Chapter 6: Time for Honesty
Kerr’s shoulder still ached.
He sat on the edge of their bed as Anora worked behind him, her slender fingers deftly separating damp strands of his dark hair. The scent of her lavender soap mixed with the sharp, coppery scent of darkspawn blood still lingering beneath his nails.
The quiet braid she was weaving felt different tonight, a methodical ritual beyond simple grooming.
“Your turn tomorrow,” he joked, his voice low in the fire-lit hush, but she only clicked her tongue softly, pulling a section taut in a gentle, wordless reprimand that made him smile.
Her touch was sure, each tuck and crossover a practiced gesture.
It was nothing like the perfumed ladies of his father’s court.
This was grounding.
When she finished, she went to pull her hand away.
He gently grabbed it, his large, calloused hand enveloping hers completely, and brought it to his chest, holding it flat against his sternum where his heart thudded a heavy, unsteady rhythm.
Her hand lay still beneath his, absorbing the frantic beat.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper in the dark room.
“I’m afraid,” he said, the words tasting raw.
He stared straight ahead at a tapestry depicting some forgotten victory he no longer cared to recall.
“I know what motivated our union,” he said, feeling her thumb shift slightly against his skin.
“I know we’ve enjoyed each other intimately.”
He finally turned his head to look at her, his expression unguarded.
“I’m afraid my heart is opening up, Anora, and you are occupying all of it.”
He hadn't planned any of this; the words felt like stones being dragged from a riverbed inside his chest.
“I did not plan to, but I am growing to care for you deeply,” he breathed, watching her face in the low light.
Her face was tender and sweet, her sharp political mask gone, leaving only the soft, uncertain woman beneath.
“I will play your useful brute to my dying day if that’s all I am to you,” he said, his throat tight.
“Happy to at least know what it felt like to fall in love with someone… who may not love him back.”
Before he could finish, she pulled him into a kiss.
It was not tentative, but a deep, deliberate pressure that spoke of shared fear and reciprocated yearning.
When she pulled back, her forehead lingered on his, their breath mingling in the shared space between them.
“You often play the part of the thick, ignorant brute,” she whispered, her fingers curling into the tunic over his heart.
“But you must know.”
Her next words came with the clarity of a pronouncement, leaving no room for interpretation.
“I haven't just filled up the space in your heart, Kerr. I gave you mine entirely, after you gave me yours.”
He felt a tremor run through her.
“I love you,” she said, the statement simple and devastating.
“And I thank the Maker every morning, strategic union or not, that we were brought together.” She paused, a small, genuine laugh escaping her. “Which is a complete annoyance because I just did your hair, and now you have to make love to me after a speech like that.”
He laughed, a sudden, free sound that broke the tension like shattered glass.
He shifted his weight, the ropes of the mattress groaning.
Then, in one swift motion, he stood and pulled her up, sweeping an arm behind her knees as he cradled her against his chest.
She yelped, a sharp, delighted sound, and clutched the collar of his tunic.
He carried her the few steps to the large, waiting bed.
He laid her down with a reverence that belied his size.
His lips found hers again as he settled beside her, the braid in his hair pressing awkwardly against the pillow. Their love was not the frantic clutch of battlefield survivors that it had been in the war camp, all desperate heat and oblivion. It was quieter now, discovery mapped in shivering sighs and staggered breaths, the deliberate pressing of skin to skin.
Trousers and a shift were shed in hushed, unceremonious movements. When he finally entered her, the practiced rhythm became a shared language. Her nails bit into his back, not in pain but in punctuation, as he fought the urge to speak to blunt the pure intensity of the moment.
“Look at me,” she murmured, her command gentle but firm.
He lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers. Only once he was lost in her steady gaze did she meet him, thrust for guided thrust, her own surrender complete. The high, silk-hung canopy above them seemed to dissolve as everything narrowed to the warmth they were forging, between them, within them.
The high, silk-hung canopy above them seemed to dissolve as everything narrowed to the warmth they were forging, between them, within them.
A long, low sound escaped Kerr, part growl and part prayer. Her own release came quietly, a series of sharp breaths against his neck and a final, trembling sigh that seemed to draw the very air from the room. The fever broke.
He spilled with an unfathomable abundance that left him gasping against her collarbone.
After he spent his unfathomable quantity of seed, collapsed.
His immense weight settled atop her, solid and welcome. He laid there utterly spent.
She smiles at the feel of him inside her, the tactile sensation of his softening warmth a private, grounding luxury in the cooling air.
He looks up at the ceiling, feeling like a new man.
A dizzying sense of peace washed over him, erasing the lingering ghosts of the war room and his father’s ghost. The cool evening air prickled the sweat on his shoulders.
Without thinking he mutters, “That’s a child.” He mumbled it into her damp shoulder, a simple, stunned realization, not an oath.
He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked at her, eyes wide with the clarity of it.
He knew in that moment the act of love had ended. They weren’t nobles playing their part.
They were people. He had given himself wholly and she had taken him. And it broke him clean.
And two halves had matched and would make life.
She laughs and gasps, a delicate puff of air ruffling a loose strand of her hair on the pillow. Then she smiled fully, a real smile of incredulousness not mockery at him.
“Judging by the quantity, I should expect twins at minimum.”
She stretched beneath him with a languid, contented sound. The shattering honesty of the moment softened into something beautifully mundane.
And tells him they need to get ready.
“We can’t lie here all night, my King.”
She gave his shoulder a soft, prodding shove.
He made a sound of profound protest, tightening his arms around her.
He shook his head at his lady wife’s impulsive and succinct way of taking over.
Ferelden needs them.
“Ferelden,” he groaned, burying his face in the sheets.
She escaped his arms and swung her legs out of bed, the floorboards cool against her bare feet. A queen’s work resumed, even now, especially now.