Page 102 of Reign

I hurled the blade across the tent, narrowly missing Finn’s head before it clattered against the ground.

“I might be just a woman,” I declared, “but without me by your side, you’d be no man.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Finn insisted, trying in vain to douse the fire he had ignited inside me.

But it was too late—I was already engulfed.

I stormed through the tent, my shoulder colliding with Finn’s as I went to retrieve the blade.

“Niamh,” he called after me. “Please, listen.”

I pointed the freshly sharpened tip at his face once more. “Don’t call me by that name.”

As I reclaimed my seat at the anvil, my foot caught on the stool’s leg, kicking it out from beneath me. I lost my balance and slipped forward, my face meeting the cold, unyielding edge of the iron slab. A sharp yelp escaped me as I collapsed into a heap on the muddy planks.

“Niamh,” Finn gasped, edging toward me. “Are you hurt?”

“May the gods damn you,” I murmured through my gritted teeth. “Get out.”

Finn obeyed, leaving me alone on the damp floor, writhing in agony.

Yuletide.

Yuletide had once been my favorite festival. In Green Vale, the entire village gathered to celebrate winter solstice. Families would bring food to the square, sharing their fare as a bonfire blazed at the heart of the celebration—its comforting flames drawing everyone close to tell fables from times long ago. I’d sit eagerly among them, drinking ale and eating barley bread with butter as storytellers spun their tales of triumph and misfortune. Before the festivities ended, flowers were laid to honor the dead, and villagers raised a toast in memory of those we’d lost.

But since last Yuletide, so many men from Green Vale had perished that I was grateful not to be celebrating the longest night of the year in the Wetlands. I imagined grief would overpower any moment of revelry.

It had been a few days since my face had met the anvil, and my black eye had darkened into a deep purple. I confined myself to the smithy, avoiding questions about my swollen face. The men I worked with had already given me enough banter about my bruise, and I didn’t want to endure more gibes around the bonfire.

Since it was Yuletide, Fitzroy had granted the soldiers a rare day off, leaving me with an afternoon alone in the smithy. I sat at the anvil, finishing the final touches to the gift I’d crafted for Bash. Normally, forging was a distraction, but my feelings for him consumed me, making it impossible to focus. Consequently, I’d fallen behind on the tasks piling up from both Red and Fitzroy. I’d sworn never to let a man come between me and my trade—but Bash, I thought, might be the exception.

Light flooded the dark tent as someone stepped inside. Glancing over my shoulder, I hoped to see Bash; instead, I found my smiling brother.

Finn flinched at the sight of my injured eye. “Ouch,” he said. “That looks painful.”

I could’ve healed my injury with a simple spell, but I kept it as a reminder—a physical manifestation of the cruel words he’d once spoken.

“Happy Yuletide,” Finn said sheepishly.

I said nothing in return. Instead, I wrapped Bash’s gift in parchment, pretending Finn existed in another realm I couldn’t see or hear.

“I’ve got you a present,” Finn announced, placing something on a workbench.

Ignoring him, I rolled down my linen sleeves, plucked my long coat from the sooty floor, and shrugged it on. Just before making my dramatic exit, I remembered my gloves. My palms were stained a deep purple from the countless spells I’d cast, creeping toward my fingertips. Sliding the gloves on, I concealed my magic.

As I headed for the exit, gift in hand, Finn stepped into my path. We narrowly avoided clashing heads, forcing me to acknowledge his presence.

“Move,” I ordered.

Finn shook his head. “Not until you listen to my apology.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“I never meant to upset you. That wasn’t my intention when I confronted you about your relationship with the carpenter,” Finn explained, his frown deepening. “You’re right—you shouldn’t tell him you’re a woman. If you do, you’ll be sent back to the Wetlands, with the Lord’s knights waiting.” His expression grew pained, as if imagining the torture I’d endure until confessing the events of that wretched night. “We both know you need to end what’s been happening between you two. It’s the safest option.”

I waited for more, but when Finn offered a hesitant smile, I realized that was all he had.

“That wasn’t an apology. You didn’t say sorry once,” I snapped.