And hadn’t warned him.
They will regret their mistake.
I’ll make sure of it.
“All right then,” Gannon rose, letting the blanket fall to the floor. “How do I look?”
The young man stood back, a grin spreading his lips. “Perfect. And I was right, it fits you like a glove, and the deep green of your tunic compliments your skin tone and draws attention to your dark eyes quite nicely.”
Gannon doubted very much that he looked nice; monsters never looked nice, no matter how they dressed. But the clothes fit him well, and the black embroidery upon the green of his tunic was impressive. The high collar, long sleeves, and close cut emphasized his muscular form.
It wouldn’t draw attention away from his face, nothing could do that, but it helped.
He left the room and strode down the hall, stopping at the top of the winding stairs. Taking a steadying breath, he smoothed the fabric of his tunic and steeled himself for the loud music and talking already booming up the stairs.
It’s time, Gannon, time to ferret out the traitor and time to act the part of a would-be king.
But even though he told himself it was his responsibility to do such things, secretly his heart longed to be walking down the stairs with Kadelynn at his side. He wished he was focused on her rather than what he must endure that night. She would never avert her gaze from his. She would never play pointless games. And each time he was in her company, he felt something within him changing. Something he liked.
As soon as my cousin is dead, I’ll retrieve my bride.
No matter the cost.
6
Gannon
Running his hand along the railing, Gannon wound his way down the stairs, stopping just before the bottom. All eight of the Prairie Lords, as they preferred to be called over the Cowardly Ones, had come to attend the wedding, with the exception of Kadelynn’s cousins. There were also three families of minor nobles, who came from just beyond the border of Eshire.
It was important to treat them all respectfully, to remind them of the many things he’d promised to do for them that his cousin never had. But also, to ferret out any traitors… and to do so carefully. Not all of the men were complete fools. If they knew about the king, they’d probably pieced together the possibility King Reid came to reclaim their loyalty. And some of them might think getting rid of Gannon might be easier than being connected with his plot, and hanging for their misplaced loyalty.
The sons of traitors can never be too careful.
Gannon observed the thirty-or-so people milling about the Great Hall with suspicious eyes, but they seemed more interested in their drinks than the absence of their soon-to-be king. The men and women wore, no doubt, their finest clothes. But Gannon had realized a long time ago how dated their fashion was in comparison to Eshire; in fact, he hadn’t seen such clothes for several years. The women wore long, wide-skirted pastel gowns with puffy sleeves and an abundance of lace. While the majority of the men wore ridiculously long tunics, extending to their ankles, and wide belts at their waist.
The hall itself had been decorated more tastefully. Dark blue and white, the Randall family colors, graced every corner of the long room. Beautiful fabric draped from the roof and weaved between the six long wooden beams. Bows in the same colors brought much needed color to the pale stone wall. The two massive fireplaces made the room almost uncomfortably warm, while the many metal sconces upon the walls chased away any shadows. And, of course, he couldn’t ignore the minstrels who played a lively tune in a corner near one of the fireplaces.
The guests milled about around the dance floor below him, but the other end of the room had a different kind of activity. Servants, in the house colors, rushed about with ill-concealed anxiety as they dressed the many long tables in preparation for the evening meal.
All this he noticed in an instance but had little time to process before realizing he’d been seen. Lord Pyne moved out of the circle of his two ugly daughters and painfully shy wife. He strode with undeserving confidence, a short, terribly thin man, with a grey streaked mustache that gave the false impression of a smile.
“Good evening, Lord Gannon,” he greeted, without enthusiasm, but with a short bow.
“Good evening,” Gannon replied, returning his bow, and forcing a smile onto his face. The old man was constantly crabby, smelled of broccoli, and thought himself direct, when in reality he was simply rude. Yet, he readily admitted that Gannon would be a better king than his cousin. He wasn’t the traitor, just an annoyance. “You’re looking well.”
