by C. K. Brooke
“Mr. Treanor, generations of Oca and their sister tribes have adapted for millennia to withstand the terrain and climate of the North Sea,” Catja projected over their voices. “But it’s not a choice location for the average mainlander to migrate to. Winters can be brutal—believe me, I’ve endured my share. And the sea is treacherous. Indeed, the Kelti isn’t the first vessel it’s consumed; and sadly, probably won’t be the last.”
“But you just said it yourself,” sputtered Treanor. “The Oca have dwelt there for millennia. If they can do it, why can’t our colonists? Your Oca could show us how—”
“What would be the point, Miles?” Drew’s heated gaze hardened over the young advisor. At the sound of his given name, Miles Treanor closed his mouth, a splash of color at his cheeks. “The islands are their home. We wouldn’t bloody well want a ship of Continentals surging into our cities and staking their claims on our property, now would we?”
“But this is different,” grunted the general. “We are civilized society. Those islanders are just,” he waved his hand, “y’know…barbarians.”
“They are not barbarians, General Sendar.” Drew’s eyes flashed at him.
Catja’s heart swelled as she watched him. In that moment, there wasn’t anyone she was prouder to know.
“Andrew.” The emperor’s murmur was like that of a father calming his son. Drew steadied himself, drawing another draught from his goblet.
His uncle rubbed his beard. “Well, I won’t pretend this isn’t a disappointment. This discussion is more complicated than I was expecting for the evening. If no one minds,” he surveyed his council and the attendees, “I need to think on a course of action. Mr. Maxeos, Mr. Treanor,” he acknowledged his advisors, “I trust you’ll evaluate all angles of approach, and report back to me in due time.”
His advisors nodded.
“Meanwhile, let me delay your dinner no longer. I, for one, am hungry.” His Majesty got to his feet. “The meeting is adjourned. We’ll resume when my advisors present me a workable solution. Gentlemen?”
Catja stood respectfully as the ruler quitted the boardroom, followed by a formation of his guards. She waited until half of the councilmen had departed, too, then slipped out behind them, keeping her head down.
Earlier, the staff had served her such a lavish high tea that it had been a meal in itself. She still wasn’t hungry, and certainly possessed no desire to be pestered and confronted about her stance during a formal dinner in the banquet hall that night. All she wished was to return to her quarters, where she could ponder in solitude.
She steered clear of the nearest corridor, for she recognized three guards from the expedition—Officers Rylon, Milo and Pearson—approaching the emperor in a trio of bows. “Your Majesty,” Rylon’s greeting carried up the hall, “a word?”
“Make it quick,” she overheard the emperor’s reply. Keen to evade notice, Catja hastened to the nearest staircase, not caring where it led. Once upstairs, she could find her way to her suite.
Alas, she hadn’t gotten away undetected. Footsteps pursued her, and she knew the sound of that purposeful pace before his voice issued behind her.
“Slow down! Where are you going in such a tizzy?”
She allowed Drew to catch up with her. “I’m not in any tizzy.”
“Then why did you flee the meeting room like a bat out of hell?” He climbed the staircase alongside her. “And why are we going upstairs? I was hoping to accompany you to dinner.”
Catja couldn’t look at him. She was too confused. She needed time and seclusion to sort out her facts…not to mention, her feelings. And Drew, as always, was setting everything from her brain to her pulse off-kilter, like a haywire compass spinning every which way, no longer capable of simply pointing north.
“I’m skipping dinner,” she said. “You go on.”
He ignored the dismissal, instead joining her at the landing. “So, do you think we persuaded him?”
“Dunno.” She moved up the hall in search of her suite. She would recognize the door, wouldn’t she? Was she even on the right floor? “I s’pose we’ll have to wait and see.”
“Come on.” Andrew puffed out an exasperated laugh. “Haven’t you any more optimism than that?”
“No. Maybe. I mean….” She paused, comprehending that they were the only two in the deserted corridor. “Why are you following me?”
“Because you’re running away from me.”
