She was back with Brynjolf in the cistern while everyone slept. Every time she looked at Rune's empty bed she was filled with a familiar sensation of creeping guilt and loss. It had taken time for the rest of the Guild to forgive her and slowly let her back into the fold, but that didn't mean that she stopped carrying the burden of her own failure. Rune had died for her. No amount of coin or work would wipe that from her slate.
"Lass," Brynjolf murmured to her, sitting on the edge of her cot. She stared at him with wide, sleepless eyes. "You're thinking too hard. I can smell your hair burning. Come, lets train."
Svala nodded. Patching things up with Brynjolf had been even harder- his disappointment cut her just as deeply as Rune's death. Brynjolf had given her this new life, saved her, and how had she repaid him? By jeopardizing everything. She had taken every menial job thrown at her, shined armor for her Guild members, took shifts at the Flagon, whatever she could to show her contrition. Eventually, Bryn had came around, acting around her as he once had, but that didn't mean all was forgiven. She knew better. Obediently, she followed Brynjolf into the archery room. Once again, he let the door lock behind her. Her skin prickled with the memory of what he had said to her the last time she had been inside that room.
For a while they fired arrows at the targets, side by side, remaining silent. "All I want is to make you proud," she whispered to him, surprising even herself by speaking the thought aloud. "I'm so sorry, Brynjolf. I really fucked up."
"We were all young once," Brynjolf said easily as his arrow pierced the center of the target effortlessly. "Ours is a hard existence. We all know this. Rune did too."
"I killed him," she felt the tears on her face before she registered she was crying. "I did. And every time I close my eyes I see him staring back at me."
Brynjolf's fingertips felt along her jawline and tipped her face up to look at his. "You need to let him go, lass. Ghosts serve no other purpose than to haunt. And you, lass, you're haunted enough." His eyes were so blue and the ginger red of his hair glowed warmly in the dim firelight. She could feel his breath ghosting over her lips and surged with a hunger she had never felt before she surged forward and kissed him.
The older thief made a sound of surprise as his lips slowly responded in kind. Svala could hardly believe her luck- for all the nights she had pined for this man, craved his touch, imagined him inside her (even though she had never experienced an act so intimate) she had always assumed it was in vain, that Brynjolf would never see her as anything more than his little protege. Yet his lips were chapped and rough against her own, his hand tangling in her hair as she gasped and moaned against him, pressing herself closer to him. For a moment, he seemed to remember who exactly he was kissing, before groaning deep in his throat and pushing her against the closest wall.
"Easy lass," he chuckled in ear as she fiddled with the straps and clasps of his armor in her impatience. She was familiar enough with them when taking off her own armor, but removing someone else's was another matter entirely. "Here, let me lend a hand." With a few deft movements her hands felt the warmth of his skin as his leather armor fell to the ground. She stared at him in pure adoration, unsure of how to proceed, when Brynjolf captured her lips again, his tongue pressing inside her mouth insistently, hungrily. She let him dictate the pace, let him show her, teach her what came next. He undressed her slowly, thumbing the amulet of Mara she had bought for him, that was currently nestled between her breasts. Instead of commenting on it, his mouth moved down the slope of her breasts, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth while he sucked gently. Electric shocks reverberated through her body and she could feel herself grinding her wetness instinctually against his bare thigh. A nimble finger slipped inside her and the intrusion was odd and slightly uncomfortable. "Relax," his brogue had gone rough with lust and she gasped as the digit moved inside her, brushing against something that made her cry out and see stars. Soon one fingers became two and she was all but riding his hand in her eagerness, the hard edge of his cock pressing against her hip. "Relax," he said again before lining his cock up against her entrance and pushing slowly inside. All of Svala's breath left her as she felt him fill her and her eyes watered with the pain and the burn of the stretch. His forehead pressed against hers and she kissed him once more as his hips slowly began to move, dragging his length in and out of her torturously slowly. Once he felt her own hips moving earnestly back against him, his arm circled her waist and pressed her higher up the wall, picking up the speed and ferocity in which he fucked her.