Pyne accepted his compliment with a nod of his head, then stood in silence for a moment, staring out at the partygoers. “Your young bride has yet to be seen.” He twirled the edge of his pointed mustache as he commented, then waited for an answer.
Gannon told the lie without regret. “She still prays.”
The man had the insolence to raise a brow. “Of course she does, but I must say, many of the folk gossiped about why a bride-to-be needs to pray so much.”
“Do they?” Gannon inquired, swallowing down his anger. “Well, simple folk love to gossip.”
Tension sizzled between them when Lord Finnegan approached them, a much-needed interruption. “Lord Pyne, if you’ll excuse us, I think Lord Gannon looks sorely in need of a drink.”
Gannon had little desire for the tiny man dressed in an elaborate canary yellow tunic with dazzling, colorful feathers decorating his collar, but he desired the company of Lord Pyne even less. So they walked until Lord Finnegan was able to flag down a servant, who brought Gannon a deep maroon wine, rather than the Wipenhol being guzzled down by the other guests.
“You looked like you could use an escape,” Lord Finnegan whispered, conspiratorially. “I certainly need one every time I get cornered by that unpleasant fellow.”
Gannon said nothing, taking a long sip of his cheap wine instead, knowing Finnegan would prattle on, with or without encouragement.
They stood in a corner, where Gannon could easily watch the crowded room over the edge of his glass, while Finnegan spilled gossip like a clumsy tavern wench. Most of it concerned Kadelynn’s cousin’s family, who hadn’t made it to the wedding because of a Cahula attack. What did they expect, after all, trading so freely with the savages was bound to draw their attention? But now, the party that was attacked had included Bronson, the only son of Lord Hodge, and the boy was missing. Many thought the old man was secretly happy about it, preferring his daughter to his son anyway, but Lord Hodge wasn’t about to ignore the insult to his family.
And so on.
The gossip never ended with Finnegan, so Gannon simply tried to tune him out, but his annoyance mounted. Gannon had no doubt Finnegan hoped aligning himself with a soon-to-be-king would help with his young children’s future marriages. It wasn’t asking too much, but did the man really have to attach himself to Gannon every time he saw him? And did his enthusiasm rule him out as the traitor?
Of course not.
Taking another sip of his bitter wine, he winced but felt the unmistakable warmth of the liquor pooling in his belly. The minstrels’ lively tune seemed to grow louder, as the tension in his muscles eased, drawing his eye to the musicians. One was an old man with wispy white hair, plucking a rich tune on a well-carved virginal placed on a small table in front of him. Next to him, a young man, short, but with a pleasant face, played a flute, weaving with each note. But just as Gannon began to lose himself in the melody, the music abruptly changed to a slow, almost familiar one.
A tiny woman with short hair moved to stand in front of them, a seductive smile upon her lips. Gannon was struck by the fullness of them, before they parted, and she began to sing. Her husky voice told the familiar story of a young man who wanted to be a soldier from the day he could hold a sword, but when he went to the priests, they marked him as an artist.
Not wanting to defy the gods, he set out with a handful of friends to kill a Dragulous and win his freedom. Normally, the tale dragged on
through a vicious battle, in which the young man is finally victorious, but loses all his friends, and learns a lesson about the price for defying the gods’ wills. But this time, Gannon listened to every single word, ignoring the moments her voice wavered, as his eyes watched the rise and fall of the tops of her breasts above her tight gown.
When her tale ended, the crowd clapped softly, and the minstrel snagged a drink from one of the servants while the two men began a faster melody. Gannon hoped she’d sing again, but instead, she seemed content to be captured by Lord Gornick and his four sons. The men circled her and despite their short stature, swelling bellies, and ill-fitting clothes, she laughed as she spoke to them.
Gannon turned away to find Finnegan watching him, too intently.
But as their eyes met, the intensity left his gaze, replaced by an insincere smile. “You remember my wife, Lady Finnegan.”
