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“An offering for you.” Before her vision went completely black, she heard him say in a deep rumbling voice, “My little wife.”
Rhaego didn’t take part in the chase often anymore, but when he did, it was known among all that he would catch whoever he chose and woe to anyone who tracked his quarry.
Fear? Is she afraid…of me? Uncertainty cut through his single-minded fever, chased by a spike of sadness. But I would cherish you, little doe.
Rather than chastise himself for the distracting thought, he let it come and linger, then go.
“I groped you earlier,” she tried to explain, “and then I poisoned myself. You finally got a minute of peace alone, and now…” Aurora gestured helplessly to his drenched clothing. “I mean—” She was cut off by another fit of laughter. “It’s so ridiculous it’s circled back around to funny.”
His chosen kin could tell him how deserving he was until his horns splintered, but there was something insidious about insecurity sown during youth. The roots were deep. They burrowed into young spongy bone and grew alongside their host, hardening and aging until there was no distinguishing between what was natural and what was planted.
“Every season has its purpose.”
“Are you okay?” she murmured. “Yes.” His answer was muffled. She tugged on his hair. “Really?” she pressed. He chuckled and pulled back, leveling her with his warm gaze. “You make me okay when I am not okay, little doe.”
He’d never been given a token before, had never been picked or wanted. Not like this.
She chuckled in his firm hold, eyes riveted to the door. “That’s just gonna make him mad,” she said in a singsong voice.
