Callum 

The hours melted away with food, conversation, and toasts to everything under the sun and loom as an excuse to drink the fortress dry. They were better than I deserved as a commander. The soldiers high morale in the face of an incomplete mission. Their ability to let go of frustrations through feasting. And yet still maintain the chivalric code toward the people of Breccia. 

It forced me to be grateful for the things I still had. 

“You're holding your ale well, boy.” Jaspar slapped me on the back so hard half the ale in my tankard sloshed onto the table. He was one of the few who could get away with a hit like that or call me boy. 

I had drank along with every toast. A full bladder and a swimming head were proof of that. “I fear I must take leave of some of it now.” 

Jaspar’s laugh rumbled deep from his belly. Ale made him even more jolly. Quick to big laughs and larger boasts. I could still hear his laughter, clear as a bell over the rest of the feast, as I ambled into the garderobe behind the hall. 

I was mid-piss when the door opened, and one of my men came in to do the same.  

“Your Grace,” he acknowledged before stepping up to the latrines. 

“I heard this was a wedding feast, Your Grace.” He slurred his words and had to use the wall to steady himself. Randolph. A good enough soldier. His lack of discipline and inability to keep a clear head under pressure had kept him from achieving his goal of becoming a knight. He became a farrier instead, and damn good at it. Still didn’t have the common sense not to talk to a man while he was peeing. 

“Aye.” 

“And I heard you stole the bride,” Randolph continued. “Are you going to give her a good night in place of the missing groom?” 

To emphasize his crass comment he thrust his hips a few times, leaving a trail of piss down the wall in front of him.  

Disgusted, I finished, tucked, and turned to face him. I considered sticking the man’s head in the hole of the latrine until he gagged on the smell of it. Randolph deserved discipline. 

Not now. Not from you. My anger had sobered me up enough to know I was too drunk to handle it with careful discretion. 

“Get some rest. I won’t accept anyone falling behind because their heads still float with ale when we march back home.” A small pain grew in my temples from speaking through the tight clench of my jaw. The feeling dissipated, but the disgust did not wear off so quickly.

I had stolen the bride.  

I drowned myself in drink and conversation to push her out of my head, and one stupid comment had brought her right back. I wanted to know what she was doing. If she had eaten. If her pain had eased. That invisible tug I had fought to ignore all night urged me to find her. 

I left the garderobe and its stink behind. 

The celebration was winding down, but my men kept stopping me as I crossed the hall. They had stories of the day to share, small victories, and battle wounds. I could not ignore them, but I listened with only half my usual focus; glancing at the stairs and wondering why they were so far out of my reach. 

I enjoyed their tales. Losing nearly half an hour and downing two more tankards of ale in toasts to arrow wounds and gruffallops before I made it to the stairs. 

It was time well spent, but the frustration of being apart from her had me flying up the steps two at a time. I forced myself to slow down when I reached the second floor and took the right down the hall. I didn’t want to startle Janyck. He sat on the floor outside her door looking bored and regretful for missing out on the fun downstairs.

“Your Grace,” he said, scrambling to his feet as he saw me approach. “She’s been quiet, sir. I took food in, but she was sleeping. I haven’t heard anything from the room since.” 

“You’ve done well. You're relieved for the night,” I said, giving him a nod.  

He looked like he wanted to ask something, but Janyck had more sense than Randolph. He dipped his head in a quick bow and went on his way.  

I entered quietly. The fire had died down in the hearth casting a dim orange light in the room. Keziah lay on the covers as if she had not meant to fall asleep. Her shift had ridden up to reveal her calves. She looked soft and defenseless. 

A small prickly warmth, stuck to my ribs when I saw the cloth I tied remained wrapped around her swollen ankle. 

The temperature had dropped with the storm and it would only grow colder, too cold to leave her on top of the blankets. 

I should stay with her for the night. With a castle full of drunken soldiers and the chance of unfriendly locals, I couldn’t leave her unguarded. It made more sense than to set another to sit on the cold stone outside her door. I couldn’t trust leaving anyone else beside her.

She was my responsibility.

I tugged the hem of her shift down over her calves. It startled Keziah awake. She scrambled away pulling the shift from my grasp. Her hand darted beneath the pillowcase pulling something out.

By instinct, I grabbed her hand and forced her to drop it.  

A dagger. No, my dagger, clattered to the floor. I had forgotten I left it here, but I definitely had not wrapped the blade in cloth. 

Should I be angry or impressed?

The squirmy black fear returned to twist in my belly. 

“Keziah,” I spoke her name softly. I wanted to bring her to full wakefulness and calm the panic I felt growing in her through our strange connection. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“What if you’re the one I’m scared of?” 

Oh. 

Of course, she feared me. 

I picked the dagger off the floor and held it out with an open palm, the hilt towards her.

“Take it. If you feel you need it,” I said.

She stared at the dagger her brows furrowed, and her bottom lip pinched between her teeth.  

“You can take it if it will make you feel more comfortable,” I said when she hesitated. “or I can toss it across the room so neither of us has it.” 

She must have wrapped the blade to keep from cutting herself. She would have left the blade uncovered if she planned to use it. 

“I won’t take it,” she said, shriveling back away from me and the blade. 

“Then let me be your protection.” 

“What?” She snapped the word at me, but that spark of outward anger dampened immediately. 

“We are connected.”

I needed to gain her trust if I wanted her to open up enough to tell me what I needed to know about her Uncle. Remi was right. She could be the valuable asset that I needed. 

“I can feel your pain through this bond. Every time you hurt, I hurt, and I suspect it might go the other way as well.” 

Keziah didn’t respond. She sat with her back against the headboard and her knees drawn up to her chest. She tucked at the hem of her shift so it covered even her toes and wrapped her arms around her legs. 

“Let’s give it a test,” I said. Her eyes somehow got wider as she watched me like an owl. I rolled up my left sleeve and unraveled the cloth around the blade. My eyes locked on to her, I sliced a shallow inch-long cut on my forearm.

Keziah gasped and grabbed her arm where I’d cut my own.

I was right.

“If I hurt you I would just be hurting myself,” I said. Satisfied with my demonstration I tossed the dagger across the room. It made a dull clattering noise as it scraped across the stone. I watched her eyes follow it, noting its position. There was still a big gap in trust between us. 

Of course, I left out the part about my curse dulling pain into insignificance. Her reaction had been stronger than my own. Could she feel the full pain that I could not?

“And the same goes for you. You should want me to be as safe as you want for yourself.” 

“You’ll keep me safe to protect yourself?” She sounded incredulous even as she rubbed at her forearm. Her face shifted on a thought and her tone grew darker when she spoke again, “As your prisoner?” 

“As someone who stays close to me under my protection and doesn’t wander where I can’t reach.”  

It would be a soft prison. I would keep her with me, and she would have everything a lady needed. A room to herself at Truehorn, and eventually, if she maintained good behavior, I would allow her freedom to roam about the castle. There would be no one to hurt her there. She would have no duties or requirements. She could be at her leisure. 

“I don’t know why you are waiting for me to agree,” Keziah said, looking out the window. There was nothing to see. The night was cloudy, raining, and pitch black. “I don’t believe I have a choice in this matter.” 

“Physically, no. You will remain with me until we are unbound. It can’t be helped. But, you have the choice of how you react to it.”