She could feel Brynjolf everywhere, as though he had taken root inside her blood and was planning on staying. She felt as though she were going to split apart and that everything was ending but beginning at the same time and it was too much it was too much- Svala screamed as her body shook and spasmed around him and he gasped and moaned so lovely and passionately in her ear as he felt his seed paint her thighs. Her maiden blood coated his cock. Brynjolf's eyes locked onto the red smear on his own flesh and she placed a hand on his freckled shoulder. "I bought it for you," she said softly. "The amulet. I bought it for you."
"Lass," he responded with a strained laugh. "I'm flattered, but I'm not the marrying type."
The dream changed.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Ralof said with a small smile. She could feel a gag around her mouth and rope binding her wrists and ankles. Had she been trying to cross the border? Everything was fuzzy. Last she remembered was Trearil's melted face watching her board a carriage in irons.
She scanned the other inhabitants of her current transport as Ralof and the horse thief started to bicker. Ulfric's hulking form studied her intensely, his stormy eyes fixed upon her. He looked so strong, so capable. It was hard for her to imagine how he had gotten himself captured, or why his mouth was covered like hers. Maybe he spat at them, like she she had. "Watch your tongue," Ralof snapped sharply at the thief sitting next to them. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." His name carried little weight to her then- he was just another prisoner, same as her.
She had fully expected to die that day. She knew that she was being brought to the block as soon as the carriage drove past the gates of Helgen. The where of it didn't really matter- she always had known Trearil would dispose of her when he was finished with her. A sleepy town in Skyrim seemed as good a place as any for him to fulfill his promise. "Where are you from?" Ralof was asking her as they were led into the center of town. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." She pointed to the gag in her mouth with an eye roll and the man flushed with a laugh. Svala liked him instantly- shame they were about to die. "Oh. Sorry. I'm from Riverwood myself."
The horse thief was calling upon all the divines he knew as they walked closer and closer to the block. General Tullius and some Thalmor agents were waiting with the headsman and the only real emotion she could feel was relief- no more running, no more hiding. Finally it would be over. Ralof was still prattling on next to her, "I used to be sweet on someone from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." She wanted to agree, but her eyes kept flickering to Ulfric walking proudly in front of them. While Ralof's fear was easy enough to sense (she suspected that was why he kept blabbering to her about mead and Helgen) and the horse thief looked about to die from fright alone, she couldn't suspect a trace of fear in Skyrim's "true High King". Even though he was largely a stranger to her- she had been in Cyrodiil for three years- she could respect a man ready to face death bravely.
"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."
"Empire loves their damn lists," Ralof snickered to her and she smiled behind the fabric binding her mouth. As Ulfric's name was called, Ralof shouted, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" And that stormy blue gaze settled upon her face once more. A shiver went through her. It was as though he could see through her.
"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead."
Ralof went to step forward and she tried to grasp his hand, squeezing it as tightly as she was able for a moment. He smiled at her, just as the horse thief cried, "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" And took off running. The Imperial captain called for him to halt but Lokir only retorted with, "You're not going to kill me!" Before the archers were signaled and did just that.
"Wait," the Imperial with the list looked at her with confusion. "You there. Step forward. Who are you?" Carefully, he removed the binding from her mouth as she stood in front of him. Fresh air bombarded her sweaty skin, and she was instantly reminded that she hadn't been allowed to bathe since she had been imprisoned in Skyrim and how frightful she must look standing in front of the High King of Skyrim. Her hair was lank and unwashed and she could only imagine the dirt on her.
"Svala," she answered tightly. The soldier raised an eyebrow at her, awaiting a surname. "Just Svala." She had none to give. Her family was dead.
The Imperial soldier sighed, checking his list once more. "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman." He said to her regretfully. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."
The Captain shrugged, barely sparing her a passing glance. "Forget the list. She goes to the block."
The Nord with the list sighed again. "By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, prisoner." She obeyed, joining Ralof and Ulfric in line for the headman's axe, along with another soldier wearing the same blue armor as Ralof.
Tullius was circling around Ulfric like a hawk toying with a fresh kill. She wanted to hit him. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." She could see Ulfric's chiseled jaw threatening to work around the gag on his mouth and her eyes widened at the general's words. He had killed the king? With only his voice? How? So Ulfric wasn't king? What the hell had she missed? "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."
