Their labored breaths mingled between them before Madison pushed herself upward and offered her hand to Elora. The defeated woman grabbed her hand and hauled herself upward. Grinning excitedly, the huntress wiped at her sweat brow and stretched, wincing at the new discomfort against her ribs. Movement danced in the corner of her eye and she whipped her head towards the glass walls between the solarium. There Lawrence stood, robed in a dapper burgundy suit, tailored perfect to his form. His black shirt was undone at the top two buttons for a relaxed appearance. Immediately, lips curled into a smile at the sight of her and then faltered. She would recognize that tight stance and those storm eyes no matter the place, the time – always.
Remy.
The knowledge was there, that he was going to make an appearance for a discussion about winter munitions, but the sight of him still stole the breath right from her lungs. Hadn’t Elora told her that he would be here at 1:30? Confused gaze flickered to the clock in the training room and then back to their departing forms. The brief sight of him in a rich blue shirt, the color bringing out the hurricane in his gaze, began to chip at the mortar she had used to seal back up her feeling about him in a makeshift barrier. They were gone in seconds and narrowed eyes turned onto the dark-haired Terril.
“You knew he was coming earlier. You lied to me about the time.” Madison kept her voice eerily calm despite the torrent of emotions pressing against her chest. Elora didn’t deign to look up, but the tight muscle between her shoulders revealed that she hadn’t expected to be caught so blatantly.
“I did. It didn’t seem necessary. How was I supposed to know he’d venture away from his designated waiting area?” She shrugged, unwrapping her bindings and tossing them into a wash bin.
“Because you know everything that happens on this estate. If you weren’t aware that he was coming early, then Kris would have notified you the second his car passed the entry gates.”
Elora smiled, almost delightedly by being discovered based on these facts. It wasn’t that Madison had discovered her – that was easy enough to explain away. The realization that the Gallow girl had been paying attention, that she knew the rules of the house better than she let on, that really pleased her companion. Pride swelled inside of the Terril and she inclined her head, admitting her second defeat of the day – if this could be called that, such observational techniques and quick wit were what she had hoped to instill in her protégé.
“You’re right.” The defeated fighter admitted, brushing back a strand of fallen hair. That stunned Madison into silence more than anything else would have. The poised response fell away from her lips in her shock and brow furrowed. “Now, go get cleaned up. You need to look your best for luncheon. Lawrence will certainly have poked the bear, so to speak, by the time food is served. I’ve had Alice set attire for you on your bed.”
“I’m not your doll to dress up, Elora.” Madison said, a slight irritation coming into her otherwise amused tone.
“When he is present, you are. We need to establish his interest in you. Clover seeks to move forward with the year with the Resistance Rising. Determining what to do with the heir is vital.”
Madison snorted, but did not protest and walked towards the stairs with a sidelong glance cast at the door behind which Remy discussed business. Blue gaze lingered on the large oak doors, knowing the familiar stature that occupied the fabric guest chairs. It was an impressive sight, to watch Lawrence work at the large desk. Blonde strands of hair would brush against his forehead, brought down by gravity as he bent over documents and reports from his navy of trade ships. Forcing herself to move onward, she found herself in the shower to wash away the trails of dried salt along her skin. The training clothes had peeled off her body, discarding them into the wash bin.
Standing beneath the water, she wondered how she would have coped with seeing him against without the comfort of running water. Remy was the moon that controlled the tumultuous tides of her emotions. She was drawn towards him as he drew away and retreated when he stepped too near. Anxiety began to wind itself like a tattooed serpent around her limbs, slithering upward to constrict her chest. Exiting, she took slow and calming breaths that she utilized during yoga before she felt stable enough to finish getting ready for the lunch that she rather not have. It would be best to just be completely rid of Remy, to be done with him.
But she had a mission and unfortunately, he was a necessary cog in the machine that would deliver her vengeance. Drying her hair, she considered how to style it. Alice had adeptly instructed here in the best methods to curl her hair – whether the desired result was loose waves or tight, bouncing ringlets. Staring at herself in the mirror, she decided that the best way to speak to that hidden part of Gregoray Walther was to plait her hair as she had every day they traveled together. Swiftly, fingers formed the familiar thick trio of strands and bound them together. Madison had not plaited her hair in that manner since that last day – the day of revelation. Instead, she had opted for buns or ponytails or simply leaving it down as there was not real need to bind back her locks in the comfort of the Terril estate.
Now, it was a statement.
She ventured, naked as a jay, into her bedroom to look at what devilry Elora had wrought. It was far simpler than she would have figured, based on the woman’s words in the training room. Cautiously, she lifted the separate pieces aloft and rolled her eyes. Subtle. Donning the attire, she wished suddenly for Damien – just to give him a small scratch behind the ears or be on the receiving end of one of his kisses. Instead, Lawrence had insisted that the dogs be taken for a hunt when the Walther heir was present in the home. It just seemed smarter that way, in case one of his father’s goons happened to spy two large beasts that resembled the ones present on the day he was “saved from the Resistance.”
Elora was casually waiting for her when she turned the brass knob to exit her bedroom. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she looked the woman up and down. Navy pants, flared at the boot, clothed her lower half and a soft cotton sweater on the top. It hung around her neck, revealing a cursive ‘t’ on a gold chain. Appraising jade gaze traveled over her and she smiled.
“I have outdone myself.”
“Yes, very subtle.” Madison retorted, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. She cast a glance down at herself and struggled to not pull her top closed.
“Don’t fidget with it.” Elora chided as they began to descend the stairs. “Make it appear casual.”
“I don’t casually go around showing this much skin.”
“Your body is stunning and should be appreciated. Even if his appreciation is the one we’re seeking to gather appreciation from.” The volume of her voice dropped; despite the fact the gentlemen would already be seating themselves in the dining room. Madison examined herself as they walked. Tight black pants were simple, tucking into suede ankle boots. The top was what made the huntress uneasy. It was a plunging red sweater with three buttons staring just above her belly button. The cropped cardigan with a deep V-neckline and volume in the sleeves seemed at first that it would be conservative, until she put it on with the accompanying tape for her breasts (Elora had provided explicit written instructions on their application). It was enough to provide a focal point for people’s eyes. The Terril heiress had insisted on piercing Madison’s ears a few weeks prior, and while she could not yet change the primary gems due to healing time, they provided a beautiful twinkle of diamonds on the lobe of her ear.
Lawrence ordered single shots of bourbon whiskey from Oskar before sitting at one end of the six-person table. The large leaves of the table had been removed after the dinner they had hosted. No need for such a long table for four people, which Lawrence had noticed caused the Northam second-in-command to pause slightly when entering the room. As Oskar entered from the servant’s entrance, the women sauntered in.
“Darling!” Lawrence exclaimed, moving over towards his lover to kiss her cheek and take her hand. “You remember Commander Walther.” He gestured to Remy, who stood beside the chair that the Terril had indicated.
“Yes, how could I forget him.” Madison breathed, meeting the cyclone gray eyes of the physician. The beat of her heart intensified and she suddenly wished she had refused to wear this particular outfit. Nothing to be done now, though. Leaning her body into Lawrence, she examined the dashing clothing he wore. It was the upper class casual but it was something she had never thought to picture him in. The cobalt fabric of his shirt exaggerated the swirling blues of his eyes. If it was a different time, she would imagine all the ways she could extricate him from the confines of the dark buttons that held the shirt closed.
“Commander.” The purr of Elora’s voice sent a shiver down Madison’s spine. How quickly and brilliantly the seductress could turn on her charm. “Such a pleasure to host you again. We are so pleased you deigned to stay to dine with us. Your father is sorely missed though.” She took a seat at his side, while Lawrence led the huntress to the other end of the small table. Madison sat to his right, the seat across and next to her empty. Despite the distance between them, she was acutely aware of Remy’s presence. The current seating positions were infinitely better than sitting at his side, but also unbearable to have him so close and so far at the same time.
“I won’t even bother asking how business was. I don’t want to bring such dull topics to our dining conversation.” Elora smiled, resting a hand on Remy’s wrist that held his bourbon. The comment was flippant, hiding the fact that Elora managed the majority of the imports and exports of munitions for the country of Northam. “Commander, you are looking quite recovered since your returned from your captivity among the Resistance. Wymberly is agreeing with you.”
“Now, Elora. I am sure he has talked about his time with the Resistance extensively. Don’t make him repeat it.”
“Of course, brother. So insensitive of me. My apologize, Commander. It has been so long since we last saw you. I was but a child, and you were coming into your place as your father’s successor.” Elora took a sip of water that had been provided by the staff. Even then, two servants arrived and placed a steak salad in front of all attending. “That last time I saw you was just after the last Rising, on your birthday I believe. It was quite an auspicious event. We are glad to have you returned to us.” Delicate fingers brushed the back of his hand and Madison caught the subtle flirtation. Irritation brimmed inside of her and she focused on her meal. “Have you found Northam to be much changed since your return?”
“He may not remember that far back. Certainly the despicable rebels did everything they could to turn them again our illustrious High Commander.”
“I disagree, sweetheart.” Madison interrupted, setting down her fork. Everyone turned their eyes to her. “Someone doesn’t forget their formative years.” She kept her voice soft. “You don’t forget how you were raised, or who you are. It’s difficult to conceal or forget such things forever.” Bright blue eyes flickered over the Remy and held his gaze, just for a moment.