His voice resounded in the empty hall, the accusation haunting her once, twice, three times more as it echoed off of marble pillars and yawning ceilings. Catja stilled, realizing she couldn’t deny it.
“Look.” His expression became serious beneath his darkening eyes. “I know all you want is for me to leave you alone. I know that’s all you’ve ever wanted, since the day I barged into your life. And I will. But let me just say this.” He took a step forward, his face intent. “You were bloody incredible back there. Do you hear me?” A shiver swept down Catja’s spine at his conviction. “Catja Lovell, you are the most beautiful, brilliant woman I have ever met.” He swallowed, his gaze dimming. “And you have no business being that way when I can’t have you.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned away.
Staggered, Catja watched him go. “Hey,” she whispered weakly, but quickly recovered her senses. Not caring how loud she was, she shouted after him, “Hey!”
He stopped. As he turned again, her chest heaved. “Who says you can’t have me?”
She was alarmed by the smoldering in his eyes as he marched back up to her. “Cat.” He approached her, parking his fingers at the base of her neck, and tucked aside her hair. “My sweet Cat….”
Her entire body trembled. It felt like the very first time when he bent his head and brought his mouth over hers. She seized him in her arms, drinking in the taste of him, the scent of his skin like cedar and leather, with a hint of pipe smoke. Her every muscle went limp as he embraced her, holding her up to his solid chest. She didn’t protest when his tongue breached into her mouth, dancing with hers, sending her heart into a frenzy as their passion escalated.
“What more must I do to prove myself to you?” he moaned, his lips roaming over hers even as he spoke. She backed against a door behind them, pulling him closer so that he blocked her in.
“I think you’ve given me all the proof I need,” she sighed into his mouth.
His heavy hands rolled up her hips as he grunted, “Not all.”
She indulged herself, gripping his backside. The man grazed his teeth against her earlobe in response.
“I want you.” His whisper was gruff. “Badly.”
“Drew.” Her breathing came ragged.
“Where is your room?” he muttered between kisses.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Whose door is this?”
Drew grinned, pulling down the handle. “Who cares?”
A knock resounded at the door. It took Johanna a full minute to recall where she was. Cor, she thought, sweeping her curls out of her eyes to read the clock on the wall. Had she really slept through the remainder of the previous day, and all through the night? And no wonder, for the velvet drapes were closed, preserving the sleepy room in blackness.
Johanna went to the door to find Mari, a maid. “My lady,” she curtseyed, “the Captain of the Guard has arrived to escort you to the palace.”
Johanna squinted into the sunlit hallway. The captain? “But I didn’t summon anyone to escort me.”
Though she kept her face neutral, Mari’s eyes were sympathetic. “The emperor and empress have summoned you, dear. Both of you.”
Both…? Johanna placed a hand over her chest. “Where is Ayla?” By God, how could she have been awake for so long as a minute without remembering her daughter?
“She’s just fine, my lady,” the maid assured her. “The girls have been taking turns holding h
er and giving her bottles. Now, if you will, please help yourself to the wardrobe,” she hinted. “Of course, we’ve nothing so fine here as you’re used to, but Lady Seluna hopes our selection will do.”
Johanna glanced down at the night robe she’d borrowed after her bath the previous night. Right—she needed to change.
“Do you require any assistance dressing, my lady?”
“Oh. Thank you, but I can manage.”
Johanna went to the wardrobe as Mari drew the drapes. Sunlight flooded into the chamber, illuminating the emerald comforter and framed paintings of gardens and kittens on the wall. Johanna was barely paying attention to the frock she selected, yellow with lace trimming. It was the only one that looked about her size. She waited until Mari had gone before sponging her face and hands at the basin and changing her attire.
The only perk to her wild hair, she supposed, was that it seldom responded to brushing. She’d broken enough of her mother’s combs to learn not to try anymore. She fluffed her curls with her fingers and left the chamber. She felt well-rested, yes. But now that her uncle and aunt had sent the Captain of the Guard to fetch her—and Ayla—she wished she could crawl back into bed.
