She was left facing Lord Teige, who stared after his friend with knitted brows before offering his hand. “I’m always pleased to make the acquaintance of a beautiful woman, Lady Maren.”
She forced a smile and placed her hand in his.
Intense pressure pierced through her left shoulder, and she unconsciously gripped Teige’s hand tighter.
“Lady Maren, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she managed, her voice weaker than she would have liked. “I’m fine. A sudden headache.”
“You don’t look well,” he said, guiding her to a chair. “Let me get someone to help.”
“That’s not necessary, but thank you.” She tried not to look as panicked as she felt. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Probably the stress of the past week.”
He held her gaze with his own, concern and curiosity clearly warring with good manners. Then he bowed once more before greeting Kira.
The next half hour was a blur. Not because of the pain, which had evaporated shortly after it came, but because her shoulder hadn’t hurt like that since before the siege. She shouldn’t be feeling it now. She’d been healed – as much as she could be. Maybe the stress of the past week truly was catching up with her.
She retreated to the edge of the crowd, passing Philip with a beaming Lady Kira on his arm. He ignored her. Kira shot her a look of pure triumph. As if it was some sort of contest. Some things never changed.
She sank onto a nearby chair. Now her head truly did hurt. Philip hated her. Time hadn’t fixed anything. And still, she couldn’t keep from following him with her eyes, seeing him praised by others, watching as he readjusted to the life that had been his. Even now, Kira hung on one arm, Teige stood to his right. And a large crowd had gathered around them. Laughter and smiles flowed freely – until someone dared ask the question everyone wanted the answer to.
“What exactly happened out there, Lord Philip? How did you kill Kern?”
Philip paused with his drink halfway to his mouth, and resignation settled into every one of his features. Maren slipped from her chair and moved closer.
Philip took a deep breath. “While Kern was busy holding siege to the city, I was scouring the country for men. By the time they were trained and I made my way here, I had a force of just over three thousand. Kern, by comparison, had less than a thousand.”
She could feel the crowd’s anticipation. Whether they laughed off the “crazy” man from earlier or not, they all wanted an explanation. They were curious. And with the deep-seeded fear of magic that Kern had wrought throughout the kingdom, they wanted to know not just that he was gone, but how it happened. They wanted assurance.
So did she. Desperately.
Philip gave it to them, describing how Teige distracted Kern with the bulk of the army while Philip took a smaller force and snuck up from behind.
“Then what happened?” someone in the crowd prompted.
Philip hesitated. Only a hardness around his eyes gave any indication to the depth of his emotions. “I stabbed Kern straight through the heart.”
A few in the crowd gasped. One woman let out a horrified cry. But no one moved. “And?” The words weren’t spoken aloud, but Maren could feel the question hanging in the air like an unpleasant wind.
Philip frowned. “As soon as the fighting ended, we took the body back to camp and burned it.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Kern truly was dead. Even though she’d known it on some level, hearing it from Philip filled her with a relief that left her light headed and surprisingly drained.
The crowd obviously felt similar. Still, they only stood wide-eyed for a moment before the questions poured out.
It was like watching a group of boys after a sporting competition. They wanted to replay every move. Every hit. Every win. They pushed forward, each trying to get that all-important detail that would be talked about for the next week. Not that anything they heard would stay the same. The story would grow and change and adapt until it was barely recognizable. And through it all, the reality would be lost. So would the horror.
Only Philip seemed to understand the seriousness of it all. He opened his mouth and then shut it again and shook his head, unwilling to say anymore. Instead, everyone’s eyes turned to Teige, eager for the details Philip wouldn’t share.
“All right, all right.” Teige put his arms up in surrender. “I’ll tell you everything Philip is too modest to say.”
Maren retreated from the crowd, immediately searching for Philip. He stood with Daric and Adare, listening more than talking. She could understand his reservation; he’d been gone for three years. But the difference she’d sensed in him earlier was more than reservation. She continued to watch him move about the room, talking to various people, receiving praise that obviously made him uncomfortable. Then he turned and their eyes met just for a moment before he looked away.
And she finally recognized what was different.
He’d lost the laughter in his eyes – the realization of which tore at her heart like nothing else had. It was one of the things she’d loved most about him. That laughter had allowed them to share private jokes even from across a crowded ballroom. It had let her know when he was internally chuckling while some young woman was trying to win his affections. It had assured her that the bond between them was as strong as ever. It was something he let everyone see but that he only truly shared with her.
Tears stung her eyes as she made her way to the door, desperately needing to be alone.
Maren wrapped her arms around her legs and stared out the window. It had been hours since her confrontation with Philip, but her mood hadn’t improved. She sat in the dark, letting the moonlight rest on her face.
Below her, the people still celebrated. The streets were almost as full as they’d been this morning. Bonfires blazed in every courtyard. Food and drink, scarce for so long, were passed around in abundance until the people were drunk with happiness. The city felt alive again.
And she’d never felt so alone, which was something, all things considered.
She’d always lived in the castle. Not in the high, beautiful rooms with views of the city where she lived now. But neither in the servants’ quarters that were shoved behind the kitchen and always smelled of onion. Her father was the King’s Scholar, the youngest son of the youngest son of the Lord of Alaister. A respectful pedigree – not the highest, or the lowest. Somewhere in the middle.
It hadn’t really bothered her. At least not much, especially as she got older and realized she didn’t care about position or title, or that the other Ladies never really accepted her. She just wanted to be happy. And she had been. Until three years ago.
And now…well it was more complicated. Her head ached. Her heart ached. Her shoulder ached more than normal. She was exhausted.
How could she live like this? How could she face Philip again? How could she endure that kind of pain – heartache – day after day and still maintain the outward appearance of normalcy? The questions had swirled through her head since she’d collapsed on her bed hours earlier, and she still didn’t have any answers.
Her door creaked open, but she didn’t bother to turn around. Only one person would enter her room without knocking.
Adare wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I didn’t understand. I didn’t think he’d be…” She took a deep breath. “Should I have Daric throw him in the dungeon or would you like to do it personally?”
Even with Adare’s attempt at humor, Maren couldn’t find it in herself to smile.
“Won’t you tell me what happened?” Adare asked. “I know you quarreled, but obviously it was more than that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I just hoped, after three years…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He still hates me.”
Adare’s arms tightened around her. “No, he doesn’t. No one who saw the way he looked at you for that first second could ever believe that. It was l
ike he’d finally, truly come home.”
Which somehow only made her feel worse.
Siege: A Borrowed Magic Novella Page 7