It began now.

“Come,” he said again. “I’ve already acquainted myself with everything you’re trying to hide. I’ve spent the last several days nursing you back from the brink of death, tending every need of your body. There is no part of you I have not seen.”

“That is different,” she snapped. “I wasn’t aware of what you were doing.”

“And what of our wedding night? You were aware then. I drank the same arras you did, but I still remember everything. I remembered learning the taste of your skin on my tongue, the weight of your br**sts in my hands, the feel of your sex gripping mine. I know you remember it, too. There is no place between us for false modesty.”

She still didn’t move. “I am not bathing with you here, and that is final.”

“You will,” he corrected. “If I have to strip those pelts from you and drop you kicking and screaming into the tub, you will.”

Her eyes narrowed, beginning to swirl with silver. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

“Oh, min ros, I would.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Wrestling a beautiful, naked woman out of her furs and into her bath? What Winterman worth his stones would pass up a chance like that?”

“I’ll fry you before you lay a finger on me.”

It was all he could do not to laugh at her outraged expression. She was so fierce for such a tiny woman. Rebellious, headstrong, and so sure of her own power. She probably thought she could take on Frost Giants single-handedly. She definitely thought she could best him.

She couldn’t. Her power, no matter how impressive, was no match for the Ice Heart. Trouble was, he didn’t want to force her. Her father had already brutalized her enough for two lifetimes. Besides, he wanted her bathed, yes, but afterwards he wanted a warm, sweet-smelling, willing woman in his arms, not an angry firebrand determined to shoot a lightning bolt up his tender bits.

“I hadn’t thought you such a faithless coward. You are a princess of the Summer Throne, wedded Queen of the Craig, and my wife. You swore an oath, before a priest and your father’s court, to accept my counsel and my care. You swore to offer me all the fruits of your life. And now, you would deny me that which you swore to offer? Do you have so little honor?”

The accusation stole the silver from her eyes, leaving them pure, plain gray filled with shock and dismay. “I . . . No! Of course not! I’m no oathbreaker.”

“Then come to your bath. Accept my care, as you swore you would. Offer me the fruits of your life, that I may dine once more on peace instead of war.”

CHAPTER 9

A Fragile Truce

She’d been outmaneuvered.

She knew it, and the brief flash of triumph that lit his pale eyes when she rose to her feet confirmed it.

But what was a woman of honor to do? He’d used the one weapon against which she had no defense. She’d sworn an oath. He demanded she fulfill it. Even Roland would have laid down his weapons and accepted defeat under such circumstances.

Her chin came up. Very well, then. She’d known this time would come. She’d known from the moment he had not slain her for her deception, that he would demand she fulfill the obligations of their marriage. And by agreeing to wed him, she had accepted his right to claim and use her body for his pleasure and the conception of his heirs.

He’d not been an unkind lover that first night. Driven, yes, but except for that first, wild coupling, he hadn’t just leapt on her, shoved her legs apart, and stabbed. Even burning with arras, he’d taken the time to ensure her pleasure her first.

Of course, he’d still believed she was Autumn then.

She walked towards the copper tub with its swirling cloud of jasmine-scented steam, towards the man she had accepted as her husband and king. The pelt still clutched in her hand covered her from breast to knee, shielding her from his view but leaving her back bare. Chill air whispered across naked skin, underscoring her vulnerability.

He watched her approach, his unblinking stare cold as ice yet, paradoxically, where it touched her body, her skin felt hot and tingling.

At the tub, she stopped and gathered her courage. His gaze never wavered. He was waiting to see if she was a woman of her word, all but challenging her to prove her cowardice. Her chin lifted and she met his fixed stare with a haughty, defiant one of her own.

She had come. She would obey. But she was neither cowed nor coward.

Khamsin forced her fingers to open and her hands to fall to her sides. The fur slid down her body. It whispered with tormenting friction across the tips of her br**sts, then spilled down in a puddle at her feet. Cool air swirled around bare flesh. Already-tight ni**les drew even tighter. Her muscles began to shiver, tiny uncontrollable tremors that had less to do with the cold of the air than the sudden flare of heat in Wynter’s eyes.

His gaze swept over her with near-tangible intensity, and she was glad she’d waited until she’d reached the tub before releasing the pelt. He had a clear view of her br**sts, but little else. Still, that was enough in its own right. The touch of those bright, piercing eyes felt like physical hands skimming across her flesh.

“Your bath, my queen.” His voice had gone low, and a raspy edge had further deepened it so that his words came out on a rumbling growl.

Her shivers intensified. Summer Sun, what was it about him that drove all reason from her?

Bath, Khamsin, some tiny, still lucid part of her mind urged her. Get in the bath.

With some effort, she tore her gaze from Wynter and glanced down, then frowned in consternation. The copper tub had been made to fit Wynter’s near-giant height. The edge of the rim reached higher than her waist, and there were no chairs or stools for her to use as stepping blocks.