She descended the stairs, following the soft voices cooing in the front parlor. She came upon a circle of women not terribly older than herself, fawning over her daughter in a bassinet. They looked up, spotting her, and scrambled up to curtsey. For the first time in her life, Johanna wished they wouldn’t. No one had curtseyed to her in the North Islands, and she’d just gotten used to it.
“Here you go, Ayla,” sang a mouse-haired girl, scooping up the child. “Back to your mama.”
Johanna looked round at them all. “Thank you.”
A willowy woman clasped her hands together. “Do bring her back sometime.”
“Indeed,” said another. “We’d love to see her again.”
Johanna smiled, receiving the child. She noticed the women had changed Ayla out of the Oca’s animal skins and into a white linen gown. “I will,” she promised, stroking Ayla’s cheek.
“Lady Johanna,” a smooth voice by the door beckoned her. Johanna bade the girls goodbye, thanking them once more, and followed Lady Selu outdoors. A silver horse-drawn carriage emblazoned with the Ducelle crest awaited her in the drive, a uniformed giant standing beside it, hands tucked behind his mighty back. He inclined his head. “Good morning, my lady.”
Beside him, Lady Selu was but a slip of a woman. She placed a hand on his massive arm. “Of course, you remember my husband?”
“One never forgets Sir Bos,” Johanna grinned nervously. She was alleviated to find no judgment in the captain’s clear blue eyes. Or maybe his shock had simply worn off.
Oh, God. The whole palace must know.
Sir Bos saw her into the carriage, and Johanna watched as he stooped down to kiss his wife goodbye. Neither spoke as he joined her and the driver propelled the coach up the road.
She surveyed Sir Bos from the bench across, from his gigantic boots to the brushes of white in his golden blond hair. Every so often, the pull of his lips or the way he rested his hands over his knees reminded her of his son.
The carriage rolled down a new lane, and Johanna could withstand the silence no longer. “Captain?”
He regarded her.
“How fares the emperor?” She adjusted the child who, tiny as she was, was growing heavy in her arms. “Is he well?”
“He is.”
Too succinct. Johanna frowned. “Er, what I meant to ask is…well, does he seem upset?”
“Not with you, Johanna,” was all he answered.
The ride hadn’t been long, but Ayla was already dozing by the time they arrived. This is it, thought Johanna as Sir Bos helped her down from the carriage. “Welcome to the Royal Palace, Ayla,” she whispered to the child.
She entered through the doors at the captain’s side, searching for a familiar face on the way to the throne room. “Is Bram here?” she inquired.
“He is on duty.”
Johanna looked down, assuming that was all the response she would get, but was surprised when he continued in his low timbre, “He wanted to fetch you himself last night, but my wife insisted you were resting. His Majesty asked me personally to retrieve you, first thing this morning.”
“I see.” Johanna’s pulse galloped. Somehow, her uncle had found out as early as the night before? Somebody must’ve blabbed; it had to have been one of the guards, or maybe even her brother, fearful of treason. She wanted to trust Sir Bos’s assurance that the emperor was not upset with her. But then, with whom was he dismayed?
The captain pulled open the heavy door to the throne room, announcing her name and title at the top of his voice. Ayla’s eyelids rippled at the sound. Mustering her courage, Johanna lifted her chin and strode inside.
She was surprised to find not two, not three, but four people ready to meet her.
With a rigid salute to the emperor and a low bow to the empress, Sir Bos saw himself out, closing the door behind him.
Not even a single servant was present as Johanna lingered, awaiting permission to come closer. Her Majesty, Aunt Eponina, was the first to speak. “You may step forth, Johanna.”
Her feet were suddenly sluggish. Seated in the pair of thrones were, of course, her aunt and uncle, with a grim-faced Felix standing behind them. But the fourth person, standing beside her brother, was….
“My lady.” Chestnut hair tumbled over his shadowy eyes as he bowed his head. He then lifted it, a long, sugary simper uncoiling its way across his mouth. “Darling.”
