Grinning wolfishly, he took a step back, and then another, and another.
“That’s it? You think you can just—You’re not going to—We won’t even—” Her mind seemed only able to churn out parts of thoughts, and couldn’t decide between dressing him down or aching for his touch.
“Oh, I will,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “But not tonight.” With a tip of his head, he ascended the stairs.
She stood there, staring, long after he’d gone. What had that been all about? Showing off to Jon? Marking his territory?
And what had she become? A pathetic, desperate pool of want, unable to even form a coherent sentence, too seduced to even be properly angry?
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the cool stone. Divine, Brennan had become a spell of some kind, inhabiting every corner of her body and pulsing it to life whenever he chose, moving her to his liking, leaving her mesmerized, enchanted, spellbound.
And all they’d done was kiss.
He already knew her so well that he could rip the life out of all her anger with just a kiss.
She curled a fist and lightly tapped it against the stone. Nothing would happen tonight. And this possessive behavior would end once Jon was in Courdeval again.
Gathering what motes of composure she could, she exhaled a lengthy breath and headed upstairs to meet with Olivia.
Chapter 5
Olivia followed in silence as Jon strode down the dark, echoing hallway, tension brimming in the rigid set of his shoulders. It would never be easy for him to see Rielle with another man, especially if he refused to let her go in his heart, refused to marry, refused to move on.
He had to face reality. Everyone walked on eggshells around him, trying not to say Rielle’s name or mention the wedding, but that wasn’t what he needed. Truth had to cut deep, take root, and remain. That was the only way.
For his part, however, he’d managed to appear somewhat composed today. After that night of the Veris Ball a month ago, that was an accomplishment.
Perhaps once he cooled down, he’d be amenable to listen to her solution to all their problems: the Covens.
He approached the quarters Rielle had provided—the lord’s suite of rooms, her very own, as the unmarried marquise of the castle—and the two Royal Guards stood aside. Raoul and Florian entered first, swept the quarters, then stood at attention as Jon went in.
He passed through the candlelit antechamber with the door to the adjoining quarters—her own—and through a small study to the bedchamber. A fire burned in the large stone hearth, where three cushioned armchairs sat around a circular, low wooden table. Upon it lay a small block of wood, a knife, and some wood shavings—Jon must have taken to carving something.
Despite the luxurious curtained, canopied bed and the fine crimson-and-silver rug, the bedchamber had a comfortable, rustic quality—exposed stone walls, massive timbers overhead, a wrought-iron chandelier of candles formed in a simple, large circle. The window was open to the Shining Sea, glittering under the moonlight, and Jon breathed deeply as he stood in its rectangle of evening glow.
The sea air was bracing, fresh, and reminded her of days spent walking the beaches of Caerlain Trel, collecting seashells, far from the fish market, of course.
He rested his big palms on the stone sill, fingers scraping into the grain. “She’s being ridiculous,” he said, crestfallen with just a rasp of a grumble. “As if I’d risk her life,” he murmured. “I’ve been there, with her, watching her nearly die, and Terra have mercy, but that won’t happen again, not while there are other means yet available.”
Foolish man. He thought he had a say? Smiling, she joined him at the window. “She’s going to risk her life whether it’s for your cause or not. That is simply who she is.”
He eyed her, his mouth restraining a knowing grin as the candles cast a golden glow on the planes of his clean-shaven face. Somehow, he looked more like a paladin now than ever.
“But you mentioned other means.” She cocked her head toward the armchairs and headed there, with him in her wake. When they were seated, she leaned back and clasped her hands. “All the talk at dinner about Kieran trying to cast her out of the Divinity sparked a thought.”
He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“The Covens.”
Those eyebrows lowered, drew together. He glanced at the fire, stared, cracking his knuckles. “The Covens,” he repeated, quietly, pensively. He glanced back at her. “Are you out of your mind?”
Laughter bubbled from her throat. “You’re an Earthbound king, werewolves stalk the land, dragons rule the skies. If I’m out of my mind, then the world has taken me there.”