Gannon stiffened as the woman swept past him, to stand at her husband’s side. She’d changed in the four months since Gannon had seen her last, looking far older than her eighteen years. Although standing next to her husband, she still looked to be a child. If not for her well-practiced mask, the one where her mouth formed a thin line and her pale brown eyes peeked out from beneath hooded eyes to stare directly at his chest instead of his face, she might’ve been pleasant to look at. Instead, misery and discomfort emphasized her hooked nose and long face.
“Good evening, Lady Finnegan,” Gannon greeted, bowing.
She curtsied in return, her eyes never leaving his chest. “Good evening.”
Her shrill voice clawed at his ears, bringing every memory of her sharply into focus.
“And how is the young lord? He is… what…” Gannon didn’t really care about their newest child, but he knew how proud Finnegan was of his fertile, young wife.
Her lips pulled into a painful parody of a smile. “He is just three weeks old and doing quite well.”
Finnegan put an arm around her shoulders as they stiffened, and put his other hand on her belly, drawing her against his side. “And with any luck, my seed will sprout another one soon.” The man laughed, a high-pitched sound that suited the short man, who stood just an inch taller than his tiny wife. “Or at the very least, we’ll have some fun trying!”
A look of pure despair shot across her face before her mask fell into place once more. “Of course. Although we’ve been blessed with two sons and a daughter in just four years, so we shouldn’t ask too much from the Gods.”
Sympathy wedged itself in Gannon’s chest. So many men sought young wives to bear them baby after baby, regardless of the fact that the women were still children themselves. Gannon was glad that his own wife was fully a woman. When she bore his heirs, she would do so without the haunted look in her eyes that Lady Finnegan tried to hide… he hoped.
Finnegan spoke as if completely unaware of his wife’s distress. “I imagine you’ll get Lady Kadelynn with child rather quickly, and with as many as she can bear.” He rubbed circles into his wife’s belly as he spoke. “I hear you have a soft spot when it comes to children.”
Gannon narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have a soft spot. Anywhere.
But before he could speak, Lady Finnegan questioned her husband with barely-concealed disbelief. “What makes you say so?”
“Because he’s built the largest orphanage in all of Eshire on his lands.” Then, he lowered his voice and leaned forward, pushing his wife uncomfortably close to Gannon. “Some say it’s a weakness, but I think it’s a smart ploy to gain the favor of any weak-hearted lords and ladies.”
Gannon wanted to take a step back, but he didn’t. He could feel his temperature rising and his heart beating rapidly. It’d be so easy to smash the small man’s face in, to break his nose, and beat his teeth into broken shards. He’d feel such satisfaction if he could pull each of his obnoxious green feathers from his collar and stuff them down his throat. But he didn’t have the luxury to sate his bloodlust. Finnegan insulted him with the implication of weakness, but he also supported Gannon as next in line for the crown.
Taking several calming breaths, he forced a smile onto his face.
Lady Finnegan gasped, before averting her eyes once more.
“Lady Kadelynn will have as many children as she pleases.” It’s all I’ll ask of her.
Finnegan allowed his wife to pull free from his arms and step to his side, increasing the space between them all. “Surely you mean as many children as you please.”
It took every measure of control Gannon had to keep his hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to tell the man that only cowards chose girls as wives, that only cowards forced them to have child after child, beyond what their own hearts and minds wanted. But Finnegan knew such words would be lost on the man, so he took a drink of his wine and spoke between clenched teeth.
“Since there are ways to ensure not every coupling results in a child, my wife and I will have as many as we deem fitting.”
And for the first time since Gannon met Lady Finnegan, she looked up, meeting his eyes with a look of complete confusion. “Ways…?”
For a painful moment, Gannon didn’t understand her question, but then it hit him with all the force of a kick to the jaw. His head snapped back, and he looked to Finnegan for confirmation.
But the coward clasped his wife’s arm and looked away. ‘Darling, we should go save that poor minstrel from the Gornick men. If you’ll excuse us, Lord Gannon.”