“Mmm, you are so insightful, darling.” He took her hand and leaned to bring it to his lips briefly. Servants cleared away their salads and then brought out a small portion of squash ravioli in a warm brown butter sauce. Madison blushed at her supposed lover’s attention. “You’ve been back for a few months now and learning quite a bit, it seems.” Referencing their rather in-depth conversation in the study, Lawrence sipped his bourbon. “Will you be taking over more of the day-to-day activities for your father?”
Displeased though he was to be spending more time with the aggravating blond man, he was at least grateful that it was not another formal occasion that brought him beneath the Terrils’ roof. The far more casual nature of this luncheon was infinitely more preferable to empty pomp and circumstance. He had learned over the months to expect a certain degree of propriety as a high-ranking guest in others’ homes, but that didn’t mean he would ever grow used to it. He’d spent more of his life outside it than in. Indeed, even though it had been nearly a year since he had been able to call the wilderness his home, the utter extravagance of his blood-mandated lifestyle never failed to overwhelm him.
Remy ran his fingers through his hair, further tousling the honey-brown strands, and nodded his appreciation when the Terril man ordered bourbon. It seemed both men needed something to get them through this interaction. The physician hovered near the chair Lawrence had indicated, looking up only when their additional guests strolled through the doors.
“Miss Terril. How wonderful to see you again,” Remy greeted, his smile warm and unfaltering. He shifted his focus to Madison, acknowledging her with the slightest of bows. “And you, Miss Sterling. You’re looking very well.”
Even expecting her arrival, his breath still caught in his throat at the sight of his beloved huntress. Elora may have possessed an undeniable beauty that she wore with unapologetic confidence, but it was Madison who was truly the electric presence in the room. She wore a daring sweater in vibrant scarlet, its sharp neckline plunging between her breasts and stretching nearly to her navel—highlighting, unbeknownst to anyone but Remy and Madison, the exact descending path his ravenous lips had once traced across her skin. Heat, familiar and rousing yet tinged with sadness, raced through him at the memory.
“Commander,” came Elora’s silken voice. From her lips, the imposing title almost seemed weightless. She glided behind him, trailing slender fingers across his shoulder blades until her grasp rested lightly on the tense muscle of his opposite forearm. “Such a pleasure to host you again. We are so pleased you deigned to stay to dine with us. Your father is sorely missed though.” The black-haired woman slipped into the chair at Remy’s side, her eyes glittering emeralds against flawless bronze skin.
He eased into his own seat and wrapped his hand around the glass of alcohol, beaming back at the Terril woman over the rim of the delicate crystal as he took a drink. “Is it terribly blasphemous of me to say I much prefer having you all to myself?” the physician replied smoothly, blue gaze sliding to meet Elora’s.
The woman’s hand settled lightly on his wrist, her slender fingertips drifting along the exposed skin at his folded cuff. The touch felt illicit somehow despite the innocence of the gesture. It was something about her eyes, the intensity of her undivided attention, the smirk on her full lips that was not quite a smile and not quite a pout. Even if it was all an act, it was…thrilling, in a completely foreign, offhand sort of way.
At least she was less abrasive than her brother.
But even given all of Elora’s bewitching charm, it was Madison who continually lurked at the edge of his awareness. It took a conscious effort to keep his gaze from wandering back to her—her long hair, plaited, tossed casually over her shoulder; the scintillating plunge of her sweater; the graceful, restrained movement of her hands as she ate. Even after the way they’d left things in the darkened corridor two months prior, the huntress drew him toward her with a force as inescapable and magnitudinous as gravity.
Remy dove into the steak salad, grateful for the excuse to cast his gaze downward as Elora mentioned his coming-of-age ceremony. “Ah, yes, that was quite the grand affair, wasn’t it?” he said between bites, the dressed greens and seasoned steak suddenly tasteless on his tongue as the memories returned. The heft of the pistol in his hand. The deafening explosion against his palm. The sting of the needle and ink in his back. Bile rose in his throat even as he flashed Elora a dazzling smile. “My thirteenth birthday. My father certainly spared no expense. He would be pleased you remember.”
“It would be difficult to forget.” Elora’s laugh was a song, light and genuine. She reached out yet again, this time draping her slender fingers directly over the back of his hand. “Have you found Northam to be much changed since your return?”
Lawrence spoke before Remy could respond, scolding his sister’s forwardness. “He may not remember that far back. Certainly the despicable rebels did everything they could to turn them again our illustrious High Commander.”
That was when Madison’s voice sliced through the conversation—soft, restrained, yet with a honed edge Remy recognized from their covert exchange at the dinner party over the chess board. The Terrils seemed just as surprised by her contribution as Remy, and his full attention settled upon at long last after straining to resist her pull. She met his eyes—a fleeting flash of cerulean, unreadable—but this time he did not look away, even as she did. Not even as Lawrence folded her hand in his and brought it to his lap.
“Northam and Thebes remain much the same as I recall, although I did not experience much of the city as a child,” Remy heard himself say, the words smooth as syrup as his tongue formed them. “Wymberly still feels different, much as it did after my mother was killed and my sister taken after the Uprising. Miss Sterling is right, there are certainly things you can’t forget.” He looked quickly to Lawrence, whose expression had turned serious, then pointedly back to Madison. “Although many one might want to.”
He cleared his throat as the servants took his empty salad plate, replacing it with a steaming dish of squash ravioli. Elora paused in the aftermath of his dark words, and Remy couldn’t tell if she was genuinely surprised at the turn the conversation had taken, or if she had purposely conjured the painful memories. Either way, the doctor offered a placid smile, unruffled. She returned a sultry grin of her own and leaned slightly toward him, even as she began to cut into her pasta.
“You’ve been back for a few months now and learning quite a bit, it seems. Will you be taking over more of the day-to-day activities for your father?” Lawrence asked.
“Thank you, Lawrence. I’ve always been a quick study,” Remy replied, reaching for his water glass. “You’ll have heard that General Belvedere was appointed acting stand-in while the High Commander is abroad, of course. But as my father’s Second, I have already had the honor of assuming some of his duties.” He chewed a bite of ravioli and washed it down with the last of his bourbon. He hadn’t failed to notice the blush that painted Madison’s cheeks—or the flush of her bare chest—at Lawrence’s attention, and it stirred a spark of desire as potent as his jealousy.
He tamped it down and continued. “Belvedere and I have become well acquainted over these months. He has proven to be an invaluable mentor to me.”
“Quinnley Belvedere’s reputation precedes him,” Lawrence drawled. “How excellent. You couldn’t have picked a more fitting instructor aside from the High Commander himself.”
Three swift knocks suddenly prompted the Terrils to shift their attention to the door. Remy, however, turned his gaze to Madison. Always the worst fucking timing, the huntress had once whispered huskily against his lips, after Mrs. Grafton had interrupted their intimacy for the umpteenth time. His throat tightened; he could almost feel the huntress’ phantom breath in his ear, feel the heat of her body pressed against his.
But this was far from the Grafton Inn. And though Remy and Madison sat just feet apart, they may as well have been a hundred miles away.
The sound of her name on his lips sent prickles of memory along the curve of her spine. Miss Sterling. Not Mrs. Not like it had been in their oasis of the Grafton Inn. Swallowing, she focused her attention on Lawrence as he was her only anchor in the turbulent storm of unwanted feelings that Remy always elicited. The irritation brought by the doctor’s words caused a flare inside of her and the firm press of her lips barely kept the words inside. How dare he speak to her of wants. How dare he veil his transgression under the guise of wanting to be something he was not. The ravioli was her sole focus as she struggled to bite her tongue, permitting the Terril man to turn the conversation for her.
Yet, Elora sought to make her pointedly ignoring them more difficult. Her flirtations and gentle touches stoked an annoyed fire inside Madison. She longed to reach out and smack the hand away - not because she was jealous but because she knew precisely why the woman was doing it. Not to gather information, not to establish a genuine connection with the Walther heir, but just to show that she could have whatever she wanted because she was, well, Elora. Heat rose to freckled cheeks as they conversed about one Quinnley Belvedere. The name tickled her mind and she was certain that she had heard him mentioned before. A high-ranking general in the Northam military and trusted by the High Commander. Immediately, Madison disliked him enough to add him to the list of people who would hopefully meet the pointed end of her blade.
General Belvedere’s reputation preceded him and the Terrils began to second guess the praises that Madison had heaped on Gregoray Walther II. To consider such an evil man a friend was detrimental to their plans. The general had a penchant for torture, both of captured rebels and of the militia recruits under his charge. Lawrence tensed his fingers tightly around Madison’s, enough that she looked up to his well-masked face. The corners of his jade eyes crinkled just slightly and she knew then that he was expressing significant restraint despite the fact that his lips formed the words of acclaim about the man that had made Madison’s kill list.