“You know the only thing heretics hate more than the Divinity is the Order, right?” He rested his ankle on the opposite knee. “They’d sooner kill me than help me.”
“And if you’re on the same side? They want to take down the Divinity, don’t they?”
He grunted. “And since when do you support that?”
“Magehold has denied you aid. Denied Emaurria aid. We can’t handle the Divinity as an enemy, but if it’s not going to be an ally, we must sway the court of public opinion—not just here, but in the region—to our favor. And that’s how we’ll get our mages, one way or another.”
“Olivia, you have that look on your face like you’re about to take over the world,” he said with a grin. “Terra have mercy”—he heaved a sigh—“but tell me how.”
She wasn’t going to take over the world, but together, they would. Oh, yes. She steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “The Grand Divinus has ignored your petitions, and the privacy of that has been in her favor. How can the public condemn the Divinity for a failing they don’t know about?”
“We must bring it into the light.”
“But mere word will not be enough.”
His eyes lit up. “Bend the knee,” he whispered.
“Bend the knee.” If he went to Magehold in person and requested aid, the Grand Divinus’s response—or lack thereof—would spread far and wide, and with it, approval or condemnation.
“If she agrees, we get mages from the Divinity,” he said, eyeing the fire ruminatively. “If she doesn’t, the public turns against the Divinity, both here and elsewhere. The situation is dire. We’d have grounds to treat with the Covens. Then we’d have the might to turn the Tower.”
“Precisely.” Many skilled mages had abandoned the Divinity, but even more had never been a part of it. The Tremblays, the Forgerons, the Beaufoys. They and their Covens, if they could be swayed, would bring enough might to topple a single Tower, as long as the public and the king were on their side.
A slow smile flashed across Jon’s face.
“All we have to do is drag your dignity through the mud to do it.” A king bending the knee was no small humbling.
He shook his head. “It’s not my dignity I’m concerned with. Publicly bowing to another power and asking for aid makes Emaurria look weak—”
And ready for the taking.
“—but if it’s a formality before we build up our strength, then it’s a risk we must take.” The grim line of his mouth obeyed the gravity of his eyes. “But we must be ready. As soon as aid is denied, we must be ready for the Divinity—and any other opportunist.”
She nodded. The true problem would be winning over the heretics if the Grand Divinus rejected their request. They’d have no reason to trust her word, since she’d been a Divinity mage prior to her appointment to Archmage of Emaurria. But that was a problem for tomorrow.
“Let’s plan a trip to Magehold, then.”
She rose with a smile. “I knew you’d see reason.”
He huffed a laugh. “Good ideas make it easy.”
Fortunately, he hadn’t proceeded blindly to the Tower to sway Kieran to break it from the Divinity. These days, time loomed larger and larger over Jon as the days of his life moved toward an inevitable and impending end. But the inevitability he believed so ironclad was only anothe
r challenge for her to defeat.
I’m going to save you. I’ll find a way.
“So you’re catching up with Rielle tonight?” He stood, looming over the hearth with a certain effortless grace. Since she’d met him, he’d had a measured way about him, his movements always thoughtful, certain, as if he did nothing without true intention. It lent him a very masculine elegance that oft reminded her of James.
“We’re overdue,” she said as she headed for the door. “But we’ll be in the adjoining quarters, so if you need me, I’m nearby.”
He hadn’t suffered an episode since Courdeval, but things would only get worse as his heart condition deteriorated. If she couldn’t find a solution in time, she’d have to tell Rielle, whether Jon agreed or not. Otherwise she’d never forgive herself.
And although Rielle was engaged to Brennan, perhaps her feelings for Jon yet lingered? Maybe she could set Rielle off that course, so both she and Jon could move on.
