Songbird's Cage

Chapter 29

Rory woke slowly, the image of Lark clinging to him like a dream. For a long time, he didn't remember where he was – if he was in his home in Caershire, his bed in Ruid, or if he had finally died and was in whatever was beyond. He was half tangled in sheets, half caught up in warm skin.

He opened his eyes to the curving lines of a thin, bare back. Lark let out a small sigh as she slept.

The events of the night before flooded back into Rory's mind and he sank back, staring up at the ceiling.

He had slept with the Crown Prince's wife.

He put his hands over his face, guilt like a knot in his stomach, which was only worsened by how satisfied he felt, by how right it had felt to lie with her, to feel her against him.

Rory sat up, pulling his legs over the side of the mattress, his head in his hands. He could still smell her on his skin. Casting his gaze around the dim room, he swallowed back his fickle regret – he was full of self-reproach, but he would repeat his actions in a heartbeat. Their clothes were strew about the room, the sheets in disarray. Lark slept soundly, partially covered by a blanket, her hair loose.

He pressed a fist against his forehead, wanting to kick himself. He hadn't been with a woman in a long time, and she had been like a fantasy, a temptation and then a pleasure like no other.

If Aspen ever found out, if anyone in the court ever knew...

Rory rose, his head pounding, whether from the sickening reality of the treason he had committed or from Bastion's alcohol, he didn't know. He shivered in the dull light of the cold room, wanting nothing more than to remain in the embrace of the warm sheets and Lark's body, but he would be expected on the field soon. As he bent, collecting his discarded clothing, he realized that his act of sedition didn't matter – neither of them would ever be returning to Esaria, not if the Weald had their way.

Still, guilt weighed him down.

Buckling his belt, he lifted his gaze to the window, which was letting in a dim trickle of grey light. Everything beyond was of the same muted pallor, the glass heavily fogged. Going to the frosted panes, he wiped a clear swath into the window, marveling at what he saw beyond. Overnight, a blanket of snow had fallen over Selaith.

He rested his forehead against the icy glass, shutting his eyes.

"Arisaehn," he murmured, his breath clouding the class once again.

"Rory?" A small voice spoke from across the room, muffled and gentle with the languor of morning. He turned. Lark sat in the embrace of the mattress, the sheets gathered against her bare body.

"It's cold," she mumbled. Rory smiled, pushing down his regret until he felt it no more. Even in the dishevelment of waking she was beautiful.

"I know," he said softly. He strode over, half kneeling on the mattress beside her as he kissed her gently. Her movements were slow and tender, and when she pulled away, she stilled, staring at him.

"I didn't feel you when I woke," she whispered. "I thought... I didn't know..."

Her brow furrowed and she looked away.

"I thought I did something wrong," she said. "That you... didn't like it."

Her words seemed to rob him of breath. He laughed, incredulous.

"Of course I did," he said, kissing her again and again, her forehead, her mouth, her neck, the curve of her chest. He pulled her into his arms as she laughed, and he carried her, sheets and all, to the window.

"Look," he said, clearing the foggy glass once more. She held his shoulders, unmoving as she stared out at the pale, glittering forest.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.