They bowed to each other, and then he watched as the old man raced away, his young wife in tow. She in turn stared back at Gannon, something akin to shock written across her normally expressionless face. He met her gaze, trying to hide his disgust. What kind of parents married their daughter off to an old man without even explaining the basics of preventing a pregnancy?
But even as the question leaped to his thoughts, he pushed them aside. It wasn’t his business. She wasn’t his business. Whatever her fate, she likely deserved it. He’d seen what kind of mother she was to her children in the month he’d stayed at their manor. And even as a nagging thought urged him to see her as a victim, his heart hardened.
Another servant filled his nearly empty glass as Lord Bly made his slow way towards Gannon, his cane beating a rhythm too quiet to be heard above the din of the voices, music, and laughter. Unlike the other lords, Bly’s company was somewhat welcome. He was a quiet man, a widow, with no surviving children. He sometimes spoke of things that only a man with too much time alone might notice or feel it necessary to speak aloud, but he demanded little in the way of conversation and was often just as happy to stay silent.
“Lord Gannon,” he greeted, with a bow.
“Lord Bly.”
He swept a hand through the stringy remains of his metal-grey hair, making the scattered strands stand more on end. “I love Wipendrow Manor. This place reminds me of what a man can make when he has nothing.” He pointed to the high ceiling. “Look at those beams. Can you even imagine the trees he chopped down to make them?”
Gannon scanned the massive beams. They weren’t impressive by any means, unless compared to the other Cowardly Ones’ homes. “The walls are more of an unusual sight in Eshire than the roof.”
The old man’s eyes flickered to the walls. “Oh yes, I remember.” There was a longing in his voice as he spoke. “I’ve visited Eshire many times over the years, even to see my ancestral home. Every wall, of every home, is built with those perfect white stones. Evenly sized, evenly shaped. And blessed by the Protector to keep his people safe from the evils of those magic folks who wish to do them harm. A breathtaking sight, to say the least.”
“They are lovely, but these are interesting, in their own way.”
“You’re being kind,” Bly said, dismissively. “Stones are hard to come by in these Prairie Lands. I can’t imagine the patience it took young Randall to use even the tiniest stone to build up his walls. Me myself, and the others, used good old wood, except, of course, for our one Protector-blessed stones that make up our f
ireplaces. But that would never have done for Randall. Your father-in-law is quite the proud man at times.”
“Soon-to-be father-in-law,” Gannon corrected, having nothing else to say.
“Ah,” Bly said, waving away his words. “Your girl will be found, and that will be the end of that.”
Gannon’s glass stopped half-way to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, your lady is so beautiful the Gods likely look on at her every now and then, but she has always been a bit of a handful, not really respecting the role of a woman and all that—“
“No,” Gannon interrupted, keeping his voice low. “What do you mean about Lady Kadelynn being found?”
Bly raised a brow. “Come now, boy, you can’t have thought you’d keep it secret.”
Gannon ignored his use of the word boy. “Does everyone know?”
The old man took an uncomfortably long time in answering, but at last, he did. “I’m sure everyone has heard the rumor, though many don’t believe it. So if you want to keep up the lie, they’ll likely all keep playing along.” He adjusted his belt beneath his slightly protruding belly. “But I know the girl better than most, and I know she would never waste her time in prayers.”
The thought that all the others knew of his missing bride made his breathing ragged. Are they all laughing at me? Did they all imagine the disfigured lord, playing future-king, couldn’t even keep his beautiful bride under control? Or did they think I failed to keep her safe?
The questions raced through his blood, enraging him. He drained his glass and considered stomping back up the stairs, but instead stood frozen, hoping his face didn’t betray his true emotions.
But while anger still kept him mute, the music stopped halfway through a long note. Lord Randall’s deep voice spoke into the silence that followed. “Honored Guests, please join me for supper.”
Dragon Memories: A High Fantasy Reverse Harem Romance (Legacy of Blood and Magic Book 2) Page 5