Chapter 41
41 Chapter 41 My Arms Are
Superior
Faye’s POV
The war tent felt suffocating despite the gentle flicker of oil lamps casting dancing shadows on canvas walls. Outside, the muffled sounds of soldiers moving through camp barely penetrated the thick silence that had settled between us like a heavy shroud.
The quiet wasn’t restful. It was the kind of silence that made your skin crawl, thick with unspoken tension and barely contained storm clouds.
Hardy had remained perfectly still since the
messenger arrived with news from the northern front. A single piece of parchment pulled from the corpse of an enemy scout, throat cut with surgical precision, no defensive wounds visible. He’d scanned the
message without a flicker of emotion crossing his features. Then he’d dismissed Allen with nothing more than a sharp gesture toward the tent flap.
No discussion about our wounded. No mention of the two lieutenants still fighting poison in their veins. No orders for me to use my healing abilities on anyone. Just cold, absolute dismissal.
Now we sat alone in the oppressive quiet.
He occupied his chair like a king carved from midnight and steel, one hand pressed flat against the report while his fingers drummed once against the wooden armrest before going completely still. I lingered near the tent’s edge, still wrapped in my damp cloak,
uncertain why he’d wanted me to remain. Part of me didn’t want to find out.
The silence stretched until I couldn’t bear it anymore.
I coughed softly, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. “Shouldn’t I…” I stopped, swallowed hard, then tried again. “Your lieutenants are still dying, aren’t they p>
No response from the stone statue in the chair.
I pressed forward, fighting the urge to fidget with my cloak hem. “Allen mentioned the poison is still spreading. If that message means what I think it does,
there’ll be another attack coming soon. Wouldn’t it make sense to have your officers healthy before then p>
Still nothing.
Finally, he turned his head just enough to catch my eye over his shoulder. His gaze felt like being examined under a magnifying glass, as if he was studying not what I’d said, but everything I was carefully not saying.
My mouth went dry.
“I mean…” I attempted a laugh that came out strained. “Obviously, if you don’t think it’s necessary, I won’t push the issue p>
“Come here,” he said.
I froze. “Excuse me p>
He didn’t repeat the command. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms settling on the rests, one hand making a subtle gesture toward his lap.
My heart stuttered. There was only one chair in this entire tent, and he was occupying it.
“You want me to…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
His expression remained unreadable.
I glanced desperately around the tent, hoping another seat had magically appeared. It hadn’t.
“Lord Hardy,” I said carefully, “this seems somewhat… inappropriate.” Heat crept up my neck. What was I even thinking? Why would he want me in his lap?
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he replied.
I stared at him, searching for any hint of his intentions. His tone carried no cruelty, no impatience, nothing I could interpret. He wasn’t trying to embarrass me. I didn’t think this was about desire either.
He watched me with the patience of a predator, waiting to see if I’d show hesitation, rebellion, or fear. Something in me refused to give him the satisfaction of any of those reactions.
So I moved.
Slowly, I walked around the small table. I stopped directly in front of him, hands clenched into fists at my sides, then lowered myself onto his lap with stiff, awkward movements, barely letting my weight settle.
His hand found my waist immediately, drawing me closer until I was properly seated. His other arm draped across the chair back, effectively caging me in. I could feel his body heat through my cloak, the steady rhythm of his breathing against my spine.
“Sleep,” he commanded.
“What?” I twisted to look at him, eyes wide with confusion. “You want me to actually sleep here? In your lap p>
Hardy had already turned his attention to another document from the pile beside his maps. He read it with complete focus, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. No explanation. No clarification.
Just the soft rustle of turning pages.
I sat there stunned, mouth slightly open.
Was this actually happening?
I remained frozen in his lap, torn between feeling insulted, panicked, and inexplicably flattered. The entire situation felt surreal. Why had he demanded I sit here if he was just going to ignore me? Was this
41 Chapter 41 My Arms Are Superior
some kind of power play? A test of my boundaries? Or was he simply too exhausted to care about propriety?
I shifted slightly, only to feel his arm tighten around my waist, guiding me back into position without him even glancing up. That’s when he spoke again.
“Stop calling me ‘Lord,” he said casually, eyes still fixed on his reading. “You had no trouble using my name in the cave p>
My breath hitched. I went completely still.
His tone held no anger, no mockery. But that made it harder to interpret. Was he annoyed? Amused? Or simply stating a fact? I wasn’t about to walk into another verbal trap.
I didn’t dare look at him. I could picture him perfectly anyway, sitting there with that calm expression, scanning reports like he hadn’t just made a comment designed to shatter my composure.
“What should I call you then?” I whispered.
He set the parchment down and finally looked at me directly.
“Husband p>
The word hit me like a physical blow.
I blinked once, then again. My heart began beating in an erratic, confused rhythm.
Husband?
Was this a joke?
He didn’t look like he was joking.
Cold shock raced down my spine, but not from fear. It felt like someone had poured ice water directly into my chest cavity. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to laugh hysterically or disappear entirely. I had no idea if he was teasing me or making some kind of declaration.
Before I could respond, before I could even process what he’d said, Hardy moved.
With the same fluid grace he displayed in battle, he repositioned me without warning. One arm slid under my knees while the other supported my back, turning my body sideways like I weighed nothing at all. My cheek came to rest against the inside of his upper arm, just below his shoulder. His cloak shifted around us,
the heavy fabric settling over our legs like a blanket.
The entire movement was seamless.
“Sleep,” he repeated.
“I…” I struggled to find words. The whole situation was so bizarre it felt like some kind of elaborate jest. I couldn’t determine if he was genuinely trying to care for me or just confusing me for his own amusement.
Either way, relaxation seemed impossible. I cleared my throat. “My lord… I mean, husband. If you truly want me to rest, couldn’t someone bring a small cot p>
“Is a cot more comfortable than my arms?” he asked with genuine curiosity, as if this were a perfectly reasonable question.
For a moment, the tension eased. His question was so absurd I almost smiled. Of course a cot would be more comfortable. He was built like solid granite. Sleeping against him would be like trying to rest on a pile of
armor.
“Well?” he prompted.
The humor died instantly.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. His expression remained completely serious, like he was genuinely waiting for an answer to this ridiculous question.
I shifted uncomfortably in his lap. His arms stayed steady around me, unmoved by my attempt to create
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“Cots are softer,” I mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
He made a thoughtful sound. “Cots don’t respond to you,” he said matter–of–factly. “They don’t adjust when you move. They don’t sense when you’re cold or tense. And they certainly don’t stay vigilant when enemies try to kill you while you sleep. My arms are superior p>
Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.