AN: Short, but it was on my mind and I wanted to post it before I tried to change it.
His only answer was a small grunt from her. The inner turmoil that she silently fought was ripping her apart. Never would she voice it though. Duty called her to obey him but her self-respect called for her to lash out at him. She chose the first. He had just apologized so she needed to act. She squared her shoulders and rose her chin like she had seen Azada do some times when made decisions in the stead of the king when he had been absent during the war. As she mimicked his mother it brought a strange look to his eye. It wasn't that Shraga wasn't a strong woman who couldn't hold herself well because he had observed her doing so since he met her. There was just something in the way she drew herself up that brought a look over his face that she hadn't seen before. Maybe he was impressed? Scared?
"There is no need to apologize," she lied. There was every reason for him to apologize. There was just no longer a reason to keep beating a dead horse over the subject. Talking about it wouldn't change the cold fact that he had married another, and that she now had a sister she didn't want. She regarded him for a moment, watching him become uncomfortable under her gaze. He looked just as uncomfortable as she felt. Yes, she would have to say that he looked scared.
"There is every reason-" he started but she cut him off by raising her hand. She didn't want to hear the excuses of how his pity had blinded him. She didn't even really want to hear the truth about how he had desired the other woman so much he married her. What would have been worse though? Marrying her? Or bringing her home as his concubine? Shraga didn't have an answer and she was sure she would never come to find out either.
She would survive. This would make her stronger. Everything in this life made her stronger. Marrying him, leaving her family, being alone this entire time… All these things had made her stronger. She dropped her hand back down to her side. The silken material of her dress rubbed against the outside of her fingers. It was the only thing that told her that her hands were tightly fisted at her sides.
"You should rest," she demanded, immediately signaling that they would not speak any more about this. At the moment she wanted to be very far away from him so she could think. Millions of thoughts spun around in her head. Each thought worse than the last. I would have been happier back home with my people, she thought for the thousandth time within the few seconds after she told him to rest. She gave a slight bow of her head to him then made to leave. He stopped her quickly in her efforts to make an escape.
His long calloused fingers wrapped securely around her wrist. She spun around on her heal, twisting in a way that loosened his grip on her. Her free hand was upon him in an instant and she had his wrist bending his arm in an awkward angle. His grip fell from her wrist all together because if she applied any more pressure to his wrist at this angle, the bone would snap. Shraga pushed away from him as quickly as it happened and she covered her mouth with her hands.
"I am so sorry!" she gasped between her hands. Why had she done that? Of course she was mad but she never meant any harm to him. She watched as he rubbed his wrist. Already it was swelling slightly. She watched as he let go of a shuttering breath. There would be no denying that she had either sprained his wrist or worse pulled ligaments.
"Who taught you that?" he asked. She had already proven herself with a sword, but she hadn't ever shown him she was adequate in hand to hand combat. Shraga felt the cold realization hit her hard. There was a lot her husband did not know about her. Yet to tell him the truth now would hurt him. Zolm had taught her that move. He had been her sparring partner for much of her training until he had scarred her.
"My father," she lied. If she thought about it, she was becoming a very skilled liar. He nodded. For a moment she waited for him to become angery with her. To her surprise he only smiled. It was small at first, but then his lips broke into something that signaled that he was truly happy.
When he glanced up at her she knew he was proud of her, all traces of him being scared gone. He was not mad. Of course his arm would be sore for a few days and at the moment the swelling was at its peak causing his wrist to have limited motion. None of that mattered, he was delighted with her because it was writ upon his handsome face. She noted that he needed to shave. His beard was the longest she had ever seen it at and it wasn't well cared for.
"You are just as I remember you," he said.
"You aren't as I remember you," she retorted.
There was a moment in which he closed his eyes and guilt passed over his face. She had to remind herself that he had said he was sorry. The thing was he actually seemed sincere when he had said it too. Worst of all she believed that he was truly remorseful for what he had done to her. None of this mattered to her. There was still this ever growing hole in her chest. She was beginning to feel so empty. Could she forgive him?
His hands were on her again. When had he moved so close? Why did she allow him to touch her so intimately? Shraga began to feel the panic rise up in her. She was about to strike out again, fully intending to shove him away. She stopped though when the back of his fingers trailed against her cheek. His breath danced across her lips as he tucked some of her hair behind her ear. He then hooked his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him. His forehead met hers and she closed her eyes.
His skin was warm and his breath smelled of sweet wine. She could smell all of him thought. Sweat, wine, sand, and horse. His fingers at her neck tangled into her wild curls and his free hand touched her waist. No! Her mind screamed at her. Do not let him touch you, she told herself. Her heart though kept her rooted and still to his advances. Deep down she knew she wanted him to touch her, comfort her. She needed the very man that hurt her, to heal her.
The hand that was on her waist moved to her back and pulled her closer to him. She molded against him. Their foreheads were still touching, but now she could feel all of him pressed against her. He tugged her hair a bit so that he could pull her head back enough so that they could look at each other. She opened her eyes and met his deep gaze.
"I am sorry," he whispered. Her breath hitched as she felt his other hand on her back burning through the thin silk clench against the fabric a bit. "I am so sorry," he repeated.
"I know," she finally replied to shut him up. His words did nothing for her, it did not fill the emptiness she felt.
What did start to pour hope into her was the feeling of him against her. One of her hands that rested on his chest from when she had made to push him away could feel the rapid beat of his pulse. He was nervous. Good, she thought. He ought to be nervous. He was sorry, and he was nervous. These two things mixed with him being pressed so close made the anger she had started to fade. Suddenly before she could stop herself she made another demand of him.
"Kiss me Garsiv."
There was a second where he looked stunned by her demand but he complied nonetheless. His head eased back into her space. There was a moment of pause and she felt her heart quiver in anticipation. His breath was against her lips again. There was a tingling in her stomach before his lips came to rest against hers. She closed her eyes and found herself pressing her lips against his. He felt like fire that would consume her if she allowed it.
So for an instant, she allowed herself to be consumed. The world melted in the background and there was only the two of them. There was no obligations, no hurt, and most of all suddenly there was no Iryanna. His hand wound further into her hair, and boldly she let her hand raise up to his neck where she touched his Adam's apple. The tingling in her stomach started to spread outwards throughout her when he moved his mouth against hers more fervently.
There were no words needed for her to understand how much he had missed her. The way his mouth moved against hers in order to claim her told her everything she needed to know. She could feel the blood begin to rush to her lips, beginning the bruise he would leave on them. He drew her bottom lip between his own and sucked not too gently.
Almost a year ago she had felt this way with Zolm. She had been pressed against a wall then and she hadn't wanted to feel that way for him. Now, desire pressed throughout her for her husband like it had never done before. His tongue was insisting she open her mouth to him as he lined the seam of her flushed lips. This felt right. There was nothing wrong for the way she felt now with Garsiv.
Except when she opened her mouth to him and he backed her into the nearest wall when his tongue plunged into the darkness of her she lost her control on the situation. Being pressed against the wall made her think of Zolm and the desire she felt for her husband reminded her of how she felt for Zolm. The flash of the memory sickened her. It was not that she was sickened by how she felt for Garsiv, but the memory of Zolm was more scarring to her than the scar he had left on her eye all those years ago.
The hand that was on his throat tightened and pushed at him all at once.