Page 27 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

“There are foxes, and I don’t want her roaming at night.” He checked the latch one more time and turned his attention to the fire, which he’d built in a ring of stones with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times. The flames caught, and the warmth hit my face, drawing me in closer.

Moerrven paused in his circuit of the campsite to study me. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not shivering, I’m vibrating with displeasure.”

He chuckled softly, then sat down beside me and, without commentary or fanfare, put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side. His body was a furnace. Every troll-warm inch of him radiated heat through my shirt. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my face against his chest, and sank into it with a sound that I will describe as dignified relief.

“Better?”

“Shut up.”

His chest huffed once, which I chose to count as a laugh.

We sat like that while the sky turned from gold to violet to deep blue. The stars came out in a way I’d never seen before — thick, impossibly bright, so many of them that the sky looked crowded. There was no light pollution, no buildings, no cars, no screens, only mountains, stars, the sound of the fire, and the enormous man whose arm was around me.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and pulled out The Frozen Hearth.

“You’re still reading that?” he asked.

“I’m invested, despite the questionable sex scenes. I need to know if they’re going to be okay.”

“They’ll be okay.”

“Don’t spoil it. You said you haven’t read it.”

“I haven’t. But it’s a romance, and I know the author. They’re always okay.”

“Shhh. You’re ruining the suspense.”

“I didn’t want you to feel anxious,” he said. “But go ahead, enjoy your anxiety.”

“I will, thank you.”

This chapter was quieter, Hoareyn and Joku settling into a shy domesticity. It was gentle and aching, and my only complaint was that I wished I had a better feel for what intimacy was like between them. Then I turned a page, and Hoareyn was touching Joku’s horns.

It was a quiet scene. They were in the bakery after hours, the ovens cooling, flour dust settling. Hoareyn reached up and ran his fingers along the curve of Joku’s left horn, and the description of what happened next made my heart sink.

I stopped reading, looked up from the book, and stared at the fire.

Then I looked at Moerrven.

He was looking at the stars. His profile was sharp against the firelight, the curve of his horns a shadow against the dark sky. I had been touching them for days. On the wagon, I’d reached up and scratched the base of his horn the way I scratched Poppy behind the ears. In bed, I’d pressed my face against his chest with my hand curled around his horn.

And every single time, his body had gone rigid. His breathing had changed. His ears had flushed blue.

“Moerrven.”

“Mm.”

“Is what this book says about the trolgar gland real? Or is that just some extra fun made-up fantasy stuff that they invented to make things more exciting?”

“I do not know what the book says. I haven’t read it.” The fire crackled in front of us, and the stars wheeled overhead, and his arm was still around my shoulders, which seemed significant.

“I’ve been touching your horns,” I said. “A lot. Like, casually. Like they were a convenient handhold. Which means I’ve been violating your most intimate place.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Because you didn’t tell me!” I sat up and turned to face him. “I mean, sure, the first time was a genuine mistake, but all you had to do was bat my hands away and ask me not to touch you there, and I would have listened. And instead, you just… let me fondle you.”