la jeune fille marquée; Magnus

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

His heart is in his throat, but Magnus remains calm and steady, giving no exterior signs to his inward fear. “Well that’s odd,” he comments off-handedly, giving a husky laugh and nosing her neck in good natured teasing. “Is he concerned that you will get lost? Because I’d be happy to escort you if you would like to see more of Beqanna. I have a lot of free time on my hands since I came back home.” Not entirely true, but he also didn’t think she wasn’t free from the mountains because of an awry sense of direction.

Her laugh eases some of the tension from his shoulders, and he just gives her a grin, “Now, now, we can’t be having any of that.” His inky forelock splays across his wide forehead, and his gold-flecked eyes are bright, open, friendly. He takes a chance and reaches over to muss up her forelock a little, “There’s a pretty mare staring right back at me right now.” But his smile bleeds from his face at her next words.

It would seem that the playfulness was only to be short lived.

“Possessive?” he echoes, his throaty voice thoughtful as if he had never heard the word. “I don’t understand.” Magnus shakes his handsome, scarred head a little and then catches her gaze a little. “You aren’t just something to be owned,” his voice drops a little as he nudges her a little, dread settling into his bones. “He doesn’t treat you like you are, right?” A heavy pause. “Does he treat you well?” And even though there is kindness lining the words, it is impossible to deny the steel that underlines every syllable.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.