Page 13 of Our Lady of War

He turned to leave, but Athania spoke, slipping her voice into the most demure tone she could manage. “What is your name?”

The commander smiled, and it appeared quite genuine. “Jónatan.”

Jónatan left, and Athania dressed in the only clothing that had been laid out for her—a faded blue tunic. It was scratchy and clearly Jónatan’s, as it smelled of man and half-hearted wash, but it was made of finer material than most would wear on a ship. On the table sat a glass of dark wine and a tray of cheese and bread. Though she did not relish the idea of eating, she would need her strength and stomached what she could before settling onto a chair and letting her dark thoughts consume her.

Chapter

Five

The next fortnight was spent in a haze. Jónatan would be gone until evening, when he would come in and eat a meal with her and take her to his bed. The first time, she had to fight back tears, play the submissive, willing girl. After that, she hated how little trouble the idea of sleeping with him gave her. He was one of the better lovers she’d had in her unparalleled existence, and it made the entire charade even worse. Jónatan was tender and unselfish. Athania would even go so far as to call him kind at times. Experienced, certainly, and doting admittedly.

She did know that war made men do horrible things—be horrible things—that would otherwise never cross their minds. And she let herself believe that was what this was. Jónatan had needed to be ruthless, but she was experiencing the true him in a cabin below a ship.

“You will want for nothing,” he whispered to her one night, running a knuckle tenderly over her cheekbone.

Athania had smiled up at him, then turned her back to him to hide her conflicted tears. When he arose and left the cabin as he did every night, she vomited into the chamber pot and screamed into her pillow until another piece of her sloughed off.

In those first days, Jónatan locked the door when he left. Eventually, he stopped locking her in, his caged wolf. But it felt like a test. One that she would pass. She would continue to sit in the cabin, staring at the polished brass gaslamps, the curved walls of her cage, and the ornate mirror above the headboard. She would continue to peer out the small circular window at the sea, looking for land.

Jónatan leaned back in his chair, a goblet of wine in hand. Athania couldn’t claim he was boring any more than she could claim he was a poor lover. The logical, war-conscious part of her was beginning to admit he even had the signs of a decent commander. In another life, she would have done what he had. In another life, she had made similar calls.

All lives considered, or none. There was no in-between in war.

“Athania.” Jónatan said her name as if he’d already done so multiple times. He must have asked her a question.

“Apologies. What was it you said?”

Jónatan smiled, and she marvelled at him. He was perfect with his thick beard, broad shoulders, and long hair. “You hardly touched your food. Is it not to your liking? I will have another meal prepared for you.”

He’d truly been nothing less than a chivalrous, beautiful man since stealing her away. She’d seen prisoners of war fall for their captors many times, and it had always boggled her mind. Now, it made perfect sense. She could be his pet. His docile wolf.

Love never cages, Asteria had said once. But Asteria had been wrong. Wrong about not going with Igor. Wrong about justice outweighing the sword. Wrong about putting war behind her.

Asteria was nothing to her now.

“I’m only a little seasick,” she finally answered Jónatan. “That’s all.”

His chair screeched against the ship’s planks as he stood and held out his hand to her. “Perhaps it is time to retire to bed, then. It is after midnight.”

Athania nodded, and Jónatan scooped her up with ease, laying her down in the bed. Tucking the covers to her chin, he gave her one of his disarming smiles. “I will return shortly.”

She reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “Please stay.” It was easier to remain in the fog when she was not alone. Sanity was difficult to grasp in the haze, but it was the only way. She couldn’t awaken.

Jónatan’s head tilted to the side, concern clouding his eyes. It was easiest when he bedded her. So she let her doe eyes turn sultry, one side of her mouth curving upward until it was hunger that shone in his gaze.

The next hours were a blur of breath, skin, pleasure, and teeth. Lust and rage were willing bedfellows, but she did not let the daze slip.

Thirsty, Athania rose and donned her borrowed tunic, watching Jónatan’s chest rise and fall. When she returned to the bed with a glass of water, Jónatan stirred, reaching over to wrap his arm around her waist. He felt her tunic and grumbled. “First thing in the morning, we will procure all of the finest clothing for you, my wolf.”

Athania blinked, the haze shifting. “Morning? Where will we find clothing on the ship?”

Jónatan chuckled, the sound low. “We will reach Hawthrin by sunrise.”

Her heart beat so rapidly that her pulse began to pound in her ears. The haze slunk back into something edged in fangs.

“In fact,”—Jónatan stretched—“I need to go ensure we are prepared.”

It is time, mi amor. A crack of lightning seared through her.