Johanna froze before him. She was so shocked, entirely unprepared to see him, she feared if she opened her mouth, she’d begin speaking Ocanese. Her brain wasn’t exactly formulating complete sentences.
“Your Majesties. My lord,” Jude Covington addressed her family with overplayed humility, “may I beseech your permission to explain myself to Johanna?”
The empress’s face was smooth as stone, but she granted him a nod. Meanwhile, Felix scowled down at him with blatant loathing. Well, don’t bottle it all in, Felix, thought his sister dryly. Why not make your feelings known to us?
The Earl of Tremblay rested his eyes on Johanna, inhaling sweetly as though she were a rose garden. “My love,” he crooned, “no more than a moon had passed since the night you shared our news with me, and I…had a change of heart.” He brought his hands together in a plea so earnest, she almost believed it. “You must understand, I was frightened, at first. Overwhelmed. I feared for myself. And for you, too, of course.”
Felix heaved a surly sigh.
“But I…” Lord Covington cleared his throat, “quickly became ashamed of my reaction, and sought to do right by the royal family, by you, and…my child.” He mopped the perspiration over his lip with a handkerchief.
“So I came here to look for you, wondering if you hadn’t returned to Rhys yet, only to discover you’d gone away on the expedition.” He laughed at this, shaking his head. “How recklessly silly of you.”
He inched nearer, finally acknowledging the sleeping bundle she cradled. “And is this…?” His eyes widened. “My…?”
“Her name is Ayla,” Johanna informed him. She was not only surprised at the steadiness of her words, but at the fact that she managed to speak at all amidst the tidal wave of hurt and confusion consuming her.
He didn’t ask to hold the child. Which was very well, because Johanna wouldn’t have let him anyhow. She knew from personal experience how slippery his hands were.
Perhaps at the distress in her mother’s voice, Ayla began to whimper.
“Joni.” Her uncle stood, his gaze brimming with pity. “We’ve prepared the nursery. If you’d like, the servants can take Ayla there now.”
“Thank you, Uncle Mac, but I can soothe her,” insisted Johanna. As if she would hand off her baby to a servant.
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“My dear,” Jude Covington vied for her attention over Ayla’s squeaking. “The moment I heard of your return, just last night, I hurried to seek an audience with His and Her Majest—”
“Hogwash,” growled Felix, black hair glinting in the sconce light. It reminded Johanna of the Bonghee, how they altered their appearances to resemble panthers. “You were called out by the Grand Duchess Raphaela, and dragged here sniveling like the vermin you are.”
“Felix,” their uncle warned him softly.
Johanna closed her eyes. Oh, Raph.
Her cousin had clearly suspected her exploits with the earl at Carmen’s wedding. Raphaela must’ve been trying to do good by Johanna’s honor. But what a debacle it was causing, whatever the girl’s intentions.
“We heard it first from a set of guards,” Felix pressed on, hotheaded, to Jude, “that my sister mothered a child on the voyage. And then, the grand duchess was the only one to speak up on Johanna’s behalf, to bring the man responsible to justice, so that my sister might not bear her burden alone.” He took a menacing step nearer. “And you have the gall to claim you came here voluntarily, out of the goodness of your shriveled heart?”
“I swear it, my lord, I was already on my way!” contended Jude. He turned to Johanna again. “Dearest, I’ve begged for your aunt and uncle’s pardon, and for your hand in marriage. And they have accepted.”
Johanna stopped swaying Ayla to register the statement. Every fiber of her being protested. It felt as though the palace itself might collapse atop her. “What?” she breathed.
“Johanna.” The empress’s voice was serious, but not unkind. “We need to know. Is it true? Is the baby yours, and the earl the father?”
“Yes, Aunt Nina.”
Uncle Mac massaged his brow. “Joni, you should’ve told us. Had we known, we never would have allowed you to endanger yourself on that expedition.”
“I was scared, Uncle.” Her voice broke. “I still am. I’ve brought scandal and shame upon our family.”