The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride: A Fantasy Holiday Romance

by Kati Wilde

  “You will catch cold,” he told her gruffly.

  Opening her eyes, she smiled up at him. “I think not.”

  He could not think at all. At first sight, her beauty had pierced him like a spear though his chest. But these past days there had been new light in her face, and it shone so bright that simply looking at Anja burned her image into his eyes and his heart.

  But he could not look away. And he had to remind himself that when she softly bit her bottom lip and looked shyly up at him through her lashes, it was not an attempt to allure him. So unceasing was his hunger for her, so desperate was he, Kael wanted to believe every small gesture she made was invitation to carry her to bed and sink between her thighs.

  But he had told her what that invitation must be, that it must come from her mouth, not a flirtatious look.

  Perhaps she didn’t even know what she did.

  But she likely didn’t mistake the hunger in his gaze when he looked back at her. Her smile faded slightly and her gaze averted from his.

  She stroked her fingers down the lattice work of the door, a gesture that tormented him so badly that he barely heard her say, “I rarely think to open shutters or doors.”

  Because the wards would not work. He forced himself to stop imagining those fingers tracing the length of his cock. “It is not allowed?”

  “Only rarely. And everyone within the palace must be warned first. May I?” she asked and without waiting for answer, reached for him. His heart thundered, but when she only lifted the cup from his grip he laughed at himself.

  She would not knowingly touch him. But now the sweetness of the wine seemed not so unappealing, now knowing it would be the flavor upon her lips.

  Lips that he would have given up a kingdom to kiss. Four kingdoms. And sought new kingdoms to conquer and give away, so he might always have another taste.

  She sipped, looking out over the city. “What mountains are those in the distance? I am so turned around within this keep, I don’t know the direction I’m looking in.”

  And in the four kingdoms, there were mountains in every direction but east. “That is south.”

  Grimhold and his fortress lay before them, though he could not see it at this distance and in the dark.

  A faint smile touched her lips. “You seemed to be brooding mightily when I came. Do you wish yourself back at your stronghold?”

  He had no response but a short laugh.

  Tilting her head, she looked up at him. Curiosity tinged her voice. “Do you feel imprisoned there?”

  “No.” Confined, yes. “Not as I was imprisoned before, in the mines. Now I could easily break free if I wished to.”

  “‘Break free’?” she echoed. “You are not free now?”

  “Is any king?”

  “I suppose if you see duty as a chain, then you are not. Do you?”

  “No. But it is not the same freedom.”

  Her lips pursed as she considered that. They were not an invitation, either, but he needed a taste. Taking the wine back from her, he did not sip but downed half the remaining amount.

  “You are still free,” she said. “But the difference is, I think, that you have never been a leader. Alone you destroyed Geofry and his warlords—you led no army, were responsible for no one else. Now you are responsible for four kingdoms.”

  “That is not the only difference. I go hunting and I am surrounded by courtiers, and a huntmaster who flushes out game for me. I practice my blade against a swordmaster who will not parry in return, no matter how I goad him. I command armies I never see and lead soldiers I never fight beside.”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “So you are bored—need more challenge?”

  “No.” Nothing so paltry. “I am slowly dying. I feel I am being smothered and coddled until I cannot move or breathe within the stronghold’s walls.”

  “Then name a successor and leave.”

  He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

  Her brow furrowed with concern, she asked, “Why did you accept the crown? For riches?”

  “Because the people asked me to take it.”

  “You could have instead asked for a reward and ridden away. Is that what you wish to do now?”

  “No.” He wished to fuck her against the wall.

  She leaned back against the frame of the archway, her breasts sweetly rounded against her tunic. Her nipples stood like berries beneath.

  Those were not an invitation. They did not mean she was as aroused by his nearness as he was by hers.

  Abruptly he strode back into the heated chamber, snatching a blanket. He returned and thrust it at her.

  “You are cold,” he said gruffly.

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. Cover yourself.”

  Biting her lip, she took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He refilled his cup from the decanter, and would have filled another cup for her, but he wanted his mouth where hers had been.

  He returned to the balcony and found her watching him, studying him, considering him. Trying to make sense of him.

  “Why take the throne? It cannot only be because you were asked.”

  “I thought I might be needed—to defend them. So they might continue to be free instead of fall under another Geofry.” On a heavy sigh, he shook his head. “But I have not needed my sword. Only my seal at meetings.”

  “So you want to take the lazy way of ruling a kingdom.”

  He could not mistake the teasing note in her lilting voice but he sensed she was not entirely joking. Narrowing his eyes, he echoed, “Lazy?”

  “You think that swinging a sword is a magical cure for a kingdom’s ills?” Smiling, she took the cup from him again. “Ruling a kingdom is making certain the grain in the fields ends up in the bellies of your people. It is maintaining relations with other kingdoms that can affect the safety of your people and the trade that enriches their lives. It is deciding how many taxes can provide for everyone but won’t take so much that they can’t provide for themselves.”

