I stare at them in wonder. War and I pass through many towns, but almost all of them have already been visited by death.

Not this village. The people here are enjoying this day just as they would any other.

“What are you going to do with them?” I ask, my question punctuated by the clop of my horse’s footfalls.

“What I always do, wife.”

My stomach clenches at that. Riding next to War is suddenly, distinctly uncomfortable.

We’re drawing eyes to us the farther into town we get. I realized who War was shortly after I first saw him; I wonder now, as people stare, whether they are having the same realization I once did.

Or it could simply be that these days, no one trusts strangers, particularly strangers with giant fucking swords strapped to their backs.

“You don’t have to kill them, you know,” I say under my breath. “You could just skip this place. Just for the hell of it.”

“My wife and her soft heart,” War says. It sounds like a genuine compliment. “Would you really like that? For me to spare these people?”

Is he being serious?

I take in his merciless features.

Yes, I think he might actually be.

“I would,” I say, barely daring to believe it.

War stares at me for several seconds, and I hold his gaze, ignoring our growing audience.

Eventually he makes a sound at the back of his throat and focuses on the road again.

I don’t know what to make of that.

My hands clench the reins. I’m so tense—so, so tense. I keep waiting for War to withdraw his sword, to tell me that it was all a clever trick, but he doesn’t.

We pass through the village, then leave it behind us altogether. Only then do I fully release my breath. It’s not until the village is entirely out of sight, however, that I speak.

“You didn’t kill them,” I say, disbelieving.

“No,” War agrees. “I didn’t. I have dead for that.”

Beneath our feet, the ground quakes. It takes about a minute, but eventually I hear screams start up at our backs, and now I know exactly what’s become of that village.

Chapter 36

This time, when camp is established and the tents go up, mine is missing, along with the rest of my things.

I know who’s behind this.

I storm into War’s tent. “Where is it?” I demand.

The room is full of phobos riders, all of them pouring over yet another map of yet another town they’re going to ravage. They glance over at me.

Uzair, the one who caught me killing his comrade in Arish, frowns at me while Hussain, the only phobos rider who has been kind to me, gives me an unreadable look.

But it’s War’s ominous form that manages to eclipse everyone else. Today he looks particularly savage, with his arm guards on and his chest bare, his crimson tattoos glowing from where they wrap around his pecs.

“Wife.” The kohl lining his eyes is especially thick, and it makes him look very other.

“Where is my tent?” I demand.

“You’re standing in it.”

I narrow my gaze. “That is not what we agreed to.”

“I do not negotiate with humans,” War says.

My gaze sweeps across the room again, and I take in all the faces of War’s riders. Suddenly I understand.

In Arish, I made the horsemen look weak among his men. Now he’s reclaiming his authority—at my expense.

Right now nothing I say will derail him. That’s obvious from his expression alone. Anything else I say now will only serve to make me look weak and whiny, and already these riders seem to have a pretty low opinion of me.

Giving War a final, lingering look, I turn to leave.

The horseman can make me live with him, but he can’t force me to stick around during the day.

“Oh, Miriam,” the horseman calls out to me just as I reach the tent flaps. “One last thing: tomorrow, when we head into battle, you will be riding with me.”

The next morning I wake to the feel of War’s mouth trailing kisses over my shoulder. The room is dimly lit by oil lamps. The two of us are naked, and I feel him hard against me.

His kisses move down my arm.

This is what I’ve feared about living with the horseman. How is a lonely girl like me supposed to fight this? It’s everything I’ve craved, and the devil next to me knows it.

“Surrender,” he whispers against my skin.

I stretch back against him. “You surrender.”

He groans, a hand gripping my hip. For a moment, he grinds into me. I feel him lean his forehead against my back, his breathing heavy. “I’m going to be damn near distracted today, imagining you right here, against me.”

Reluctantly, he gets up, and while I might hate who he is and the fact that he’s forced me to live with him, right now, I’m most upset that he’s left my side. How’s that for having your heart and your head at war with one another?

I really need my own fucking tent back.

“Come, wife,” War says. “It’s time to prepare for battle.”

The reminder sobers me up. More people are going to die today. First it was Jerusalem, then Ashdod, then Arish. Now, from the whispers in the air, it sounds like we’re attacking Port Said. I scrub my face, not ready to face another day of carnage.

Across the tent, War pulls on his black pants, and then his black shirt. This outfit of War’s is always the same, and it’s always in pristine condition in the morning, regardless of how mangled and bloody it might be the day before.

I grab my own shirt and pants, which aren’t nearly so clean, and I pull them on. I sit back down to lace up my boots, then I start donning my weaponry, starting with my bow and quiver.

“Why do you keep letting me ride into battle?” I ask him as I finish securing my quiver.

From his perspective, I can’t see any reason to let me keep joining the fight.

The horseman glances over at me from where he’s lacing up one of his leather greaves. “Why indeed?” he muses. “Would you prefer I chain you to our bed like the doting husband I am?”

“Only if you stayed with me,” I say, not missing a beat. I’m being half serious. If I could keep War from battle … but no, his army and his dead would just do the killing for him.

His eyes heat at that.

“You were made to tempt me, wife,” he says.

The horseman finishes lacing one greave and moves to the other. “You told me we’re to respect one another in a marriage.”

I … did. I’m surprised he remembers.

“You want to fight. This is me respecting your wishes.”

This is War’s version of respect? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. He’s forced me to sleep in his tent—I mean, fuck respect right there—but he’s still going to allow me to fight in a battle that could get me killed because that’s the husbandly thing to do?

To be honest, it sounds very much like horseman logic.

“Besides,” War adds, unaware of my own thoughts, “you’re killing humans.”

“Not the ones you want dead,” I argue, securing my dagger to my side.

“I want them all dead,” he says. “You’re making my job easier.”

I stare at him for several seconds, and it’s like a grenade explodes in my mind.