A Vow So Bold and Deadly (The Cursebreaker Series Book 3)

I’m drafting a letter to my sister, my quill scratching rapidly against the parchment. For some reason, I’m exhausted all day, but by the time darkness falls, I feel as though I could lead an army. Harper’s lady-in-waiting, Freya, has been a source of information for all things motherhood, and thanks to the ginger tea she brings me every morning, I’ve stopped emptying the contents of my stomach onto the boots of anyone who has the misfortune to speak to me at the wrong time.

Nolla Verin has written to me about how the faction against magic has grown in Syhl Shallow, about the minor attacks on the palace that have so far been thwarted. I am telling her about our plans here, how I would like to establish trade routes and promises of good relations between our countries before we return.

I have not yet told my sister about the baby. I don’t want to give her hope when things feel so uncertain. Noah tells me that it’s early, that many things can happen, that miscarriage is not uncommon. Freya saw my trembling lips as he was explaining this to me, and she leaned in and said, “You’ve been very sick. That’s a good sign.”

I try to remind myself of that when my stomach feels as though I’ve been at sea during a storm.

But there’s another reason I haven’t told Nolla Verin about the baby, a reason I was relieved when Grey agreed to stay in Emberfall for the winter: this child will bear magic just like its father. It’s one thing to make a target of Grey, a man who can defend himself with weapons and magic.

I will not make a target of my child.

The door creaks at my back, and I know it is Grey. “You were with Rhen very late,” I say without looking up from my paper.

“I missed playing cards.”

I smile, then dip my pen in the inkpot. “Well, you are—”

His hands slide down my shoulders, and he leans in to kiss my neck from behind, and I gasp, then giggle. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Perhaps a bit.” His voice is husky.

“It smells like more than a bit.”

“It’s possible we shattered a bottle.”

I turn within the circle of his arms. “What?” I say, but he leans in to kiss me. For a moment it is glorious, because his hands are gentle and his mouth is sure, and he tastes like cinnamon and sugar and something sharper.

But then my stomach has other ideas, and I jerk back and slap a hand over my mouth.

Grey startles, then smiles, and there is something simultaneously soft yet protective all in that look. “Forgive me,” he says.

“It’ll pass,” I say, my voice muffled behind my hand.

“Shall I call for some of your tea?”

I shake my head and swallow, then close my eyes.

I sense more than feel Grey drop to a knee beside me, but then his hand rests over my belly, which has not yet begun to swell and curve with motherhood. He leans in to speak right to my abdomen. “You should be kind to your mother.”

I laugh softly—but the nausea suddenly passes. I snap open my eyes. “It worked.”

A light sparks in his eyes. “He already knows I will not stand for disobedience.”

“Perhaps she simply decided it was time to rest.”

He takes my hand. “Ah, yes. And she would be quite right. It is time to rest.”

I leave my letter and quill on the desk and follow him to the bed. “Nolla Verin says there have been more attacks. That the faction against magic grows stronger, not weaker.”

Grey curls around me, his breath in my hair, his hand resting against my abdomen. “Have no fear, my love. No one will touch you.” He pauses, and his voice gains an edge. “And rest assured that no one will dare touch our child.”