  Grim resignation filled him. “I am better suited to a sword than deciding those things. Perhaps better suited as a conqueror than king.”

  “I would not agree. I have seen how you are with your people. You don’t need to hammer out the details yourself but tell your ministers and advisors what you want to accomplish.” She frowned slightly and raised her gaze to his. “Why do they not already handle the details? I have never seen anyone as besieged as you were the morning at your stronghold.”

  Besieged. Not by an enemy, but by his own advisors. “I am told that is how it is done.”

  “Not in Ivermere or any other kingdom I have visited. More likely it was how Geofry did it—never relinquishing control, never letting anyone make decisions for his kingdoms.”

  “Better for the advisors, if that was true,” Kael said. “They would have been less likely killed if they were not directly responsible for a failure.”

  “Fortunate, then, that your advisors do not have to fear the same from you.” Thoughtfully, she sipped more wine, then said, “You can relinquish that control to others who are capable—but it is best to first learn exactly what they are in control of, so that you will know if they are handling it well.”

  “I think they would.”

  She nodded in agreement. “But the rest cannot be wholly learned from sitting on your throne and listening to reports. Better to travel through your kingdoms and see for yourself.”

  “Do you think they wish me to? They are afraid of me.”

  She looked at him in surprise, frowning. “They love you.”

  “Everywhere we go, they are terrified.”

  “At first they are,” she conceded. “But by the time you leave each place, they are less afraid, because their fear is only born of uncertainty. Because they don’t know what to make of you. There are so many stories of your bloodlust—”

  “All true.”

  She tilted her head. “But you have not killed anyone on this journey.
”

  “I have not killed anyone since taking the throne and ridding this land of Geofry’s supporters.”

  Her brows rose. “That long?”

  No one was more surprised than he. “None have deserved it. But I have also not traveled outside the stronghold much. Perhaps I will kill more soon.”

  Pursing her lips again, she nodded. For a long moment silence fell between them, then she said, “I have always thought of kings and queens as parents. Perhaps because they were my parents—”

  He laughed. “That would perhaps explain it.”

  She bumped her hip against his leg, companionably chiding him for his teasing. “I only mean to say that Geofry was a particularly cruel father. Any child—no matter how old—would be wary of anyone in that role now. The only thing to do is to carry on and let them see you for who you are. That you are a king who will not punish anyone unless that punishment is deserved—and you should make very clear what is deserved and not.”

  Was it so easy to win over people? Simply to let them see who he was.

  More often than not, who he was terrified people. But Minam, who knew him best, was not afraid of him. Anja was not…he didn’t think.

  Never had he spoken with anyone as he had with her tonight. Never had he revealed so much. Yet he didn’t know if it meant anything. Anja possessed a natural grace and kindness that he had witnessed everywhere they went, had seen her listening to troubles and treating them with care no matter how trivial or how weighty.

  And after they had spoken of pure magic, he knew she had made more effort to use hers—not her corrupt magics, for as far as he was aware, she hadn’t cast a spell since they had left the stronghold. But he knew she had determined to be more kind.

  He wondered what she would say if he told her that he had seen no difference in her. Before and after, she was as caring with those she met. She had been bursting with magic before she’d ever known what it was.

  She looked up at him curiously again. “Why haven’t you left the stronghold before? You clearly enjoy traveling and seeing how your people get along. And if a threat came and you were needed to defend them, there is nowhere within your kingdoms that you cannot be reached within a fortnight.”

  Bitterly he shook his head. “I am told that is what a king does. He waits for his people to come to him; he does not go to them.”

  “Nonsense. What you do is what a king does. So tour your kingdoms once a year—or once a season. Demand that you hunt alone and give your swordmaster leave to do his worst. Visit your armies and, if you go to war, ride at their head. And that will be what a king does.”

  Could it be so simple? He did not know. But what she suggested sounded more suited to him. Never had he been a man to be led and coddled.

  She was not done trying to persuade him. “Your advisors have good hearts and they have done their best. But they know how to help the king; they do not know how to be king.”

  He offered her a wry smile. “I’m not certain I do either.”

  “I think that whatever you do, you will make a fine ruler.” She grinned. “Just do not take Geofry as a model.”

  “I will not. It would only give you more reason to kill me.”

  “If I thought you deserved it.” Again she bumped her hip against his leg. “But I do not think you do.”

  If Kael took what he wanted now, he would. But had her mind truly changed so much? Could he win her, too? Would she want his touch as he wanted hers? Not dread his cruelty or merely tolerate a kiss?

  Heart pounding, he cupped her face. With the soft brush of his thumb, he touched the lips stained red with wine. She went utterly still, her gaze locked upon his.

  “Do you fear me, Anja?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  But her answer trembled over his skin on a shaky breath. A shiver ran through her form, a quiver on her lips. Uncertainty flashed through her eyes.

  “I think you lie,” he said harshly and dropped his hand away, turning to look blindly out over the balcony. “Begone from me and return to bed.”

  She hesitated. “Shall I wait for you to tie me?”