The sudden knocks on the door pulled the physician’s lover into the same devastating recollection he had fallen into. Startled, bright eyes flickered upward and met his, two comets crashing together in a spectacular collision of emotion. Soft lips parted in surprise and her breath hitched in her throat. The ghostly touch as he traced a delicate fingertip down the sliver of skin that revealed itself between the fabric of her plunging sweater, so reminiscent of the folded lapels of her robe. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling?” Mrs. Grafton voice filled her head and she felt the familiar surge of annoyance at the intrusion. The interruption had been so unfortunate and the huntress was overwhelmed by the tidal wave of emotion that shot through her. Want. Exasperation. Need. Amusement. Love. Composure fell from her face at the sudden agony elicited by the happiness at the recollection. Swiftly, Madison shook her head in time to see Lawrence rise as he released her now trembling hand. Abigail must have said Mr. and Miss Terril while she had been drowning in the memory of their almost union. The red-headed assistant had made her way to the master of the house’s side whilst she had been lost in her reverie and whispered in his ear.
“I apologize for the interruption, Commander. My sister and I would need to step out for just a few moments to handle some business matters. Please continue and we’ll return shortly.” Lawrence kissed Madison’s cheek as he departed. Elora rose and as she did she ran her long fingers, barely keeping contact with Remy’s jacket, all the way up his arm to his shoulder. The sight of it sent a shiver down the other woman’s spine and she did her best not to narrow her eyes at the expert seductress.
“We’ll be back in time for dessert,” the sultry tone of Elora’s voice came out as a gentle purr, “and then perhaps a tour of the winter garden if it doesn’t start snowing again.”
And then they were alone.
Reeling from the memory his eyes had trapped her in, Madison found her appetite completely lost. Leaning back in her chair, she knew that she could lunge across the table and easily wrap her fingers around his neck if she chose to. Watching him sit there in casual, high class attire, while she was in turmoil over everything that had happened, made her want to kill him all the more. The fact that just his existence, his presence in the same room as her, could leave her feeling so rattled was infuriating.
“It seems as though you’re thriving now that you’re living under your father’s roof.” The word father slipped from her lips cloaked in disgust. She examined his face with open revulsion, even if the aversion was the mask she wore to disguise the hurt. “Friends with militia generals. Taking over duties while the High Commander is away. Dressing the part.” She played with the stem of her untouched white wine glass. “Meeting with loyal subjects. Training to take his place.” She enumerated all the changes she had begun to notice in him and despite it, she could see her Remy there. Beneath the fine cobalt fabric of his shirt, behind the stoic expression he kept on his face, she felt like she saw the light of him there - the man that got emotional at having forgotten his tattoo, the one that tried to save a little girl and the one that nursed her back from the brink of death. Hope flickered from the low ember in her chest as she struggled to keep her gaze steady on him.
“It seems that you are assuming the role of heir quite easily.”
The door latched firmly closed, loud as a gunshot in the vast dining hall.
With his heart knocking an urgent cadence against his ribs, Remy turned his gaze to Madison. Thick silence strained taut between them, the tension palpable, and his perception of time was caught in its tenuous stretch. Seconds felt like minutes until the room seemed to grind to a halt completely—and for a moment, everything else fell away.
Their distance was at once too close and too far. Without the barrier of Lawrence Terril to buffer the huntress’ magnetism, the full force of her presence fired a fractal pulse of electricity through every one of his nerves. Logically, he knew it should not have been so difficult to be in her company again, especially having been warned ahead of time on this occasion. But while his head had certainly received the message of her scathing severance and registered, with devastating certitude, the finality of her decision, his body recalled everything else in sharp relief—the taste of her lips, the perfume of her skin, the soft flesh beneath his palms that rippled with pleasure beneath his touch.
Remy watched her through his lashes, trying to push away the ghost of her fingers tangling in his hair, the sultry heat of her voice in his ear. He glanced to his empty glass, but he knew it was no use; there wasn’t enough bourbon in Northam to desaturate that particular montage of vivid moving pictures. His body remembered her down to the very cell. Every fiber, every muscle, every bone longed for her—she had inextricably embedded herself within him long ago, before their midnight vows, before, even, their first impassioned kiss. And here he was again, faced with her agonizing proximity, her hold on him as tight as it had ever been.
The doctor didn’t need to look into the depths of her gaze to feel her disgust, her disappointment, her ire. Yet he searched those blue eyes anyway, peering through the storm in hopes of finding something, anything, that might indicate…what? Civility? It seemed the best he could hope for. But no, he was met with only a seething, impenetrable mist, opaque as night but bright as noon.
Madison was the one to break the silence. It wasn’t a surprise that her voice was icy, given the raw contempt she wore on her fine features. But a twinge of irritation pinched his chest at the sharpness of her words, her accusatory slew of statements building one after another…a dissonant chord, suspended and tense, waiting for a resolution that was simply not to be. He waited until she was finished, and then held his tongue just a second longer, his brows twitching together. All at once, his stoic composure dropped—and it was not longing, or adoration, or sorrow that painted his features now, although he certainly felt all those things—but rather frustration, unbridled.
“What do you want me to say, Madison?” he asked, his voice low. In spite of his anger, her name rolled smoothly from his tongue, like a melody. “That I’m finding life so agreeable now that I can’t believe I wasted almost twenty years running from it, half-starving in the forest?” He drew in a breath. “Do you want me to say that I’m happy? That I’ve gotten everything I ever wanted?” You were all I ever wanted, he wanted to say, to scream. But he pursed his lips together, biting back the syllables. He could have explained to her how trapped he felt, how trapped he was, but it wouldn’t change anything. Madison was in no mood to hear him out.
“We aren’t partners.” The physician’s blue eyes flashed despite the evenness of his tone. He could feel the opposing forces of their fury colliding over the table in radiant pulses—his, a roiling storm; hers, a furious boil. “So tell me, Madison Gallow. Why do you care if I’m friends with a general, or that I dress this part, or that I’ve assumed duties of the state? You made it irrefutably clear that I don’t get to be a part of your life anymore.” A note of pain crept into his voice as he repeated his question. “So why do you care so much?”
The syllables of her name coming from his lips were a tempting song from a siren, luring her to a forbidden place she longed to go. The one desire she possessed was to close her eyes and listen to him whisper it over and over again in her hair, against her neck and lips or in her ear. Anger flickered in his eyes, roaring and raging like a tempest. She had seen this fury once before - in the cabin, when she had called him a roadwalker. She had accused him of not caring for her- of being nothing more than some random on the road.
He had kissed her in response to her outrage.
Her name. Again. Heat flashed through her and the white hot fire of her anger furiously flashed to life. She was fire and he was ice. A roaring inferno against the crushing winds of his thunderous storm. Slender fingers ceased their fidgeting against the stem of her wineglass. Each word he said, each accusation that she didn’t care about him twisted the knife that his serpentine tattoo had wedged into her heart. He was hurling his allegations at her as though she was the one that had betrayed him, that she had hid some terrible secret from him that tore their relationship asunder. A flash of lightening in her voice and her voice cracked with distant thunder.
“Don’t you turn this on me.” She rose from her chair, pushing it back against the carpet so abruptly that it rocked and threatened to tip over behind her. “You did this. You with all your secrets and your fear.” Madison, despite her furious tone, kept her volume low so as not to drawn the Terrils back too soon. “You’re accusing me of not caring? You’re such a fool, Gregoray.” She spit the name at him, hating the taste of it on the tongue. “Of course I care.” The admission fell from her lips before she could stop it. The huntress had always had a temper and when it blazed, her self-control faltered.
“I never stopped caring but that doesn’t mean I can forgive you. And that doesn’t mean that each time I see you with your military decoration,” her hand waved between them at the stars on his jacket, “with your father, with murderous friends, as this...” the tears stung the corners of her cerulean eyes And she blinked them back, stubbornly refusing to let him see her cry. He didn’t deserve to see that. “It kills the little left...it hurts too much. Each time I see you thriving in this fucking hellhole of a place it reminds me that every moment I spent with you was a lie.”
They had been angry with one another before. They’d hurled words at one another like weapons, demanding answers and defending views in desperate, heated exchanges. But their fury, however vehement, always teetered on the finely-honed edge between frustration and care, born of their deep-rooted concern for one another. Even the first time they had truly argued, between the rough-hewn walls of their mountain cabin, Remy had been able to feel that much—before, even, he’d dared broach those feelings with an impassioned kiss, shifting the trajectories of their lives forever.
He still remembered what that kiss had felt like, and it rocked him again now, a lightning strike grounded in his very bones. As thick and unyielding as Madison’s ire shone in her cerulean eyes, it was her voice that gave her away, its tone packed so full with rage that it cracked beneath the pressure and revealed the anguish that dwelled beneath. She leapt to her feet in a movement made more dramatic by the tottering chair, and he followed suit, shoving back from the table with such force that the cutlery rattled against their abandoned plates.
Bristling against the onslaught of her words, he drummed his fingertips against the edge of the table and glared at her through narrowed eyes. She was right—of course she was right, it was his fault—but he was living with the ramifications now. And if his life with his father wasn’t punishment enough, this was the third time since their unexpected reunion that she spat the same vitriol, the same venom.
But this time…this time, sweetness laced the poison.
Of course I care. His heart leapt.
He took a step toward her automatically. Stormy eyes betrayed his shock even as his teeth were gritted and his shoulders tensed. She snarled his name, his birth name, like a curse. The physician took another step forward, around the corner of the table. She gestured to the military markings on his jacket, silver and gold against heathered gray. Another step. He was close enough to touch her now, if he were to reach out. Close enough to see her blue eyes swimming with defiant tears that did not fall.