There was a far off sound then, like a low rumble of thunder mixed with the call of a wolf. Everyone stilled, looking skywards.
"What was that?" The list Nord (Hadvar? She thought she heard Ralof murmuring that when he saw him) asked, but no one paid much attention to him. Instead, Tullius called for the priestess of Arkay to administer the last rites. Her flowery words fell deaf on Svala's ears- she was still scanning the skyline. Something wasn't right.
"For the love of Talos," groaned the soldier next to Ralof. "Shut up and let's get this over with." He strode forward confidently as the priestess stopped her prayers and moved out of the way. He kneeled in front of the headsman, placing his head on the block. "C'mon, I haven't got all morning." Ralof's face had gone sheet white, she noticed, and his breathing had stopped. She brushed her fingers against his hand once more. "My ancestors are smiling at me, imperials. Can you say the same?" The executioner's axe swung high and true, lobbing off the man's head with a dull thunk. The townspeople burst into shouts against the imperials and the Stormcloaks. Ah. So the king killer had his own army, did he? This just got more and more interesting. The rebel's body was kicked away from the block, his head thrown into a straw basket.
"Next, the Nord in rags!" The Captain called, motioning to her, and she stepped towards to the block. The smell of iron blood flooded her nose and she tried to scan the Thalmor agents closest to her, to see if she recognized one in particular. They just looked like all Altmer did- beautiful and pompous and tan- no one that she knew. She could feel Ulfric's intense gaze burning holes into her back as she knelt in front of the bloody stump and stared up at the hooded executioner without blinking. She would show no fear. She was no coward. If Ulfric, for all he had done, could face his death with confidence and bravery so could she. Defiantly, she bowed her head, ready to place her neck upon the other man's blood before the world exploded around her.
She felt the swing of the axe upon her cheek and saw the sharp steel edge embed itself in the dirt as the headsman stumbled to the side. Fire was raining from the sky in the form of a gigantic, black, scaly beast. A dragon. Its wingspan alone could block out the sun. "Fus Ro Dah!" It roared and she went flying backwards as though she had been thrown by a giant. She landed on her side with a thud, the breath knocked from her lungs, as she wheezed and coughed through the smoke and ash. "Hi. Nii hi," the dragon spoke to her in its rumbling voice, its golden beady eyes fixated upon her. "Zu'u fen krii hi."
Svala didn't have to speak dragon tongue to be able to understand its meaning, and the concept alone terrified her as much as the words it spoke to her- it was promising to kill her. She was about to let it have its way before Ralof was pulling her to her feet and leading her through the burning village as they made their escape.
"Zu'u fen krii hi, dovahkiin."
She awoke with a start, immediately going to reach underneath her pillow for a weapon. It didn't matter where she slept- since Cyrodiil (since Trearil) she always kept a spare dagger beneath her pillow. When she felt nothing but mattress she frowned, trying to rise from her bed and falling back with a grunt of pain. Her body felt like lead.
"Oh good," Lydia's dry voice came from the corner of the room. Her room. Her housecarl was seated at the small table, casually eating a loaf of bread. She was in Breezehome? Why was she in Whiterun? "You're alive."
With a great matter of cursing, Svala was able to prop herself up on her elbows. "That was in question?" Huh. Why was she having such a hard time remembering what the hell had happened the night before? Damn hangover must've been worse than she thought... "Lydia, what happened last night?"
"Well, last night you starting moaning like you were being fucked by Sanguine himself," Lydia said wryly with an impish grin. "I'll have to meet this Brynjolf sometime. But Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak wasn't too exactly too happy about it, so he rented a room at the Bannered Mare."
She held up a hand before promptly vomiting on the side of the bed. Her housecarl just sighed from her seat. "Ulfric is here?! Is he mad?!" Her stomach roiled and she retched again.