  Unless she also lied about what he deserved, Anja would not attempt to kill him. Though at this moment, he would not care if she did. Better death than to feel her shake with fear at his touch.

  With a raw voice, he said, “No. And from this night forward, I will not share your bed.”

  He did not turn to see her reaction. He could not bear to see her relief. But she must have been stunned by his decision, because for a long moment he heard nothing from her at all.

  Then, with a quiet sigh, she left him alone.

  6

  Anja the Liar

  Lyngfen

  She had lied.

  Anja had said she didn’t fear him. But she did. Not that he would harm her—or harm anyone undeserving—but she feared that her heart would be sliced open when they parted.

  Every time he touched her, she craved more. Every time he spoke, she wished never to stop talking with him. Every hour she spent with him, she wanted another. But not merely hours. Days. Years.

  But only a week remained until she would be home.

  And her lie had put distance between them. Since that night, he had not left her alone in her bedchamber—had not left her unprotected—but he slept on the floor, no matter that she implored him to take comfort beside her.

  She missed his strength. She missed his warmth. She did not miss being tied—but she missed the tying, that breathless moment when he bound her. When he seemed to loom over her, dark and ravenous. When the silence between them seemed full of anticipation and the tension coiled so tight.

  The tension was still there, but little silence remained. So many times she’d been reprimanded for her unguarded tongue, but now she was a slopmouth in truth, talking on and on, yet saying nothing of importance.

  Because she had not the courage to say what she most wanted to. To tell him how much she wanted a kiss or a touch. Any would do. But she dared not speak when everything she told him without words was ignored. Every alluring glance she’d made, every flirtatious gesture, had been made as if to a wall. Or worse, made him turn away.

  But on the road, he did not ignore her or turn away. And although the better she knew him, the more danger her heart was in, she could not stop trying to discover more.

  He probably thought it was only boredom. The landscape offered little to engage the attention. Snow had fallen over the mire, then frozen hard, crusting the long, dried grasses in brittle ice. A bitter wind drove into their backs, and every time she turned her head it bit into her cheeks. This day they had met few other travelers, and their horses’ tracks were the first to mark the road. Though she had traveled through this kingdom on her journey to the stronghold, she had no memory of it while sleeping. Never before had she been anywhere so bleak and desolate.

  Perhaps Kael had.

  “Are the Dead Lands much like this?”

  He shook his head. “Too many trees grow here.”

  A laugh burst from her on a puff of frozen air. For there were trees—but only a few, their bare and gnarled limbs burdened with hundreds of ravens that watched them pass in eerie silence.

  His smile answered her laugh but it did not last. With a lift of his chin, he gestured ahead. “That is similar.”

  The ruins of a walled village. They had passed through many such ruins, but unlike in the Dead Lands, it had not been a scaling that had destroyed so many homes along this road. Instead it had been Qul Wrac, who had served Geofry in Lyngfen.

  It was said when Kael had first cut his corpse-strewn path from Lyngfen to Vale, that he’d carried Qul Wrac’s head on the horn of his saddle. But when Anja had asked him whether it was true, he’d denied it—and said he’d carried Qul Wrac’s head upon a pike, instead.

  She could not see him as that bloody conqueror, though she had no doubt of its truth. Even now, he was surrounded by the tools of battle. His sword, an axe, daggers in his boot. Yet
more and more, she could not imagine him in a butcherer’s rage. Always he had such restraint.

  Ahead, the wooden gate that had once guarded the entrance to the village lay in splinters between the stone walls. Beyond the broken gate, the road continued through what remained of mud homes, the thatched roofs caved in.

  A few hundred paces from the gate, Kael halted his horse, gaze fixed intently ahead. Immediately Anja did the same. Silently she waited—this was something he often did when they approached a point in the road where the view ahead was obstructed, or where someone might lay in wait to ambush. She didn’t know exactly what he looked for—the only movement Anja could see was a scrap of cloth fluttering at the broken edge of the gate, the only sound she heard was the rustle of wind through the frozen grasses. Yet he must have heard or seen or perhaps smelled something.

  “I feel eyes upon us,” he said.

  She did not. With pounding heart, she looked and listened—then gestured subtly to a twisted tree near the village wall. “Perhaps the ravens?” she whispered.

  A faint smile touched his lips. “No. Come.”

  He nudged his horse forward, but did not go far. Instead he led her off the road, pausing near the tree she’d indicated, within a stone’s throw of the old gate. “I’ll ride ahead and return for you. If anyone lies in wait, it will be within the village.”

  Because there was nowhere else to plan an ambush. Behind them, the mire was an empty waste; not a single traveler could be seen in the distance. The only concealment was offered by these ruins.

  At her nod, he asked grimly, “You know spells of defense—the ones that kill?”

  “I know many spells. Even one that could burst a man’s eyes within his head.” Anja’s mother had seen that she was educated well, for all the good it did her.

  “If anyone but me comes through that gate, use it. Do not fear the scaling. Your spells will not touch me.”