Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(85)

Aodren’s sigh hits my neck. “The castle is full of people. Nobles constantly in pursuit of gaining my favor. Or others who are unwilling to approach me because they believe if they glance the wrong way at me they’ll be sent to the dungeon.”

I shiver at the thought of going there ever again.

Aodren mistakes my body language for a temperature drop. His arms wrap tighter around my waist, eliminating any remaining space between us. My skin soaks in the heat of his touch like a sponge. Survival mode and all.

“I’m cold, and I cannot keep myself on the back edge of this saddle much longer,” he says. “Nor do I think it’s necessary since we’ve, well, shared a bed.”

I laugh at the awkwardness of his comment. “Yes, we did.”

Sometime between escaping the castle and now, I’ve stopped thinking of him as the king of Malam. He’s surprisingly easy to be around. I imagine, had we grown up in different situations, we would’ve been friends.

“So, you picked royal apples?” Aodren jabs me in the ribs. I jerk out of my thoughts and throw a scowl at him. “That means you stole from me, Miss Flannery.”

I burst out laughing. “Yes, well, add that to the list of things I owe you to make us even.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’ll always be in your debt. So consider the apple tree yours.”

“Aodren.” I clear my throat. “You said you don’t have any friends, but that’s not true. I—I consider you a friend.”

“Because of the bond?” Uncertainty laces his tone.

I’ve not wanted to cross any lines in our relationship, but last night trampled that idea. I sigh. “Even without the bond, I can see that you’re a good man.”

“Do you think you’ll ever want more than friendship?”

He doesn’t have to say with me. Despite my inexperience with men, I can see the way he watches me and feel the tension between us. And he kissed me. Only one other man has touched his lips to mine. I glance down at Aodren’s arm, locked around me. He has strong arms, like Cohen. Cohen, the one man who’s ever shown romantic interest in me. While Aodren’s unprompted kindness and mention of something more is flattering, it pushes my heart onto an offbeat and sends me into a confusing spin. So lamely, I say, “I don’t know.”

Seeming to accept my answer, he falls silent.

Neither one of us talks again until we reach the cliffs and dismount. With the recent snowfall, it’s difficult to see any tracks. We split up to hasten our effort, both prowling around the edge of the cliff searching for any recent sign of passage.

“Britta . . .” Aodren’s voice quakes in a way that causes me to still. At first, I think it’s the cold freezing his hands again. He’s been holding them close to his body or mine all day. But I watch as he stiffly shuffles toward me and points at the ground where my boots have kicked through the snow. Beneath my print, a deep red crust is hiding on the cliff. “I think that’s blood.”

I inspect the mark closer, the faintest metallic scent grating my nostrils. My fingernails dig into my palms. Please don’t let it be Cohen.

If the blood is from someone in his group, they would’ve needed to see a healer right away. Right now we’re equally far from a town we’ve already passed and one of the mountain villages. Both are perhaps seven leagues away. Knowing Cohen, he would’ve chosen to move onward. I suggest we continue to the logging town of Tahr. If we hurry, we might make it there by nightfall. The idea of a warm inn for Aodren and possibly finding information on Cohen puts some more push in my movements.

However, when sunset comes, we’re still a few leagues from the town, and thick gray clouds linger overhead, blocking the moonlight. A crisp, earthy scent fills the air. It’s the promise of another snowstorm.

With no cave in sight, we have no choice but to set up camp. For coverage, we throw Hagan’s woven tarp over a low-hanging branch and then secure the ends out to scrub brush. Since there’s only the one bedroll, Aodren lays it in the middle of the sheltered ground. That done, we take a seat on a large rock outside the tent and make supper of the remaining dried venison.

“I saw Cohen’s scars once,” Aodren says, staring up at the clouds.

I finish chewing my last bit of meat and remain silent, confused by his seemingly random confession.

His gaze turns to meet mine. He brushes his hand over the stubble around his mouth, dusting off invisible crumbs. “Did you save him as well?”

I chew my lip. I’ve never talked about what happened with the mountain cat to anyone other than Cohen and Enat. But I want to be honest with him, so I tell Aodren about the past.

When I finish the story, Aodren turns to face me. “I’m sorry if, in asking you about Cohen, I’ve overstepped the bounds of our friendship. When I saw his scars, I noticed their similarity to mine.”

“No, it’s fine. I—I just haven’t talked about it much. There aren’t many people I trust.”

“Am I one of those people now?”

“Yes, you are.”

His shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. “Did healing Cohen change your relationship? Were you closer after?”

I’m not sure where his questions are leading. “We’re not together because of that.”

“No, of course not.” His leg slides closer to mine.