Tempered Hearts (Hearts of Valentia Book 1)

by S. A. Huchton

  “I know exactly how you feel, asahana,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get through it together.”

  When she looked up at him, his shoulders straightened, surprised at his sudden urge to protect her so fiercely. He wanted— needed— her to trust him. He would keep her safe.

  His words seemed to ease her fears, and they descended to the carpet for the first time as man and wife.

  He didn’t know if his happy smile was at all convincing at the banquet. His stomach was knotted with dread at what he knew was set to happen in only a few short hours. By the little Arden ate at dinner, she wasn’t any less nervous than he was.

  There were speeches and wishes of nothing but happiness and prosperity over the course of the evening, and more than a few awkward jokes about the many children the guests were sure they’d have. As the wine flowed, it only got worse. When even Arden drained her goblet and asked for another, Darius decided it was time to put them both out of their misery.

  At a look from Darius, Ingram stood and banged his cup on the table, motioning for the traditional forshaiya bench to be brought forth. Arden’s shoulders went so taut, he was slightly worried her muscles might snap from the tension. Leaning over, he touched her hand to speak with her. She jerked, startled, but he offered her a reassuring smile.

  “Da’na’mene, asahana,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

  She swallowed and answered with a tight nod.

  The rowdy cheers and laughter drew his attention from her wide eyes to the group of burly men bearing the newlywed bench upon their shoulders. Their chairs were hauled away, and many hands delivering congratulatory slaps on the back herded the couple toward their royal palanquin. As nervous as she was, Darius insisted on lifting Arden himself, a guard boosting him up after her. Amidst shouted farewells and whistles, they were carried away, off to the hall he avoided for months.

  A group bearing bells and noisy horns followed them the entire way, as though the racket was somehow going to make the task ahead easier for either of them. It did serve as a small distraction from where they were, and he was facing away from the room he used to share with Naya. Still, not even a horn blown in his ear could drown out the ghosts of his past whispering to him.

  Darius jumped to the ground outside the bridal suite, immediately turning to collect the perfectly petrified Arden. Setting her by the door, he turned and raised a hand to quell the rowdy mob.

  “Gentlemen, if you would excuse us, your company is no longer required. Please feel free to rejoin the festivities in the ballroom, however.”

  “If His Majesty needs a hand tonight…” one of the men said, followed by another round of guffawing.

  His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, knowing full well they wouldn’t disperse until they were sure he had the situation under control. He gave them all his best confident sneer, and turned to face Arden, who was all but cowering against the door.

  “Forgive me this indiscretion, asahana,” he whispered in elvish.

  “What—” He cut off her question by whisking her into his arms, one hand around her waist, the other sweeping up her neck and into her hair as he pulled her mouth against his. At first stricken, she melted in an instant, and he released her enough to turn the door handle. He kicked it open the rest of the way and dragged her in with him, a total surprise to her judging by her yelp of alarm. Once she was safely out of sight, he stepped back to the door and grinned at the men outside.

  “Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”

  The sound of their laughter stopped the moment he closed the door.

  Darius leaned against the frame and sighed, nervously raking a hand through his hair as he cast a glance at a stupefied Arden. “I apologize for that. They’re weren’t going to leave without some sort of proof of…” he trailed off and looked away.

  She finally moved, but only to shift her weight from one foot to the other, rubbing her arm a little. “Proof of what?”

  “Proof of intent.” Letting out a slow exhale, he pushed off from the door and crossed the room to the small bar in the corner, drawing the heavy blue drapes across the windows as he went. At the cabinet, he removed a crystal decanter of clear liquid and two small cups, pouring each half full. By the time he finished, Arden had only made it halfway across the room, looking a little lost as to what she should do next.

  He handed her one of the glasses. “You seem like you need this at least as much as I do.”

  She took it, studying it with uncertainty. “What is it?”

  “It’s called tal aveth. It’s an elvish liqueur distilled from the nectar of avariyan roses.” He swirled it under his nose, inhaling the fragrant bouquet. “I save it for very special occasions, or for times when I need to get drunk as fast as possible.” He chuckled a little. “Seems to me this is a bit of both for us.”

  She frowned, clearly unimpressed by the joke. “While I appreciate your honesty, there’s not much comfort in knowing my husband needs to be witless before he’ll consider—”

  It worked well before, so he put a finger to her lips to silence her. “That isn’t what I meant, Arden.” Her frown deepened, and he drew his hand away. “You needn’t pretend like you aren’t as terrified of this as I am.”

  “And you think getting drunk is the answer for that?”

  He stared into his cup, shaking his head with a sad smile. “I don’t know of a better one, but if you’ve any suggestions, I’d hear them.”

  After a moment, she sighed and wandered over to the table by the fire, setting her drink down and reaching up to remove the sparkling diadem nestled in her hair, laying it beside the glass. She scowled at it.

