Chapter
Fourteen
EVERLY
The next morning,I wake to the sound of activity outside the tent. There’s a rhythmic thudding that could be marching feet or, more likely, my pounding headache. The tent flap whips in the breeze, creating a staccato beat, while someone nearby lets out a string of curses.
I sit up and blink against the bright sliver of sunlight peeking through the flap.
“Everly,” Cenric calls out. “Are you awake?”
For you?
I’m wide awake.
“I’m coming.” I run my fingers through my wild, tangled curls in a futile attempt to smooth them.
I can only imagine how I must look after a night of restless sleep—hair sticking out every which way, face still puffy with sleep. Not exactly how I want to look when I see Cenric.
Quickly, I hurry to the washing stand and splash some coldwater on my face, trying to wake myself up and look somewhat presentable. No use. Still, I do my best to pat my hair down and tame the frizzy strands.
The wind tugs at my surcoat as I step out of the tent a moment later. Cenric waits for me, looking like a warrior god. Not that I’ve ever seen a god.
I blink a few times, trying to clear my sleep-addled vision, but no—Cenric still stands there. His long, black hair is tied back in a loose knot, a few stray strands framing his face in a way that’s probably a sin.
He wears a surcoat emblazoned with a serpent emblem over his mail armor, which does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
Truly, does he have to make standing there look so effortlessly impressive? It’s not fair to everyone else who struggles to appear decent after rolling out of bed.
The scar above his left eyebrow catches the light, and I think about tracing the path of that long-ago flying rock. Instead, I clench my fists, willing my heart to stop its frantic dance against my ribs.
“Good morning, Everly.”
“Morning.” Why couldn’t I have fallen for someone else? My heart picked the most unattainable man. There are five other barbarian tribes in Tarrobane—five other opportunities for falling in love with someone else—and I love this man.
“Ready?” Cenric asks.
“Yes.”