“I can tell you this,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. He met her cerulean stare, emotion roiling like heavy seas in his gaze. “Would it bring you comfort to know that I am far from thriving? That this life is a nightmare I can’t wake up from?” He lifted his hand just an inch—as if to brush her shoulder, or touch her arm—but allowed it to drop back to his side, fingers coiling into a fist. “I live with the consequences of…of my betrayal…every day. I don’t need you to remind me.”
The tension in the air grew hot and icy at once. Remy took another step closer, further narrowing the gap between them. He bowed his head forward over her shoulder but did not touch her anywhere, lips hovering near her ear. “Madison,” he breathed, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of her name on his tongue. His murmur was full of torment, of grief, of regret; he couldn’t have hidden it even if he wanted to. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, and he drew a shaking breath. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t even expect you to believe me. But I want you to know…” He pulled back, but not far—just enough to meet her gaze, to count the constellation of freckles across her nose. “I meant every word I ever said to you.”
Fear made her tremble when the cutlery rattled along the much smaller dining room table. Madison was not afraid that he would harm her - not physically at least. She was afraid of each step that he took because she could feel the memories slamming against her mental barricades. Ghostly soldiers attacking the hastily cobbled defenses she had shoddily constructed against all the happiness, all the pain that the Walther heir had caused her over the last several months. Another and another. Each step added strength for a battering ram that matched the beat of her heart, intensifying the pounding in her ears.
Remy was in front of her in the span of a breath and the whisper he unleashed thundered over the din in her ears. Their stare was momentarily broken as her eyes fearfully followed the movement of his fingers. If he touched her, holy fuck, if he touched her she would never be able to turn back now. She would surrender to him, whatever that entailed, whatever kind of half-life that meant for her. Yet his fingers curled into a fist and bright eyes caught the flash of lightening in the stormy gaze just before her. Warmth from his body, from his breath cascades over her in syrupy waves, reminding her of all the times he had come so close before and how her body thrilled to be near him.
Closer, still, Madison held her breath tightly in her throat until her name escaped his lips and she visibly shivered. Legs pressed against the carved wood of the magnificent oak table, one hand gripping the edge as though it was her only lifeline, the only thing that might save her from drowning in the tumultuous sea that was Remy Sterling. The apology that followed rocked her and she almost heard the cracks within her mental walls splitting wider. The huntress’ barriers were crumbling with each word.
Because her Remy spoke them.
Not some stoic Northam heir. Not some devil concocted by the grief she held in her heart. Not a tattooed liar whose goals remained a mystery.
Her Remy. He meant every word he had ever said.
Everything shattered around her, an explosion of glass and pain and anguish. Madison choked on a sob, unable to swallow it back down. I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for you. I can’t get close enough to you, Madison. Don’t go. Oh, my love. I put you at risk. I love you. Forever.
And finally. A fleeting moment, barely part of the memory before a deluge. I…I need to tell you something, Madison. About my family. The tsunami of emotion slammed into her and she gasped, unable to breathe, unable to look away. He had tried to tell her. Frantic mind raced as she trembled before him, a hare before a fox. The predator had become the prey, victim to the unparalleled feelings he brought forth inside her. A flicker of restraint remained, a stalwart defender, hovering in the minute space that remained between them. I love you. She longed to say it. I love you. I love you, Remy Sterling. “Fuck you.” She breathed instead, the only words that her tongue could form. “God damn you.” She loved the man she had met in the woods, the doctor, the friend, the lover.
The man that stood before her with stormy eyes and his heart in his hand. “I fucking want to hate you....” The sentence slipped out in a whimper. “But I can’t.”
The walls he’d worked so hard to fortify in the months since their parting crumbled to dust in an instant.
Remy drank her in as though she were cool silvery water, and he a parched man in a vast desert wasteland. His senses filled with her—the depths of her azure gaze, the faint perfume of lavender on her plaited hair, the saccharine tang of sweet wine on her exhale, the pulses of heat radiating from her flushed skin. And when she spoke, the vibration of her voice, husky and low with frustrated anger, reverberated in his core like a growl of summer thunder to his own internal tempest.
“Say what you must, I can take it,” he muttered in reply, gazing into the depths of her eyes with earnest intensity. Though they did not touch, though they stood fully clothed, he was laid bare before her—a book sprawled open at the spine, ribs flattened like lines on a page, his heart pounding out the story he could not read aloud. Whatever pretenses they had carried with them to luncheon had vanished like the snowpack in a thaw, their thick layers dissolved to nothingness to reveal the painful truth beneath the drifts. “I will bear it all…for you.”
There was too much to say, too much to feel, and the words perished on his tongue as quickly as they bubbled up from his throat. How many times had the physician longed to hear those words in the agonizing span of their separation, that she still cared, after everything, after all this time, after his unforgivable betrayal? Yet the knowledge, no longer the imagined product of desperate, heartbroken fantasy, was no balm to his burning torment. Instead, his chest swelled with a new ache so potent he thought his sternum might shatter. Because where did they go from here? Circumstances had not shifted; he was still the heir, she remained Lawrence’s belle, and neither could wrench themselves from the society in which they were presently entrenched.
“If you think I haven’t ached for you, every part of me, every hour of every day…” he breathed, moving once more to her ear. He didn’t have any right to say those things to her, yet the confession tumbled forth in a flood. His eyelids drifted closed, and he leaned his head toward her, ever closer, stopping himself before their cheeks could brush. “I need you, Madison…I need to kiss you…”
The declaration was so soft, so tentative, it was nearly inaudible, but the resolute storm in his blue-gray gaze left no doubt as to his sincerity. His throat closed tight around a crescendo of feeling, and he swallowed against it as he moved back only far enough to meet her eyes. He tilted his head just a little, just enough, and his lips parted as if to continue speaking. But he remained silent, mouth hovering a finger’s breadth from her own, their rapid breaths mingling in an invisible cloud of emotion. His gaze flitted down.
“But I can’t,” he whispered, a shadow of anguish crossing his face. “I can’t. It will undo me.” The doctor slowly shook his head back and forth, the movement almost imperceptible, and looked up. “And I can’t bring you into this nightmare, Madison. I won’t do that to you, not after everything. I am yours, but you are…” His ragged breath caught. He tripped over his words, hardly able to form them. “You are better off with…with Lawrence Terril.”
The combination of those words, in that precise order, echoed the ache in her own soul. Madison had pined for him, for the man she knew, every single second of every single day, even when she internally raged against the emotional treason he had committed. The sweet pain of those syllables made her entire body vibrate with unspoken need. The heat of him wafted against her cheek and her neck, the soft stubble of his well kept beard nearly brushed her flesh. Just a millimeter closer, my love, please.
And fuck, it only got worse. Her name. His desire. To kiss her.
Madison swallowed hard and she closed her eyes against the temptation, knowing that if he moved his mouth toward her that she would melt into it. The huntress was clay to be molded by his husky words, his adept mouth, his knowledgeable hands. The subtle shift of his head caused her eager gaze to seek his eyes, her lids fluttering open in a flurry of dark lashes. Remy examined lips lips, briefly, and the woman held her breath in heady anticipation. And just like that, he jerked back the bait he dangled before her as though it was an unfulfilled promise. The air she held escaped in a shaky, weary breath. He kept speaking and though physically he hovered close to her, Remy retreated. Anguish at the missed opportunity to intimately touch him again ignited her ire again. The electricity between them crackled and set ablaze the immense forest of her fury.
“Bring me into it?” Incredulity laced her words. “You already did.” Madison did not shout, though she longed to. She wanted to shove him, as she had in the cabin. She wanted to scream and curse and throw nearby objects in his direction. Instead, she kept her voice low, laced with a sickeningly sweet honey. “I’m already here. I’m already in this living hell every day I wake up and every night that I’m able to close my eyes. You brought me into it the moment you declared your true name to them, to me.” It rushed out of her, a tidal wave through a broken dam, seeking to destroy all in her path. Unfortunately for him, Gregoray Remington Walther II was the only living thing on the other side of her demolished mental wall. Despite herself, a glistening line of tears clung to her lower lashes, weighing them down much like she faltered under the weight of her emotions.
“And now you think you have some right to tell me what is better for me?!” The tone shifted, unable to keep the rage at bay. Madison did not move a single inch, did not seek to extricate herself from the invisible cocoon they had wrapped around them. “You think you get the privilege of making such decisions for me?” The words hissed between her lips while her cerulean eyes flickered before his smoky blue gaze. “You know nothing of what it means to become undone. To have everything you built your future on to be torn out from under you while still constructing it. To be betra-betrayed so completely by someone you gave every single hidden part of your body to, your soul to.” Madison’s voice cracked. “You will never know the depths of my pain.”
Even now, in this intimate and honest moment, she would not betray the Terrils. Part of her longed to laugh at his decision that she would be better with him. They would make a remarkable pair - Lawrence madly in love with Paul and Madison’s heart lost to the Walther heir. Instead, the huntress wanted him to know the deep, relentless ache inside of her. Even if he experienced one thousandth of the pain she did, it would be worth it. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to show you.”