  “I’ve no idea what to do with this thing. Elena and Paitra usually put it away for me, but I’ve never paid attention to what they do with it. That’s probably terrible of me, isn’t it? A priceless tiara, enchanted at that, and I’ve never given a second’s worth of consideration to where it goes when not on my head.”

  He leaned up against a bedpost, watching her. He supposed he could’ve strode across the room, swept her up and had at it to get it over with, but what sort of man would that have made him? There was a beautiful woman, his wife, waiting for him to make a move, and all he could think about was the last time he spent the night with Naya.

  Arden bent, taking off her shoes with a little sigh of relief, and carried them over to the dressing room. She disappeared inside for a moment, but returned almost immediately, biting her lip as she looked at him.

  “I…” Her cheeks flushed and she lost her courage.

  Confused, he didn’t understand her hesitation. “Yes? What is it?”

  She spun around, her back to him. “My laces. I can’t reach the knots.”

  “Oh!” He straightened, comprehension dawning. No wonder she was nervous. “Yes, of course. One moment.”

  He set his untouched drink on the nightstand and crossed to her. Surprisingly, his hands trembled a little. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t undone a corset or two in his time, but she was not a frisky merchant’s daughter or battle weary field nurse.

  She was Arden, and he would only ever be careful with her.

  The laces undone, her dress parted to reveal soft, pale skin. As he loosened the last tie, his fingers brushed the exposed flesh, and she shivered. She turned, holding the front of her gown in place.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled and backed away. “Happy to help.”

  She stood there for a moment, as though considering her next move, but what courage she had faltered, and she retreated to the dressing room once more. After retrieving his glass, Darius took a chair by the fire and tried to estimate how many swallows of tal aveth he needed to drink before he forgot who he was sharing a bed with. He was about to take his first sip when Arden joined him, scooping up her drink as she sat.

  “This is maybe the most ridiculous wedding n
ight two people have ever had.” Before he could stop her, she upended the entirety of the glass into her mouth and down her throat.

  He stared at her in shock. “That… I strongly advise against drinking so much, so quickly in the future. And I hardly think it is. Nobility don’t marry for love, remember?”

  She made an exasperated noise and pushed out of the chair, her white robe parting a little to reveal the satin nightgown beneath. Without asking, she retrieved the decanter of tal aveth and set it down on the table between them, pouring another for herself when she’d settled again.

  She giggled. “I take back what I said about getting drunk not being the answer. At least this way, when they ask about my night, I won’t have to lie. If I can’t remember, you can say whatever you like, and I simply won’t disagree. Have me or don’t. I promise not to argue either way.”

  When she reached for her glass, he put his hand over hers, a little angry she valued herself so little. “Don’t talk that way, asahana. I won’t let you.”

  “You won’t—” Her face went pink, though with her temper, not embarrassment. “Why do you care? You’ve clearly no interest in bedding me, so how else should I speak of myself?”

  “It isn’t any lack of physical appeal, Arden. I should be… any other man likely wouldn’t have my hesitation.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure. Any man but the one who married me, is that it?”

  He removed the glass from her grasp and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Please, I’ve no desire to hurt you. And I don’t believe you should be forced to be with a man who doesn’t have your very best interests at heart. I won’t lie with you out of obligation. Can you honestly say you would welcome that?”

  She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, shaking her head.

  “And neither would I.”

  He reached up and touched her chin. When she looked at him again, tears welled in her eyes, and he pulled her to the floor, closer to the warmth of the fire. Grabbing their glasses, he returned hers to her and lifted his own, clinking them together with a single, clear ring.

  “To Valentia,” he said softly.

  Arden hesitated, her lips moving silently in her own toast, but she lifted the glass to her mouth and took a sip with him. Eventually, he removed his boots and the ridiculously over-embroidered doublet, and the two of them sat and talked on the rug before the fireplace. Two more small cups of tal aveth later, and Arden was drifting off, nestled against his shoulder and murmuring curious, half-formed thoughts.

  “What did you say, asahana?”

  “Mountain…” she mumbled.

  Mountain? He sighed. She was sound asleep, and he didn’t want to wake her for an explanation. Gently as he could, he lifted her from the rug and carried her to the bed, her head lolling against his shoulder as her arm encircled his neck. He paused for a moment, then held her close, brushing a kiss across her forehead. Was he mad to put off the inevitable? He considered waking her, telling her he changed his mind, but the thought of seeing her disappointed over their joining immediately brought the idea to a screeching halt. Instead, he tucked her in amongst the soft pillows and blankets. She’d been right about keeping up appearances, at least, so he changed into his own nightclothes before crawling in beside her.

  He laid awake for a while, staring up at the ceiling, but the sound of her rhythmic breathing soothed him into sleep before long. Perhaps in the morning he could start again with her.

  Chapter 16

  Arden

  The chirp of a bird outside stirred her from sleep, but her body refused to comply. She was far too warm and cozy to consider waking. After all, it wasn’t as though the day held…

  Arden’s eyes popped open, remembering exactly where she was and why. Beside her, Darius slept on his side, one arm under his pillow, the other draped loosely across her waist. She laid there staring at him, tracing the lines of his face in the chink of light that snuck through the curtains, slashing across the pale scars on his cheek.

