Page 54 of The Blight of Hollowmire

“That phrase historically ends badly for women,” she scoffs.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I give you leave to stab me if necessary.”

“That’s… actually rather generous.” All her tugging and pulling has made the mess of her hair even worse, and her arms drop to her sides in defeat. Still, she hesitates, but not as long as she might have yesterday. Finally she deflates, sitting on a fallen log beside the stream and turning her back to me.

I take the place behind her, fingers trembling more than I’d care to admit. It must be the cold.

Her hair is like the finest silk thread I’ve ever touched, and lifting it from her back envelopes me with the faint smell of rosemary—even beneath the scent of the cave and the smoke from our fires. With naught but a breath between us, I wonder if she can hear the echoing beat of my heart.

I begin working the comb through the ends of her hair. Vireth goes very still.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.

“One can never be certain.”

“I have braided hair before.” A flash of memory surfaces—my fingers weaving dark strands together, my heart hopeful, content. Guilt whispers through me and Vireth tenses, making a move to turn but thinking better of it.

“You have?” she asks.

“My wife,” I say softly, the pain no longer raw but scabbed over and aching dully. “When she was heavy with child—our twins—she fell quite ill. Scarcely had the energy to lift a brush, let alone braid her long hair. She had lady’s maids, of course, I was First Knight then and we were still living at the seat in Valehar. But it became one of my favorite evening rituals with her.”

She is quiet for a moment. “You don’t like to mention them.”

“I try not to mention my family unless forced.”

“That seems healthy,” she says, but I’m coming to find her sarcasm somewhat… comforting.

“It has served me adequately. It does not do to dwell in the past,” I say abruptly.

The comb catches on a stubborn knot, but I untangle it slowly before continuing. I pluck the pine needles and bits of dirt away as I go, taking note that some of the moss around the base of the antlers seems to be growing from her. It doesn’t seem to bother her when I pull the pale green growths away, using the comb to restore her hair to the color of snow-reflected moonlight. Her hair is colder than I expect near the ends, damp from melted snow, but warmth emanates from the base of her elegant neck. My attention snags on the exposed line beneath her ear where her hair has fallen forward—an empty canvas that beckons a man’s lips and promises ruin.

I force my gaze to the knot instead, accidentally tugging the strands with a bit more force than I mean to. Vireth hisses in pain, and I freeze.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Do be careful. They’re sensitive.”

“My deepest apologies.”

I move more gently now, taking the opportunity to thread my fingertips through the strands to massage her scalp. Her eyes drift closed and her mouth drops open, and the soft moan she unconsciously makes is sin itself. My cock hardens in my breeches, distracting me from my ministrations.

She glances back, then seems annoyed that she finds this pleasing—in that, we are in agreement.

“Hold still,” I tell her.

“I am holding still.”

“You are practically vibrating with distaste.”

“That is my natural state.”

“Poor thing,” I tease, smothering a chuckle. She huffs in exasperation.

Dividing her hair into two sections, I plait them quickly and pin them around the top of her head where the antlers are poking through her scalp. It gives her the air of a severe governess, but with her hood up, it’s much easier to hide them and doesn’t seem too strange.

When I’m finished, I step back and she reaches up to run her fingertips across the new style.

“Well,” she says, surprised by my skill, no doubt. “That is… not an abomination.”