If a cure couldn’t be found in time, he’d only have a couple of years to live at most, and spending them pining after a woman who was marrying another man would be a miserable rest of his life. Moving on would help them both.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, glancing at the block of carving wood before waving her off. “Have fun, and goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Jon,” she answered, leaving him to his thoughts and the fire as she unlocked the adjoining door and entered her quarters, where she’d find the strength to turn her best friend’s heart.
* * *
In the lady’s apartment, Rielle stood in her nightgown and robe as a maid rolled in a cart of pastries, confections, and wine. Custard tarts, sugared almonds, chocolates, cakes, and port: the makings of a perfect night. Nothing would get in the way of fun tonight.
It had been too long since she and Olivia had enjoyed one of their fabulous nights in.
Olivia had lost a lover and gone through a horrific ordeal in the dungeon, but her strength had carried her through—and she appeared as composed as ever. Now that she was Archmage, what new challenge had she set her mind on? And was there someone new in her life, in her heart?
Rielle popped a sugared almond in her mouth and looked around the rebuilt suite of rooms. The lady’s apartment didn’t look vastly different from when Mama had been alive, and yet… it was entirely different. The parlor had two sofas and an armchair, as it used to, but that armchair, although beautifully upholstered and crafted of fine cherry wood, didn’t have that one worn spot on the armrest where Mama used to rub her palm when reading a good book.
The intricate sky-blue-and-white rug was gorgeous, but it was missing the stain where Dominique had spilled ink while penning her latest tale of Dame Marie the Brave. The bookshelf had all the wrong books, and none of their favorites. And the study didn’t have the desk Mama had brought from Aestrie, where she and her mama had carved flowers into the underside.
The rooms were empty, and yet somehow even emptier than they seemed. Everywhere she looked was something that wasn’t where it used to be. Someone who wasn’t where she used to be.
She rested her hand on her belly. Sylvie would never know any of these things, nor those that were, nor Mama, Dominique, any of them. If she’d lived, these rooms might have been filled with laughter again. Flowers carved on the underside of this new desk. New favorite books on the shelves. Another ink spill. Another worn armrest. It would have been a difficult life, a different life, but a good one with Sylvie.
Voices carried from the lord’s apartment, where she’d invited Jon to stay.
Since when had Jon and Olivia started requesting adjoining rooms? Did he worry about her, want to be near? Did they discuss the kingdom’s affairs long into the night?
It… didn’t really matter, did it? It didn’t matter what the reason was. It shouldn’t.
The adjoining door opened into the parlor. She walked back to find Olivia eyeing the decanter of port on the cart.
“I had the necessities brought up,” she said brightly to Olivia.
“‘Necessities’ is right,” Olivia agreed as she nibbled a praline. She grabbed the cart and pushed it toward the bedchamber. “We’re going to need these supplies nearby.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Rielle said with a grin as she followed.
Once in the bedchamber, Olivia shuffled about, grabbing various items. The bedchamber wasn’t the same as when Mama had been alive, but it was warm, inviting—Gran had made sure of that when she’d overseen Laurentine’s rebuilding. The delicate double doors opened into an airy room with white-paneled walls adorned with portraits, while a periwinkle rug trimmed in lily white and decorated with lily-white scrolls cushioned the shining parquet floor. The four-poster bed was curtained in red velvet trimmed in gold fringe, its twining posts romantic and pleasing to the eye. Two enormous windows leading out onto a balcony added a final touch of grandeur to an already opulent room.
Home.
She’d claimed the lord’s apartment as her own, but someday, when she’d marry, these would be her rooms when she stayed at Laurentine. Someday soon, when she and Brennan were wed, finally committed to a life together for the rest of their lives. And a wedding night.
“So tell me everything,” she said as Olivia moved behind a privacy screen with a handful of clothes.
“Everything?” Olivia’s tired voice carried as her arms stuck out above the screen. “Where to even begin?”
“How were your first days as Archmage?” Rielle approached the fire and warmed her hands. The white-marble fireplace was small but intricately carved with mermaids—the same one that had always been here. Restored, it seemed.
“So everything everything, then,” Olivia replied with a laugh. “About how you’d expect. King Marcus’s Grands were skeptical of my worth—”
More the fools they.