The distance between them closed as her mouth captured his. Madison released her grip on the table and tangled the fingers of her left hand into his hair. Hips rocked into his, heat sizzling as their bodies collided. Right hand slid along his waist, finding her way beneath the soft fabric of his shirt with gentle tugs. Without hesitation, lips eagerly parted for his. If he could be undone, then she would be his undoing.
He watched as Madison’s eyes flashed in fury, her anger igniting a wildfire whose voracious flames threatened to engulf the room. The heat that had emanated from her became scorching, unbearable; he could feel it licking up his limbs like tangible fire, sizzling against his skin and sending pulses of ache and desire in equal measure through every nerve. But Remy had faced this blaze before. He knew the heart at its blazing core; he recognized the shifting shapes of its flares, the brightest, searing vermilions and deepest, cruelest shadows.
He did not want to fight it. Exhausted from the battles he faced every day—those within, the anxieties that whirled in a constant hurricane, and those without, the dealings of his father’s regime—he was weary of combat down to his very bones. From sparring with Quinn to scuffling with his own yearning for Madison, it seemed every moment of his life was somehow consumed or driven by conflict. And he simply couldn't do it anymore. Especially not with the woman he loved with every ounce of his being, especially when there were precious few moments to be stolen alone...when he knew she still cared.
So Remy allowed her flames to overtake him, to bear the brunt of her rage without so much as a twinge of retaliatory anger. Instead, that same poignant sadness saturated his eyes, the same crippling pain of guilt and regret. Her words struck their mark. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he whispered, defeated, pulling back just another finger’s breadth, still close enough to feel her agitated breaths. Part of him wanted to scream, to bellow, in case that was what it would take to make her see that all he wanted was to protect her, to warn her, even—to run, to disentangle herself from this whole mess while the threads still dangled. But only quiet resignation gripped him, his expression raw and unguarded.
That was, until she was upon him.
His body abruptly seized the reins from the tumult of his mind. His lips eagerly parted as she captured his mouth, heat bursting to life in his core. His left hand reached up to her cheek, her hair, the back of her neck; his right arm swept around her waist, tugging her roughly, desperately against him. The crimson fabric of her sweater rode higher on her abdomen, and his fingers slipped easily beneath the soft tension of its ribbed hem.
She was wrong. He did know what it was like to lose his future, to have the rug pulled from beneath his feet before the tapestry was even completed. He knew what it was like to lose, to mourn. He knew the specific agony of having found the perfect complement to his soul only to have it ripped away, frayed and unraveling. This felt…this felt like a patch, hardly a fix, but enough to hold the disintegrating pieces together temporarily.
Muscles rippled beneath her touch as her nimble fingers found flesh beyond the cobalt of his shirt, and a hum reverberated low in his throat. He pulled back only for his lips to meet the tender flesh of her jaw, trailing frenzied kisses down to her collarbone. In one effortless motion, he lifted her onto the edge of the oak table, mouth straying ever lower, down the maddening sliver of skin revealed by the cut of her blouse.
The physician rose to a stand before her, the huntress’ long legs locking around his body, his eyes overcast with a hunger that had nothing to do with the meal growing cold on the table. “What have you done?” he growled, half with desire and half with the anger he had tried so desperately to suppress. He took her mouth, ravenously, furiously, and an electric shudder shook him as her lips parted beneath his. Severing the impassioned kiss, he brought one hand to the side of her face, thumb grazing over the freckles on her flushed cheek. His gaze bore into hers—storm meeting sea, fire meeting fire. “What have you done to me, my love?”
Madison was suddenly home, drawn to that familiar comfort by his hands. They were calloused and stronger than before, his actions rougher. Each caress edged with an unbridled hunger tinged in anger. It was just what she needed - to be possessed so entirely by him. She attacked him with the same ferocity, fingers exploring the taut muscles his training had bestowed. The clothing felt too restrictive, too thick and cumbersome. She wanted him free of it, to feel his skin against her own and the rapid pounding of his heart against her chest. The notion that they were in the Terril’s dining hall fell away. The hum of approval served as kerosene to her inferno of desire and eagerly she sought to push off his jacket.
The attempt was thwarted as he lifted her, reflexively causing her to wrap her legs around his waist. Fingers tangled back into his mussed locks while his lips descended. A noise of carnal pleasure escaped her, lost somewhere between a moan and a growl. He said something but she couldn’t register it before Remy’s mouth devoured hers once more. The huntress knew, in that moment, that she would never be free of him. If she fled now, abandoned Thebes for parts unknown, there would always be a thread tying her soul to his. They were bound together, always.
Forever.
Attempting to keep her labored breaths in check, the huntress’ chest rose and fell slowly in endeavored control. My love. My love. My love. Blue eyes broke their stare as they closed to the melody of those last syllables. She was still his love. He was still hers. His tattoo, the cursed midnight ink, had set the masterpiece of their love ablaze but something smoldered still in the ashes. Opening her eyes once more, she brought both of her hands up, one to rest on his neck and the other against the stubble of his chiseled jawline. The Commander’s devastatingly handsome features contorted in his anguish and part of her thrilled at it - he could understand. He might be able to fathom the deep well of utter despair she had fallen into at his revelation. Gently, her thumb ran along the vermillion border of his swollen lower lip.
“What I needed to.” Throaty words filled the space he created between them. “What I had to.”
It wasn’t enough. This brief moment was not sufficient to express all that she felt - but would there ever be? Could she make him see what he had done, truly understand?
Mouth grasped for his again, firmly bruising and insatiable. She took his bottom lip between her teeth, running her hands all along his torso, reveling in the constriction of every muscle she grazed. She jerked the heir forward by the loops of his pants, so roughly that his legs slammed into the table, rattling the glasses along the entire length of the oak. The lingering taste of bourbon danced along her tongue, enhanced by the smell of cedarwood in his hair which brushed against her forehead. Thighs held him tightly against her body as a red flush blossomed across her chest where his lips had traveled moments before. Part of her was doing this to wound him, to make him pine for her when he left as she ached for him. She wanted him to think of her in the cold of his sheets, in the warmth of his shower, in the loneliness of his bedroom. And part of her, the portion expanding exponentially out of control, did it for herself. Because she missed him, she craved him. She loved him. It was that piece that made her groan his name against his mouth.
“Remy.”
Madison knew it would be the final pull that unmade him. She had seen the pain, the recoil, each time she had spit his true name, his honorific, at him. During chess. During dinner. In the hallway. Today. If he had truly tried to fully extricate himself from his past, then the new name he had chosen for himself would be a salve against a wound. The tender caress of her tongue as she formed his name, in the same tone she had used between the sheets of the large bed they had shared, would bring him completely apart.
Like tectonic plates sliding back together, their fractured pieces reunited with a ground-quaking, earth-shattering force—and all the friction the inevitable collision entailed. Although the deep rift between them narrowed in this moment, the jagged fissure between their worlds remained. But still, the disparate sides strained to reconcile with such determination that their respective footing trembled beneath their feet, and it shook them to the very marrow of their bones. It might take an age to smooth over the crevasse, but now the distance did not seem so insurmountable—now, it seemed possible.
The intrepid huntress tugged him forward with a physical strength that surprised and thrilled him, and he barely noticed the shaking of the goblets and cutlery as his thighs struck the table. All Remy knew was the maddening pressure of her legs around his waist, the curve of her arched back as he pulled her closer, and the hunger of their mouths as they devoured one another. The sound of her ragged breaths spurned heady gasps of his own as they gulped air between impassioned kisses, their faces hardly parting. A finger traced the tantalizing gap between her breasts, and he bit back a moan as her hands knotted in his hair in response.
It went against everything he knew he should do, everything he knew he should feel. There was no denying his love for her; lord knew he’d tried to suppress it, to fight it, to dismiss it. But this, this spark of hope, was almost too painful to bear. Because no matter how they felt, he knew it couldn’t work, not in their situation, not with his position. To have her as his own, the issue of Lawrence Terril aside, would open her up to a world of scrutiny by his father…and drag her magnitudes deeper into a regime he wanted nothing more than to shield her from. It couldn’t be.
Frustration took the form of anger, which in turn melted into desperate passion. An emboldened hand roamed, slipping once again beneath the hem of her sweater to brush the swell of her breast. He took her lip between his teeth with gentle pressure. Unbeknownst to the doctor, the thoughts on the edges of his mind mirrored Madison’s; his need was suddenly more than just to savor every moment of this searing exchange. Rather, he wanted to make her feel his turmoil, to leave such an impression that she might think of him when sharing Lawrence’s bed, or when she shivered against a cold wind, or when she sat warm before a fire. He wanted her to know that even if he deserved every torment, it was not solely the huntress who endured excruciating consequences as a result of his silence, his fear.
When she spoke his name—his name, not his damnable title or his father’s despicable name—every conflicting emotion crashed together in an instant, and Remy froze against her. His sorrow, his anger, his grief, his hope…each a dissonant note in a cacophonous chord, as deafening as the percussion of his furious heartbeat in his ears. She knew what it would mean to him, to hear her voice form those syllables…that it would ease his torment as much as it would intensify it; that for just a second, he was not so alone in the godforsaken world.
Slowly, and with his chest still heaving, Remy withdrew his hands from her body and leaned back just far enough to look into her face. A rogue tendril of brunette hair had escaped her long braid, and he reached one hand up to brush it from her forehead—an intimate gesture that felt as natural as breathing, and yet a privilege all the same. “I love you, Madison Gallow,” he murmured, meeting her bright blue eyes. “Never forget that I love you.”