"I'm not cleaning that," Lydia told her stonily. "And you've been here for a nearly a week, Svala. You showed up on Morndas and collapsed in front of Warmaiden's before spending the next few days in a catatonic state. You've been off and on daily, and you have rockjoint and ataxia. Danica was treating you and your little Stormcloak friend until Turdas when his lordship decided to send his court mage who took over both your care and my bed. I also had to take your dagger because when I came to check on you, you nearly put it through my eye. Last night, Fredas, you finally started coming out of your fever when the moaning started, and Ulfric had arrived midday and was in the kitchen with me so we were treated to quite a performance. And, well, it's dusk on Loredas and now you're fully awake and vomiting on my floor."
Oh. Oh. It all came crashing back to her with the force of a tidal wave. Brynjolf. Vilemyr Inn. Ralof. Galmar. High Hrothgar. Ulfric. Whiterun. Danica. The pieces all fit themselves together in her mind with such force she found herself vomiting once more. Lydia made an indignant noise before continuing to chew. "I have to go to Ivarstead," she said, trying to rise once more but her muscles buckled beneath her. "Then to the Greybeards. It's important."
"Don't be ridiculous," Lydia snapped. "You haven't eaten in days." Svala noticed the dark circles under her friend's eyes for the first time, and the meager bed roll on the floor next to her own massive bed. Thankfully she had chosen to vomit on the opposite side.
"Well then I'm going to the temple." She tried to rise again, only to collapse once more. However, Svala noticed the shadow that passed over Lydia's face when she mentioned it. No. No. "Lydia..."
"I'm sorry," Her housecarl said quietly, hanging her head. "I don't know if that's Brynjolf, but I do know you well enough to know you'd only drag someone here and cash in a favor if that someone was important to you. But he...there was too much damage. He was already dead when you brought him in."
The wave of grief and guilt that overtook her was so powerful she needed to scream but couldn't find the energy to do so. Instead, she laid back down and allowed herself to shake with silent sobs until she fell asleep.
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Ulfric yawned and slowly rose from the meager bed he had purchased for the night. One downside to being in his own city disguised was that he was immune to the perks that came with being...well, him. Part of him was tempted to demand the housecarl's bed for himself (Wuunferth be damned) but he settled on spending the night in The Bannered Mare upon hearing Svala's moans. At least it was clear she wasn't dying anymore.
He had been sitting in uncomfortable silence with the brunette Housecarl when it started. Softly, at first from the small upstairs in the meager home, he heard her cooing. Immediately his trousers shrank- he knew that sound. Once, he had been the cause of that sound. Lydia cleared her throat loudly, in what he suspected was a move to muffle the noise. However, once again there was the sweet sound of her moaning, growing louder by the second accompanied by a soft call of a name- "Bryn".
"Bryn?" Ulfric asked at once, and the woman across from him looked as surprised as he felt. It was like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. Who in Talos' name was Bryn?! Was it some sort of pet name for Ralof? He could feel his anger growing as the dragonborn's moaning continued to escalate in pitch and frequency. Lydia had even started to blush while she demurely ate her soup (some cabbage and leek slop that lacked salt). He had rose from the table then and stammered some excuse to her about how he was going to look elsewhere to spend the night, and that he would be back the next day to see Svala.
Yet when Ulfric fully adjusted to his surroundings within the inn, he realized that it was, once again, dark out. Dread crashed into him- he had slept the whole day?! As he dressed, his joints creaked in protest and his muscles were sore and strained- he was old. Old and soft. His aging body wasn't used to spending hours on horseback anymore. The thought filled him with disgust and shame. Immediately, the memory of Svala's passionate sounds came to his mind and he flushed angrily. He needed to know who this Bryn was.
He quickly made his way to Breezehome where Lydia was, once again, in the kitchen, seemingly waiting for him. "Your letter," he began immediately upon entering. "You said that she was calling for me?" The brunette gave him a curt nod. "Did it...did it sound anything like that?"
Lydia smiled slightly, stirring whatever soup she was cooking. "A little. Jealous, Jarl Ulfric?"
He blushed, grinding his teeth in annoyance. Yes. "Of course not. Is she fully awake today?"
"Aye," her Housecarl nodded. "But it's not good. I had to tell her that her friend...what's his name, Ragnar? Anyway, he's dead. She's taking it hard."
