White Horse Black Nights (The Godkissed Bride, #1)(72)

But something tells me she isn’t calling them, at least not with words. That the insects and birds are coming on their own, drawn to her pain like moths to flame.

It’s unnerving, this ever-expanding mantel of winged beasts she is surrounding herself with. Another raven perches on her opposite shoulder, wings stretched toward the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy to give her the uncanny look of an angel. But not a gentle maiden of the clouds—oh no. Dressed in birds and moths that match the forest colors, Sabine looks like she’s stepped out of the pages of the Book of the Immortals. There’s a tale in Immortal Thracia’s section where the stars are dimmed by magical lanterns erected by the other fae, so their revelries could continue into the dark night. As Goddess of Night, this offended her. In her anger, she transformed herself into a giant egret whose powerful flapping wings put out the lanterns.

I don’t know if the ancient fae actually had the ability to transform themselves into beasts—it seems beyond even their magic. But watching Sabine shield her broken heart with an armor of wings, I believe in the divine.

My own armor, the leather breastplate with the Valvere crest, does fuck-all to shield the remains of my tramped heart. I have only myself to blame. I destroyed the one good thing in my pathetic life. The only chance I had for happiness. Guilt weighs me down like my rucksack is filled with boulders. She hates me, but it’s nothing compared to how much I hate myself for what I did to her.

Still, I don’t regret my choice. Sabine’s only chance is through Rian’s protection. But I sure as hell regret taking her to bed, and promising her I’d run away with her. In that moment, I was ready to swim across the fucking Panopis Sea for her. If I’d only read her father’s letter earlier, I never would have let it go as far as it did.

And now I’ve lost her forever. I was a fool to think I ever had a shot with her in the first place—it never would have worked out. I don’t get nice things after the sins I’ve committed.

The first time I killed a man, it was to spare Rian from having to do it. We were eighteen, sparring in Sorsha Hall’s courtyard, when Lord Berolt dragged in some scum who had beaten a prostitute to death in one of their brothels. He ordered Rian to carry out the man’s death sentence. Rian hesitated at the idea of taking a life, even a villain’s, so I stepped in to do the task with my fists. Halfway through, Rian joined in. That first murder bonded us; we both had blood on our hands.

The murders got a lot easier after that first one. I didn’t mind when it was killing bad men, and at first, that’s all it was—rapists and abusers who had crossed the Valveres’ business empire in one way or another. I could easily justify their deaths. In my way, I was making Duren safer, not just for the Valveres but for riffraff like I’d been as a boy and whoever my whore of a mother had been. And I was good at it. So good that when Rian stepped into his father’s shoes as high lord, I was the first one he’d summon if he had a job. Slitting throats became as second nature as scratching an itch.

My abdomen clenches like something I ate isn’t sitting right, like the past is trying to claw its way back. Not all the jobs Rian gave me were as justified as those first ones.

So many sins.

So many innocent people I killed. Women I’ve hurt. Families I destroyed with extortion and threats.

But I got out. It was hard as hell, but I got out. I told myself I’d never return to that work. My kills are now served on the dinner table—not dumped in the paupers’ mass grave. But to guard Sabine’s secrets, even from herself, I’m afraid of what I’ll have to do.





That night—the final night of the ride before we reach Duren—I tie Sabine’s wrists and ankles again. As much as I want to stay awake to watch for danger, I need sleep. I don’t think she’s foolish enough to escape, but desperate people do desperate things. Hell, there’s not a small chance she’d try to throttle me in my sleep.

It would be a kinder death than I deserve.

With the blanket wrapped around her, the birds and insects roost in the tree branches overhead, waiting until they’re needed again in the morning. It’s like a goddamn jury of black-eyed demons up there peering down at me, ready to cast down my own death sentence.

Once Sabine is asleep, I pull out her father’s crumpled letter but don’t open it. For all I know, that damn goose overhead can read and will tell her what it says. I don’t need to read the letter, anyway. Every word is burned into my head like a branded nightmare.

What I’m trying to decide is, should I give it to Rian? Of course, with the broken seal, he’ll immediately know that I opened and read his private correspondence—a sin punishable by the dungeon. But I’m less concerned with the dungeon than what Rian would do with the letter’s information.

There’s a chance he’d see it for the threat it is, and surround Sorsha Hall with his sentinels, even if it means calling back entire battalions from Old Coros and the southern border, where he rents them out to the crown. That’s what I’d do. That’s what any caring husband would do.

But the Valveres are a different breed. There’s a chance that Rian will see it as an opportunity instead. With King Joruun’s failing health, and the crown’s future in Astagnon on shaky ground, this could be the fuel he needs to make a run for the throne, if what Folke said about his ambitions is true.