If the Terrils never returned then it would be too soon. Madison wanted to preserve this little moment for herself, where the expression of all of her emotions were perfectly reciprocated. She reveled in the frustrations that fueled his caresses and fanned the flame of his desire, matching her own towering inferno. Their devastating collision of their bodies, at last expressing all their feelings, was beyond what she had dreamed it might be. Briefly, she recalled how the tryst in the hallway had progressed in her daydreams and now…now, all she hungered for was laid before her swathed in cobalt blue. Angry movements slid into tender ones, oscillating back and forth in rapid succession. The gentle pull of her lip between his teeth elicited a deep groan that escaped before she could swallow it back. Lascivious thoughts raced about in her mind as she reached for his belt. Deft fingertips pulled the tugged tail forward, with every intention of removing it entirely. She wanted him to take her, right here on this dining room table. The thought was alarmingly delicious and the groan dissolved into a whimper.
And suddenly his hands ceased their delightful exploration, leaving her panting and needing more than what she knew he would be willing to give her now. Saying his name had been both a blessing and a curse, as it had its intended effect on the Walther heir. At this retreat, a cold tingle washed over her limbs. The physician was the only form of warmth that she had ever experienced within this Cold world and now the absence of him was magnified a thousand-fold. The skin beneath her breasts and swollen lips felt the burn of frostbite in his wake. The huntress longed to growl, to cry out, to scream. In another life they would have been perfect soulmates, in another world she would have spent the remainder of her life with him.
Instead, she leaned towards his hand and closed her eyes briefly in a futile effort to capture this moment and the way she felt so terribly empty and completely whole at the same time. The words fell from his lips and surprised eyes snapped open. She searched his face and felt the immense sting of holding back salty tears. Remy still loved her, he always had and the deepest depths of her soul knew that. The words were the poison itself twisting around her heart and the potion to cure all her ailments. Aching lips parted, startled and unsure of how to respond. She loved him, God, how she loved him. She loved him for his kindness, his willingness to instruct her and learn from her, his humility, his hands, his knowledge, his strength, his weaknesses…all of it. She loved all of him. The huntress loved him despite that fact that he was the heir of Northam and because he was the son of the High Commander. The realization stunned her, the shock allowing the reflex of her hand to reach up and cradle one side of his face.
“I…” love you, you fucking roadwalker. I love you to the stars and back. I said always and I meant it. The words stuck in her throat, unable to meet her tongue. “Remy, I…” Again, she faltered and so she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his in a featherlight touch. Madison deepened it, slightly, gently – a stark contrast to the ferocity of her preceding movements. Her mouth moved to trail, slowly along his jawline. The soft stubble reminded her of the cabin, their verbose vows exchanged in the dark, and her lips found his ear. “I –”
Footsteps clicked down the hallway and she frantically shoved him back, creating vast distance between them. Hastily, she began to re-plait her hair. Hurried fingers made quick work of her top, and when she looked up Remy was doing the same. He managed to fix his belt and placed his clothing.in its proper positions. But his hair belied the trim appearance of his clothing. The sound drew closer and she reached out, straightening his disheveled locks with surprising tenderness. Being so close again, she inhaled slowly, eyes flickered from his lips to his stormy eyes.
Surprised, she turned her back to him and tidied the table. Just as the Commander lowered himself into his chair, so did the Terril’s guest. Their eyes locked across the long oak table and she thought about mouthing the unsaid words to him. Elora glided into the room, having a whispered conversation with a suspicious Lawrence. Emerald gaze darted to Madison’s, causing her to smile weakly and sheepishly look away at the remaining cold raviolis on her plate. The tension in the room was palpable for the adept Elora, but if she suspected anything, it failed to show on her idyllic features. Instead, she ran a slender finger along the Commander’s shoulders as she resumed her seat.
The heiress smoothed her hands on her pants then, beneath the table, before clenching them into fists. Madison would certainly divulge the information with prodding later, but Elora’s suspicions were likely to prove correct. The color in her friend’s cheeks, the slight tremble to her hand, the deep berry color of her slightly puffy lips. The thought of the other woman willingly in the arms of the Northam second-in-commander made the food in the Terril’s stomach turn. The Gallow girl was settling – for what? A good lay? Ridiculous.
“Apologies for our extended absence. Business was pressing out of the west. Huge storms apparently blocked some of the main roads, but we’ve sent in additional men to help clear the obstructions.” Lawrence waved his hand, just another tedious component of being the world’s largest munitions supplier. His warm lips pressed a kiss to her cheek and squeezed her shoulder, before resuming his seat. “I pray that Magnolia kept you entertained, though she has no love of business and politics.” The words brought a deep flush along Madison’s neck and chest and she was thankful that her wine had not sloshed out of her glass. Bright blue eyes flickered to Remy’s with all her hidden desire lurking behind them.
Extricating himself from the huntress’ embrace was no easy feat despite the threat of discovery. His body strained to remain in the searing comfort of her arms, and breaking contact so abruptly—and without promise of another encounter—was as savage as an amputation, necessary but brutal. Indeed, it felt as though she had cleaved a piece of him that she would forever possess, tethering and severing the two lovers at once. At least he had been able to tell her he loved her, even if it was to be the last time.
The approaching footsteps in the corridor hastened the actions that followed. He stepped back and made quick work of refastening the buttons Madison had deftly undone, battling against the lingering sensation of her hands upon his chest. He tucked in his cobalt shirt and smoothed the wrinkles from the disheveled fabric, then buckled his belt and flattened his collar. Fortunate that he had worn it tousled from the start, the doctor combed his fingers hastily through his honey-brown hair in hopes to tame the unruly strands. But he must not have been terribly successful, because Madison closed the gap between them, wide-eyed, her hands tidying the rebellious locks with a soft tenderness that made his heart ache.
“Thanks,” he whispered, the brush of her fingertips against his forehead igniting another flare of heat at his core. His eyes dropped to her lips, to the daring V of her crimson neckline, and then back to her eyes, which glistened with the same spark of familiar desire that gleamed in his own. But the tap of footsteps urged them apart yet again, and he slid into his seat as Madison hurriedly straightened the table. She soon followed suit, taking her chair with nervous grace. Their eyes met for a moment in the sudden stillness, Remy’s gaze a storm through which only Madison could navigate.
The room felt chilled in the absence of the huntress’ torrid warmth. Remy took a long drink of his yet-untouched white wine as the Terrils made their reappearance, Elora gliding behind him to take her place at his side. The black-haired woman greeted him yet again with a hand that trailed boldly across his shoulders, only this time, it was difficult not to recoil from the gesture. It felt…wrong. Ill-fitting, like a poorly-tailored suit. Compared to the electricity elicited from even the simplest of Madison’s touches, the Terril sister’s fingers felt lifeless and empty.
And just like that, Remy’s mask was in place. With the scruff on his jaw helping to conceal the redness of his lips, his expression returned to neutral and guarded. Gone were any traces of the vulnerable man who had laid himself bare just moments before, his sorrow and anger locked tightly away behind a well-practiced façade. He donned an easy smile and swirled the wine in his crystal goblet, glancing from Elora to Lawrence.
“Unfortunate, for your suppliers,” Remy drawled casually, indulging in another sip. He watched through his lashes as Lawrence planted a kiss to Madison’s cheek. “Magnolia is excellent company,” the doctor replied silkily, one corner of his mouth curving upward in a half-smile. “She is a passionate conversationalist.” The meaning that hummed beneath his words were echoed in the desire that lurked in the huntress’ cerulean eyes, and he met her stare for a fleeting, searing moment before two servants glided in and removed their entrée plates.
Elora clasped her hands together. “Just in time for dessert,” she declared with a mellifluous laugh, leaning toward Remy. “A special indulgence, for our distinguished guest…” She reached once more for Remy’s wrist, her long fingers tracing the delicate stitching on his cuff. “We are occasionally blessed with gifts from our contacts overseas,” she explained, “and we were delighted to find a crate of oranges in the shipment this morning, all the way from Espania. Citrus, in winter!” The Terril woman beamed as a servant placed a square of pastel mousse before each of them, complete with two slices of peeled orange. “This is a semifrío, as it’s called there. Half-frozen. Almost an iced cream, but not quite. We know it’s unconventional, to serve a cold dessert in the dead of this wicked winter, but…Commander, one bite, and you’ll be transported to spring.”
Remy smiled his appreciation and took a bite, but his attention was drawn to Madison. He was reminded of when they were back at the Grafton Inn—he, wounded and weak after his injury, and the huntress, tasting apple butter for the first time. Even through his haze at the time, he had memorized the look of pure delight on her delicate features, the way she had giggled like a young girl as the taste burst over her tongue. Ohmygod, she’d gushed, grinning. You have to try this.
“Thoughts of spring are precisely what we’ll need to get us through that tour of the winter garden on a day like today,” Lawrence was saying, humming his pleasure as the citrus cream melted over his tongue. “If you’re still intent on trudging our Commander through the drifts.”
“There is no such thing as an ideal day in the dead of winter, brother,” Elora crooned, pursing her lips. She turned to Remy and glanced sidelong at her sibling, as if Lawrence couldn’t hear when she murmured, “Some of us are better suited to inclement weather than others.”
