The flute lay just inside the door where Gar left it last night, and Kindra slipped out of bed to grab it. She lay studying it for some time, wondering how her life would change, but she could see only the life she already had. Perhaps being married wouldn’t be all that different.

The door flap opened and she glanced at Monk. “You really have to start knocking,” she said as she covered herself.

“Doesn’t bother me.” He grinned, but it was short-lived. “Oak requests an audience with you.”

Gar turned and put his arm over her. “No.”

Kindra smiled at him. “I knew you weren’t asleep.” She put her hand over his arm and nodded at Monk. “I have reason to request an audience with him, too.”

“Well then, today is your lucky day.” Monk smirked although the humor didn’t reach his eyes, bowed, and left.

“You’re not going alone,” Gar pulled her closer. “I say that as the head of your Honor Guard.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Not as my betrothed?”

“You would never listen to your husband, so I say it as a warrior. The warrior in charge of keeping you safe.”

She ran her hand through his dark hair, marveling that he would be her husband. “Oak won’t talk freely if you’re there. I need to talk to him alone.”

“He’s your enemy; there can’t be that much to talk about.”

Kindra was silent for a moment, debating what she should tell him. She could tell him everything after her talk with Oak, but if she mentioned it now Gar would physically keep her in the tent. He would say it was too dangerous to go alone. “I’ll get my cloak back.”

“The Ronnans can make you a new cloak.”

“Gar.” She ran a hand up his arm and over his shoulder to the top of his mark. “I need to talk to him. You can’t stop me.”

He groaned and put his hand on her cheek. “I know that,” he said softly, “but I would be a fool if I didn’t try.” She closed her eyes as he continued talking. “Do you know the reason Fie Eoin doesn’t let wives become warriors? It’s not because you aren’t strong enough. It’s because the men aren’t strong enough to watch the person they love most go into battle, knowing they may never see her again.” He ran his fingers over her face as if memorizing her features. “That’s a different kind of strength.”

She opened her eyes and stared into his dark gaze. “You’re stronger than any man I know.”

He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “I hope so.”