Oh. Immediately Ulfric felt both relieved, and then guilty and selfish. Even if it meant Ralof was out of the picture, it didn't bring him any joy to hear she was suffering. Besides, Ralof had been a good man and a loyal soldier. It was a true loss. "You're relieved for the night," he heard himself telling Lydia. "Take my room at the Bannered Mare and I will watch over Svala."
The brunette's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Jarl Ulfric...it's a kind offer but you shouldn't be serving anyone. She is my thane and I am more than happy to care for her." Ulfric wanted to laugh at that- he didn't doubt the woman's loyalty to Svala, but it was clear to anyone how exhausted Lydia was. She did a decent job of hiding it, but he could also see how worried she had been for her friend. "Lydia, I insist. Svala fights in my name. I number her among my own kin. Let me do her this honor."
After she finally relented (on the condition he was able to feed and bathe Svala and "nothing else"), Ulfric found himself balancing a large metal bathing tub, half filled with steaming water, up the stairs to Svala's room. He almost dropped the bath when he saw her- she looked awful. Curled up on her side in the center of her bed, he could see how waxy her skin looked and how thin she was. He was reminded instantly of seeing her in Helgen, striding towards the block. "Bone-Breaker?"
"Fuck off, Ulfric." She mumbled into her pillow, her voice hollow and tight. She wouldn't even look at him. However, it filled him with a strange sense of pride that even though he was disguised and hadn't presented himself she still knew him.
"I've brought you a bath," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "And Lydia made you some vegetable soup." Svala sighed and turned her back to him. "I've given Lydia the night off, as well. She will be staying in The Bannered Mare, on my coin."
"She's not yours to command," she finally shifted to look at him, her green eyes dull and flat. "Why are you here, Ulfric? Because I didn't report to you again?" She seemed so...empty.
"No," he said. "I...I received word you were unwell. I came as soon as I could." She studied him closely for a moment before motioning him over to her. "I need help undressing," she said in quiet voice, sitting on the edge of her bed. When she went to stand, she groaned and her knees buckled. Ulfric was by her side in a moment, his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Wordlessly, he pulled the sweaty shift from her body, trying not to gawk at the curves of her naked body. Even sickly, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He led her to the tub and helped her into the warm water, the sound of her pleasured sigh going straight to his cock. It had been too long since he had been in her presence, he reasoned with himself, busying himself with the task of finding sweet oils and herbs for her. He couldn't focus on her nudity for too long- it would be his undoing. "There's cedar oil," she murmured from the bath, her head lolling back and her eyes closed. "Somewhere in the dresser. And lavender soap." Sure enough, he found both items and poured a generous amount of the oil into the steaming water, carefully placing the soap near her. The moisture had turned her red hair a shade darker, but there were flecks of garnet still visible within it that sparkled in the dim light. "Mmm, if this war doesn't pan out, you wouldn't make a bad handmaiden."
Ulfric chuckled slightly, pulling up a chair next to her. His thighs were still stiff, like a sour old man. "Do you need help bathing, my lady?" One green eye cracked open to stare at him, her eyebrow raising. "I mean nothing improper. I'm merely offering my assistance."
"I'm fine," she snapped, though after a few moments of watching her wince and flounder around in the water as she struggled to clean herself, he finally took pity on her and removed the soap from her grasp. "Fine," Svala relented hesitantly. "But don't try anything or I'll Shout you out the window."
His large hands began to rub her shoulders, feeling the soft damp skin glide from his touch. Her skin was lightly freckled, and the clusters grew darker at the tops of her arms giving an appearance of almost permanent dirt. By the Nine, he wanted her. "You forget, I too know the way of the voice, dovahkiin," he said in her ear. He could feel her shiver and repressed a groan. He would need to find a whore later- his hand would never satisfy now. He ran the soap down the curve of her spine before submerging his hand beneath the water and washing the gentle swell of her rump.
"Do you know dragonrend?" She asked suddenly, squirming in her attempt to face him. Ulfric's eyes immediately flickered down to her breasts before settling back on her face. She noticed him noticing her with a half smile. "I- uh...yeah, I need to learn it."