Lawrence scoffed. “Elora is one to talk,” he retorted with mock offense. “Ask her who had to clear the walk to the stables this morning before she agreed to set foot outdoors.”
Remy smiled. “And what about Miss Sterling?” he asked conversationally. “What does she think of the winter?”
The Commander’s innuendo made her stomach constrict and heat flush across her chest again. She could have strangled him across the table for such a comment. Alarmed and irritated gaze flickered briefly to his and she saw the desire etched in the swirls of gray and blue in his eyes. Damn you. The huntress though, tearing her eyes away to focus on her supposed lover. She barely heard Elora gush about the frozen treat, recognizing only that the goddess had begun to utilize her charming voice. It was far inferior, in Madison’s opinion, compared to her normal tones.
Lawrence’s voice about a garden tour drew her mind back to the table and the orange delicacy that was beginning to melt slightly before her. With a shake of her plaited head, the Gallow girl smiled distractedly, moving the dessert about the bowl. The taste of it was sand on her tongue, as she had acquired a taste for Remy’s lips alone. Everything else paled in comparison and all she could think about was savoring it once more, or again and again and again. The thought of it caused her to lick her lower lip, wondering if the chance would ever present itself again even when the doctor clearly thought this was their final time together.
The sound of her pseudonym from his mouth caused her eyes to flicker in his direction once more, and down, towards his lips as she had been thinking of them excessively for the past few moments. “Winter has it merits.” She replied smoothly, placing down her spoon and concluding her dalliance with the luxury. “Though I am more partial to springtime.” Springtime, when the doctor had saved her life during their daring rescue. Springtime, when she had sutured his wounds and cleaned him in the bath. Springtime, when he had swirled the word now on the small of her back. Springtime, when they had finally come together, ignited by cabin promises and the slow burn of time. Blue eyes captured his and the emotions swirled – desire, need, love - all bound up in her memories of him.
“Of course, my darling is correct, as always I am afraid.” Lawrence chuckled, drawing Madison’s attention to him once more. She smiled broadly at it, though it didn’t quite reach the entirety of her eyes. “Perhaps another activity, though I fear I must be off to business. Munitions never sleep, as father used to say.” The young man considered some possibilities. “A tour of the house then. After all, the Commander has only seen the study and the dining room. It is not so grand as Wymberly, but might offer a warmer alternative. He can come see the flowers as they bloom in spring. Elora, would you mind escorting him?” Madison exhaled slowly, needing to escape from everything, from companion, from the sight of the man she couldn’t have but desperately wanted.
“Sadly, brother, I must decline.” Elora murmured, voice tinged with sadness. “I have some engagements in town that I have already accepted and what is a woman if not bound by her word?” Cherry lips curled into a regretful smile. “Oh!” She exclaimed, as though the most brilliant idea popped into her mind. “Magnolia can show the Commander around the house.”
If Lawrence was displeased by her suggestion, he did not show it. Madison, however, looked completely startled, attention shifting from Elora to Remy. Alone. With him. Again. A flurry of anticipation and dread coiled inside of her chest. Would she be capable of…of, what? Keeping herself from screaming at him? Keeping her hands to herself? Keeping her mouth to herself? She swallowed.
“Surely not, Lawrence, dear.” She said suddenly, afraid of the possibility of being with just the Northam heir. “I would not do the estate justice.”
“Nonsense.” Large hand reached out and grasped hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “There is no one I trust more to do justice to my home, our home. Now, Abigail, please procure another whiskey for our guest. Something to occupy his hands while he is escorted from room to room.”
Every moment subsequently flew by and Madison found herself standing outside the dining hall as Elora and Lawrence bid the Commander farewell.
“Commander, it was such a pleasure. Please do not wait so long to visit us again and of course, give my warmest regards to your father.” A smirk played her lips as she departed, donning a black fur jacket before entering the winter fray.
“My sister speaks for us both, Commander.” Lawrence added, anxious at the idea of leaving Madison in his company alone. He had seen firsthand what happened the last time they had been secluded in the hallway. It had taken days for the huntress’ eyes to not be swollen upon waking. Bowing, he took his leave as Abigail handed a glass to Gregoray Walther and scurried off. They were entirely alone in the same hallway as their initial tryst.
Fuck.
Magnolia can show the Commander the house.
Remy’s heart leapt and plummeted at once at Lawrence’s casual suggestion. He smiled pleasantly as his pulse sped, hardly hearing Madison’s meek protest over the sudden rush of blood in his ears. Alone together, for a second time in a single day…a pang of nervousness whirled in his gut, followed quickly by a thrill of excitement. He knew the prolongation of their departure would only hurt worse in the process, like removing a plaster adhesive slowly rather than quickly and all at once. But grappling with logic was futile when faced with the ministrations of his desperate heart, and the rush of anticipation raised gooseflesh beneath his shirtsleeves.
With luncheon concluded and business looming, the Terrils led their guest to the hall, where they exchanged proprietous well wishes and bid their farewells. Abigail breezed past at Lawrence’s request, depositing a fresh glass of whiskey in Remy’s hands with a low bow of her head. And as the siblings disembarked to their respective duties, sauntering with purpose down the long corridor, the physician and the huntress found themselves alone once more.
No one in the cold, godforsaken world knew him like Madison did, yet Remy felt as timid as he had after their first kiss had revealed his burgeoning feelings in the cabin. He had confessed his love for her all over again not half an hour before, risking the huntress’ derision and scorn on the assumption that his visit would soon come to a resolute end—but here they were, granted extra time. And he honestly couldn’t have said whether it was a blessing, or a profound curse.
He may not have been the one to request the extra glass of alcohol, but he was thankful now for something to do with his hands, at least. He took a single sip in the stiff silence, although he knew it was no use; not even Northam’s strongest moonshine could soften the edge of the inevitable, or make any difference in extinguishing the perpetual flame that burned between them.
With his expression adrift somewhere between apology and curiosity, the Walther heir looked to Madison. And all at once, he felt a laugh bubble from his throat.
“I’m sorry, I just…” Remy pursed his lips together against the strange amusement that gripped him. “A tour guide. You are many things, but I never…” I never imagined this. I never thought any of this would happen, he wanted to say, humor fading with the realization that it once again came back to his secret—his betrayal—and the fact that his own cowardice was the source of all their torment. Eyes downcast, he allowed his voice to trail off, the air between them thick with the unsaid. Another swallow of whiskey did nothing to tamp down that renewed ache.
So he cleared his throat. “The solarium?” he suggested quietly, naming the first unique location in the Terril household he knew offhand.
Remy’s laughter, buzzing with nervous energy, drew her back to a time when she had sought to hear that wonderful sound from him after extensive teases. Madison longed to close her eyes and lean into the warmth, that welcoming recollection. Instead, she eyed him curiously for an explanation before confessing his surprise at her newly gifted position in the Terril household. Fucking Elora. The thought flitted through her mind as she knew that they were almost truly alone. Servants moved about sporadically but were busy with many other tasks and would likely leave them to their devices... whatever they may be.
“Being the lady of an estate has quite a number of duties that I had never considered.” Her response was short, though not unkind. The Commander needed to recognize that she was a different person than he remembered. Now, she was exceptionally well read and capable of great things she had never known possible. She could ride horses, play chess, choose attire appropriate for a number of occasions, crochet and so much more. The huntress lifted her brows when he requested the solarium before nodding and leading the way.
As she walked, she was very self conscious about what to do with her body - where to place her hands, how closely she should walk with him. And her mind whipped to the last words he had said to her in their embrace. He loved her. Would he say it again? Would he ask her how she felt about him? Would everything go beautifully on this tour or end up in a pile of emotional ashes at their feet?
The duo’s trek to the solarium was quick as she held the door open behind her as she entered. It was quiet now - no panting breaths or grunts for blows exchanged. “This is my second favorite room in the entire house.” Feet padded softly on the cushioned floor, looking out over the copse of trees that hid them from prying eyes outside. “The Terrils train here. Lawrence’s father had it constructed as an addition when they were children. The glass allows so much light that the room is a comfortable temperature even in winter.” Blue eyes flickered back to him, noticing the way the winter sunlight made the blonder strands in his hair shine like gold. The urge to reach out slipped over her and she swallowing, turning to the weapons table. “They train with a variety of weapons as well.” Madison enumerated them, pointing and describing and trying her best to fill a silence that would prove deafening.
“Elora tells me it is nothing compared to the militia training centers the High Commander has constructed.” The second she said it, she almost regretted it. Yet, she was curious as to his life at Wymberly - did he have friends? Did he enjoy his time there? Had his opinions on his father changed? Every emotion crested and fell like tidal waves. One moment she was merely curious and the next anger bubbled beneath the surface. Then, suddenly, it would melt into desire and need and love. Remy Sterling, her Remy, reduced her to a puddle at his feet.
“Why were you watching us this morning?” Madison asked, spinning to look at him and not realizing he had been following her so closely. Pride would not permit her to take a retreating step and so instead she stood nearly nose to nose with him. “Here, in the solarium, I mean.”
