Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Twenty-Four

The house felt smaller after the major's arrival, in a way it hadn't with Gunnar. We had to work around each other, set schedules, have different mealtimes, assign specific days to specific rooms. It was an endless game of hide and seek, and I spent the majority of my time wondering what was really going on—what was the major's real purpose here?

Somehow, I doubted he'd been sent here just for my mother to plan her schemes.

I felt restless and bored in my newfound limitations, and Zelle showed concern, constantly asking if there was something I wasn't telling her. I promised there wasn't, but then I thought about Gunnar. I thought of him a lot, especially to wonder if he'd seen the same thing I did when he'd met the major. Bjorn had worn such a thick beard, and Gunnar had spent so little time around him, at least compared to me. It's possible he'd never made a study of the savage's face like I had. It's possible he'd never noticed the contours of his features behind the facial hair.

And then there was the matter of my mother, who was haggling Bohdai relentlessly, trying to put her plans into action. I hadn't even crossed paths with the major by the time she announced that he'd agreed to marry me. It was disturbing, how much I lacked involvement in matters of my own life—how everything was being done behind closed doors and by way of whispered secrets. I kept feeling like I was part of a bigger plot, a bigger conspiracy, a pawn on a checkerboard, without knowing what role I played.

Too many things had stopped making sense. Until, one night, I finally got some answers.

It was by chance that Zelle didn't come with me to my room that night. Often, we sat up together, talking or reading. But that night she'd retired early, so I was alone when I entered my bedroom and found it occupied.

"Lightning girl," the major said in a whisper, sitting in front of the fireplace so his face was aglow, the rest of him shadows.

I was so sick of whispers, of lies and secrets, I almost wanted to scream at him.

He went on, "That's you, isn't it?"

I didn't dare move. He glanced at me for a fraction of a second, checking my expression, before looking back into the fire.

"My brother once told me of a beautiful white woman who was married to a soldier," he said. "He'd hoped she'd be a spy for us."

I was barely breathing when he glanced over at me again. So, Bjorn had an inside man working for him. A brother. And high up, too.

How many of them there could be, these savages with a cause of their own?

"But you're not married, are you?" The major smiled like he'd caught me in a lie. "Because you've been offered to me now. When they described you, I knew immediately who you were and that I'd have to see you for myself."

"No, I'm not married," I said without hesitation. "He died."

It was the first thing that came to my mind, and all I could do was hope that he would have no way of recognizing Gunnar.

His face did the smallest of shifts, from smile to sneer, like he doubted me. But then he said, "My sympathies."

I made sure to keep my face appropriately blank. "Thank you, major."

"You can call me Wolfe."

"Okay. Wolfe."

He gestured to the chair for me to sit across from him, but I shook my head and remained standing.

He sighed and looked into the fire again. "I've agreed to the marriage, but I have some conditions."

He made it sound like a business transaction. Which it was.