"Dragonrend?" He shook his head. In truth, Ulfric only knew two complete shouts- unrelenting force and disarm. Not to mention, to preform both of those shouts correctly took months of intense vocal training and practice, and using one nearly robbed him of all his stamina. Of course Svala, being Dragonborn, would not have the same difficulty using the thu'um and he (oddly) didn't want her to think less of him. "I'm afraid I don't. The Masters might know."
"Why did you kill Torygg?" Svala asked curiously, changing the subject rapidly. "Why use the thu'um for that at all? Master Argenir wouldn't approve."
Ulfric laughed once. "Aye. He wouldn't." He couldn't possibly tell her that he had used the voice to paint himself as the Dragonborn in order to drum up support for his cause- what truer High King would Skyrim have if not the Dragonborn? Of course, this was before Helgen and before her. Still, the idea of parading around in her skin made him uncomfortable and guilty. "To send a message," was his clipped answer.
"I hear there are couriers for that," she quipped with a cheeky little smile. Good. He was glad she was starting to act like herself once more. His hands slid around to her front, running the soap bar up her navel to her chest, down the undersides of her breasts. His fingers gripped the soap in a vice so that he wouldn't brush her bare skin accidentally. "Do you really only want a Skyrim filled with Nords?"
What had gotten into her? He was bathing her, Ralof was dead, and all she wanted to talk about was politics? "I want a Skyrim ruled by someone worthy of her," Ulfric answered carefully. "I want the Aldimeri Dominion out of our affairs, and the Empire must be removed first for that to happen. Anyone who fights for the same is a true Nord." It was a good answer, and a careful one. Maybe if she stayed by his side long enough, he'd start to believe it himself.
"I remember you in Helgen, you know," she said softly, fully facing him now and removing the hood from his head. A wet hand caressed the side of his face gently. "You looked so sure, so confident, even though you knew you were going to die. So brave." Her fingertips brushed over his lips and he felt his mouth opening on instinct. She was driving him mad, his skin was burning for her touch... "But I joined your war for Ralof, not for you."
Ulfric felt as though she had slapped him. Of course, he had always suspected she carried her own reasons for giving him her allegiance, but to hear her speak so candidly of her dead lover made him want to both slap her and fuck her until she forgot who Ralof was. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said instead, stiffly. "Captain Ralof was-"
"How do you do it?" Tears made her eyes brighter than they normally were. "How do you convince yourself that it's worth it? To lose all those people...in your name?" Her voice had dropped a timbre lower, her throat thick with emotion. He felt rooted, completely confused and perplexed, her hand still resting on his cheek. He had never seen her so...broken. "I've only had two people die for me and their voices will never quiet."
"Svala," his voice was little more than a rumble as his own large hand came to cup her cheek. Perhaps this Bryn was dead too. That would be rather convenient for him, but seeing her so heartbroken was doing odd things to him. "We are at war. Their deaths were honorable, and they feast in Sovngarde with their ancestors and the gods themselves. It is the best fate any of us could wish to have." Ulfric wouldn't tell her that since he had traveled to the city she had helped him take, he wasn't able to sleep without hearing sounds of battle and the screams of the dead.
His words did nothing and she began to cry in earnest, staying silent as her body shook with sobs. He placed his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her to him so that their foreheads touched. "Look at me," he ordered her softly and her eyes flew open, deep, bottomless green, the color of the hills of the Reach and as sharp as a glass dagger. His mouth grew dry just looking at her, and it took all of his immense self restraint not to press his mouth against hers. "Your loss has been great. You are ill and tired. You need food and sleep. Everything else can be dealt with come morning."
"Stay with me?" She asked him quietly and quietly, doubt flickering in her gaze. "Just to sleep," she added quickly with an edge. Ulfric nodded before stealing a light kiss on her temple (nothing more than a brush, really) and helping her stand from the bath. She stood before him, naked and dripping wet, and he would have sworn she was Dibella in the flesh. Still, he would keep things chaste and take things slow- she was ill after all, and still grieving. He would make her his in due time. For now, he simply helped her dress in a fresh robe before lying with her in the modest bed.
"It was never going to be a one time affair," he murmured once her breathing had gone soft and slow, her ankles entwined around his own, her head pressed underneath his jawline so he could breathe in the clean scent of her hair.