The solarium. Why had he mentioned the solarium, of all places? It was practically a confession to his unabashed voyeurism, having watched her during her earlier training session with Elora. He brought the crystal glass to his mouth reflexively, then lowered it without the amber liquid reaching his lips. The thought of another swallow made him feel ill with nerves, with…not shame, exactly, but certainly nothing like relief. Madison might have kept her anger in check in that moment, but he knew she’d filled in the words he hadn’t uttered—and her calm was a kindness he did not deserve.
Perhaps the mutual understanding of their finality was what smoothed the wrinkles between them. More so than their first illicit encounter at the dinner party, their passionate tryst during today’s luncheon had granted them the freedom of candor. It hadn’t simply been another tempestuous reunion, blazing with anxiety and open contempt. No, this affair had shattered the walls they’d constructed around their respective hearts, exposing what had always been hidden behind the stone—love, shrouded in such pain that neither had any choice but to lash out in defense. Love that hadn’t dared venture into the light in nearly a year, petrified and scarred and reeling. Love, that while living and breathing and burning, simply could not be.
Tensing his jaw, Remy followed Madison into the sunroom in silence. The air was warm, but not hot; it was a stark contrast to the Beloit Gymnasium at Wymberly, whose large east-oriented windows caught the morning light but never the warmth of the afternoon. Despite himself, he felt the storm clouds in his mind lift as the unobstructed glow of the sun above drenched his face and shoulders. His eyes, brightening, followed the lines of the lead muntin over the curved expanse of ceiling, tracing the architectural veins down until his gaze alighted on his unlikely tour guide.
She had shifted her focus to the armory table, where an array of impeccably organized training weapons glinted in varying shades of metal. Remy joined her, nodding along to her explanations—and was struck then, he realized, by the new eloquence with which she spoke. Before, she had struggled to maintain a simple conversation with a stranger, never mind thwarting awkward silences with her voice. The Terrils’ influence had clearly gone far deeper than a training regimen and a new wardrobe.
“This is a spectacular space to train,” Remy agreed, setting his glass on the table and picking up a knife with a short blade. He absently ran a finger over the ridges in its substantial handle, his muscles going rigid as Madison mentioned Elora’s observation about the military training centers. The weight of the blade in his hand was suddenly too much like the weight of the handgun he’d confiscated from the trembling recruit, the one he’d used to put the accused rebels out of their misery at the deadly end of the firing range. Stiffly, he returned the knife to its place next to the others. “The militia training centers are nothing like this,” he replied, voice flat. “Elora is right.”
He looked back up at the ceiling, pushing the bloody scene from his mind as he watched the frost-tipped evergreens outside sway on the bitter breeze. Madison’s movement, however, drew his attention back down as she shifted to the far end of the table. He stepped lightly after her to follow, perhaps too eager to leave his thoughts behind. But suddenly she was whirling around, facing him with knitted brows and accusatory fire in her gaze. He took a surprised half-step back as she nearly collided with his chest.
The huntress’ question hung in the sunny atmosphere like a cloud out of place. For a beat, he said nothing, simply looked down into the maelstrom of her ocean glare. “You know why,” he said at last, his voice softer than he’d intended.
His gaze wandered over the freckles on her cheeks, which stood out in the brightness like a smattering of stars, and drifted to her lips. A small scarlet line, deeper than the rest of her lips, indicated the cut where the Terril woman had drawn blood that morning. Without thinking, he reached up and tucked a hooked finger beneath her jaw, lifting her chin with more than just a doctor’s tenderness. “No lasting damage,” he breathed, realizing with a spark of heat that their faces were quite close now. “You let your guard down on the right side.” He lowered his hand but made no move to back away. “Which is how she got in. But you knew that already, didn't you?”
At this proximity, she could smell the woody aroma of whiskey on his breath. It encircled her, mingling with the cedarwood scent she always attributed to him. Madison concentrated exceptionally hard on not letting her wanton gaze fall on the gentle swell of his enticing lower lip. The answer created a tight knit of need in the pit of her stomach and her self control faltered. Bright eyes flickered down to his mouth that had formed those enticing words. What she would give to be able to taste them again, to hear the inhaling hiss of his surprise as she drew his bottom lip between her teeth...
Delicately, his finger brushed her chin and surprise flickered in her gaze as she met his. At first, she could not really process the words that he was saying. He admitted to watching her, and a significant portion of the spar too. Remy had seen Elora draw blood, but he had also witnessed her victory. Realization then dawned that he was commenting on the precise technique and sequence of their match. He was training. The High Commander was having his son trained, in order to take over. Logically, the huntress knew that he must have been doing something to fill out that cobalt shirt so well but she had not truly considered that he was adept in martial arts, as she now was. Swallowing, she held his stormy stare.
“Yes.” The word was a breathy exhalation. He had been watching for longer than she had known or suspected. “It seems you’re becoming proficient in sparring as well, in order to be capable of catching the faults in my technique.“ The Gallow girl sought to keep her voice even and neutral, but it quaked slightly as the heat in her stomach flared across her hips. Delicate tongue ran across the slightly swollen wound on her bottom lip. Standing just a small step from him, she wondered where they would be now if she had not killed that militiaman that had threatened their family. Perhaps they would be burrowed beneath blankets in an inn, or dead if she had managed to kill the commander. Blinking in order to shake the idea of a warm inn room and his adept fingers from her mind, Madison took the smallest of steps forward. Fingers reached out, barely even a few millimeters, and brushed against his hand. It was a fleeting connection, the whisper of skin against skin.
Electricity shot it her arm, igniting every nerve from the tip of her finger to the base of her neck. A shiver shook through her and she audibly gasped, a desperate sound. Madison stepped back three paces immediately. Eyes cast down before she moved towards the glass exit of the solarium. Her hands trembled so she held them clasped momentarily. The training room grew stifling hot, a dessert without an oasis. The huntress fled the room as slow as she possibly could without running. The hall provides a sweet rush of cool air against her cheeks and she exhaled just before the sound of his steps followed her from the room. Composing herself, Madison turned.
“What would you like to see next, Commander?” The inquiry was gentle and despite all the other times she had hurled the insult at it, now it was unadorned with her scorn and made just in case any ears were interested in their discussion.
Remy studied her, searching her gaze for the true emotion that swelled behind her deceptively neutral voice as she commented on his training. Perhaps it was simply because it came from her lips, but it struck him so strange to hear her observation; he had become proficient in sparring. Nearly every day since his arrival, he had spent his mornings—and sometimes nights—in his father’s vast gymnasium, either on his own or with Quinn. Hours upon hours devoted to physical movement, to fighting, to sharpening skills of muscle and marksmanship in equal measure. And even if he did not emerge victorious every match, the simple fact that he could hold his own against General Belvedere was a testament to how far he’d come and how much he had indeed learned.
Though training had been his father’s requisite in the beginning, it was the man’s one request Remy actually looked forward to obliging. So much of it had been to distract himself, to pour himself into something so completely that he could, for just a few moments, forget about the rest of everything. But as his body had changed, strengthened, his very flesh and bones honed into a weapon…he wondered just how much of himself he might be losing.
When he looked in the mirror, the familiar image of Remy Sterling—gaunt, but proud; rugged, yet somehow soft—faded a little more each day. By seeking solace from his torment, he had inadvertently chiseled himself into the fit, dangerous heir the commander had always wanted. A man powerful in body and influence alike. It was little wonder Madison couldn’t bear to look upon him in his military garb. He didn’t look like a brigand playing dress-up anymore. He looked like he belonged in that uniform.
And as he gazed into the huntress’ eyes, he wondered just how much Dr. Sterling she saw before her…if, by confessing she still cared for him, she was saying she could still see him through the layers of his carefully-executed disguise. Did she know, did she truly believe, that the same man who had frantically checked decaying corpses for signs of life, who had thawed her back to life after the river, who had given himself to her wholly, stood before her now? The words bubbled up from his throat and perched on his lips, the question poised to take flight in the warmth of the solarium. But before he could ask her outright, her fingers brushed his hand.
Featherlight. Tender. Soft enough to be an accident, electric enough not to.
Remy’s query died on his tongue. Despite the heat that suddenly sparked to life in his core, and the intensity of the sun magnified through the glass, gooseflesh raced up his arms and prompted the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. The huntress backed away as though she’d been shocked, and she clasped her hands together tightly enough he could see the whites of her knuckles.
“Madi—” he started to say, but she was already rushing for the exit, pushing out of the solarium and into the broad hallway.
The doctor followed her immediately, stepping out of the sunshine and back into the cool interior. Her back was to him as the door latched closed. When she spun to face him again, her face was the picture of calm; even her voice as she spoke his wretched military title was gentle. He was so distracted by the shift in tone that he almost didn’t hear her inquiry.
“You said the solarium is your second favorite room in the house,” he finally said, voice low. “I’d like to see your first favorite.”
He followed her, falling into step at her side as she led them down the corridor. Their footsteps were unnaturally quiet on the polished stone floors, as though they were nothing but shadows prowling the estate; Madison’s from a lifetime of hunting and tracking to survive, and Remy’s the result of the huntress’ expert teaching.
And as his arm swung freely at his side, having abandoned his half-finished glass of whiskey in the solarium, it was his turn for his fingers to brush against hers. Only this time there was no question as to the intentionality—whether out of reflex, or simply the desire to touch her—his index finger slipped softly against her palm, airily hooking her hand to his as they strode.
