Not the Bride He Wanted novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Guest Wing

Magnus didn't take his eyes off the gate.

"Because if she's lying, I want her lying where I can watch her," he said. "And if she isn't, nobody gets hit at my gate."

It was a good answer.

It was a King's answer.

But his knuckles were white on the wheel, and he didn't look at my sister once while the guard led her past the truck.

They put her in the guest wing.

In the morning she came down to breakfast in one of Tilde's sweaters with her hair brushed out and her face perfect.

No swelling.

No shadow along the cheekbone.

I'd been a midwife for six years, and I'd patched up enough wolves after enough Saturday nights to know.

A slap hard enough to make you cry at a gate leaves something behind for a day, even on one of us.

There was nothing.

"We heal fast," Kirsten said, when she caught me looking. "Don't we, Bren?"

"Some of us heal faster than others."

The long table in the breakfast room had one carved chair at the end, beside the King's.

The housekeeper had put my cup there every morning since the wedding.

Kirsten walked past Tilde and the Beta and sat down in it.

She smiled up at Magnus as he came in.

"Good morning," she said. "I hope it's okay. I didn't want to sit alone."

The housekeeper froze with the coffee pot.

Magnus stopped in the doorway.

I watched his face.

I watched him look at her, and look away, and set his jaw.

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