“—but the former Archmage had recommended me highly, and King Marcus seemed to take a liking to me. I probably worked harder than all of them combined, and maybe they were beginning to respect me.”
Beginning to? “When the regicide happened?”
Olivia cleared her throat. “When James took a liking to me.”
Nothing quite stole respect like a superior’s love. That was an achingly familiar insight.
Raising her eyebrows, Rielle sat on the bed with a sympathetic sigh. Olivia seemed to have loved him, and… everyone knew the fate of Prince James. “I saw a note from him in your rooms in Trèstellan. He seemed… good.”
“He was. Dashing and wise and romantic and handsome. After he and his wife became estranged, he became known as somewhat of a rake at court. Witty, carefree, irresistible. An accomplished lover, by rumor. That alone had me falling at his feet.”
“You, falling at a man’s feet?” She laughed. “There’s a first for everything, I suppose?”
“Well, naturally, he pursued me. I only fell at his feet when he caught me. Does that count?”
“I see.” She rose and moved to pour herself a goblet of port. “And did rumor deliver?”
“Oh yes it did.”
She sat on a deep-blue sofa before the bed, with golden wood armrests, set before a low table with a small bouquet of wildflowers.
James had seemed a wonderful match for Olivia, but they both knew how that story had sadly ended.
Something inside of her twisted. Who was in Olivia’s life now? “And… since James?”
A heavy sigh. From behind a privacy screen, Olivia emerged in her own nightgown and robe, lengthy white linen under forest-green brocade. Her emerald eyes took on a dull cast.
“There was… potential.” Olivia’s voice had an uneven lilt to it that broke.
She moved past a card table near the large wall bearing a massive portrait of Mama in her youth and one of Papa from her uncle’s barony, among others, then poured herself a goblet of port, a lengthy pour, as if it were lifeblood. She sat next to Rielle on the sofa.
“Torrance?” Rielle asked. He and Olivia had gone to the Veris ball
together.
Olivia drank deeply of her port. “Wasn’t who I thought he was.”
“Well, not every man can be Olivia Sabeyon’s match.”
“Quite right.” Smiling, she nodded perkily.
Brennan’s uncle hadn’t measured up, but there would be other men. “Besides, I don’t think I could’ve called you ‘Aunt Olivia’ with a straight face.”
Olivia laughed, spitting port back into her goblet. “I can’t say I’d thought of that.” A mischievous grin slowly appeared on her face. “Speaking of which… how’s Marquis Tregarde?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Also can’t say I ever thought I’d see the day.”
Neither could she. Not until Sonbahar. “He’s—We—” Divine, he was infuriating, amazing, maddening, wonderful. “I think I’m in love with him.”
“You think?” Olivia cleared her throat and straightened. “That’s the kind of thing you want to know before you marry, isn’t it?”
Know. When Brennan looked at her, she melted. His voice stroked something deep within her, made her want to curl up against him. When he held her, she could close her eyes and surrender to sleep without worrying about overseers, masters, hisaad… He’d supported her, helped her, and in the first time in years, been honest, loyal, honorable, kind. He was perfect. “I do love him, Olivia.”
Olivia arched a brow and reached toward the cart for a handful of pralines. She offered some, and Rielle picked one. “These things can take time. It’s been a month, right? You’ll only grow closer.”
“That’s my hope,” she said with a lengthy sigh, thinking back to the stairwell. The dark, hot, tight, wanting stairwell.
“Oh? So then you haven’t—”
“No!” she blurted. “And we sleep together every night, and tonight, he… It’s like he’s teasing me.” No doubt that was exactly what he was doing, especially when he knew her impulses better than she did.
“Maybe he is,” Olivia said with a fleeting grin, then hid behind her port. “Maybe you should let him. Maybe it might be fun.”
“Mm, not letting him would definitely be more fun. Infinitely more fun. Every night, just fun, fun, fun, fun—”
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