  Her husband.

  She wondered what he dreamt of, looking so peaceful, but decided perhaps it was better not to know.

  Everything about him was solid, dependable. Even the lazy way his hair laid at unruly angles spoke of a certainty that he’d never be any less handsome to her than the first time she saw him. Part of her wanted to reach out, to run her fingertips along the edges of his jaw, feel the reddish gold stubble that grew overnight, but she didn’t want to wake him. She didn’t want to see the apology in his eyes when he looked at her, as even that was a thing she’d come to expect. Truthfully, though, the longer she considered it, the more at ease she was. She’d married a man who didn’t want to hurt her. Even in sleep, he held her as though she was under his protection, like his strong arms could fend off any enemy.

  Watching him that morning, she almost believed he could fight off anything. He might never look at her with a burning passion, but always with the utmost care. Would there ever be more than that? Was it silly to even consider?

  His eyelids fluttered, gradually focusing on her face. A corner of his mouth turned up in a sleepy smile and he closed his eyes again. “Are you staring at me, asahana?”

  “Am I not allowed to?”

  His arm slowly shifted, his hand lifting to brush the hair from her face. “You’re certainly welcome to. How’s your head this morning?”

  “I’ve not moved yet, so I couldn’t say. Yours?”

  He chuckled and dropped his hand to the covers between them. “The beauty of tal aveth is the surprising lack of side effects. I didn’t want either of us feeling ill at the start of our trip today.”

  Amidst all the wedding fuss, she’d nearly forgotten about the journey he’d planned for them. When he went to push himself up, she set her hand on his, stopping him.

  “Something wrong?”

  She propped herself on an elbow and inched closer to him, still unsure about how he would react to any sort of physical contact. “This trip… it really does mean a lot to me. I just want…”

  His eyebrow lifted in a devilish half smirk, and she faltered. The man completely disarmed her with nothing more than a look. She bit down on her bottom lip and tightened her grip on his hand. With a final push of confidence, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. Perhaps it meant nothing to him, but she poured as much gratitude as she could into that kiss— both in thanks for his gift, and for the meaningful, deliberate care he showed her the night before. After a moment, his free hand drifted up her arm, over her shoulder, coming to a rest with his fingers tangled in her hair at the base of her skull, the heel of his palm below her ear. Her skin heated and prickled where he touched her, and though she intended the kiss to be brief, she found herself lingering there, wanting more of his warm, soft lips. But there were things to do, and one kiss was not going to sway him any more than her attempt to have him undress her the night before.

  She broke away with a quiet, sharp breath, peeking at him through her lashes. His fingertips lingered on her neck, his eyes slow to open.

  “What was that for, asahana?” he said, whispering against her mouth.

  “A thank you, and an apology for any harsh words I said to you last night,” she answered. “So you know I’m not angry with you.”

  He studied her so intently, a blush crept into her cheeks, and she sat up to sling her legs over the side of the bed. As they were likely supposed to leave soon, she needed to get moving. A knock at the door saved her from any further awkward situations, and she tightened her robe as she went to answer the summons.

  The moment she opened the door, there wasn’t any time to dwell on much of anything. Paitra and Elena shuttled her off to her dressing room, and Darius disappeared inside his after a yawn and mumbled good morning to them. Paitra brought her riding clothes from Aerenhall, and Elena was busy running down the list of all the things they packed for the journe
y. Granted, it was only a single trunk and a large pack, but they wanted to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

  “I just wish you were going with me,” she said with a sigh. “What am I going to do without either of you there to talk to?”

  Paitra chuckled. “I suppose you’ll be forced to speak with your husband for the duration. Though I am a little jealous you’ll see my sister before I will. It’s been four years since I’ve been out to visit. Her children must be so grown by now…”

  “Any messages or gifts you’d like me to pass to her?” Arden asked as Elena braided her hair in a single, long plait, leaving the shorter strands in front for the braids she’d put there later.

  “There’s a small bundle in your trunk, wrapped in green oil cloth. Do you mind? Calla will be happy to see a small brick of tea in there.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’m looking forward to hearing embarrassing stories about you when you were a child.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  She giggled. “Probably not a wager you want to put money on.”

  Paitra waved off the conversation, then cast a look at the door. Kneeling, she lowered her voice as she leaned in close to gossip. “Enough of that, though. What about last night? Did you try any of the things I told you about?”

  The whole of her immediately flushed a bright, brilliant red. “Paitra!”

  “What? You can’t blame me for being curious. So how was it?”

  Arden crossed her arms and huffed. “Last night was perfectly fine, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Given every other conversation we’ve ever had on the subject, it’s a little odd you’d be so defensive about it now.”

  “Are you saying you’d be able to contain yourself around His Majesty if I did tell you?” She tried to keep calm. Even if it was only Paitra and Elena, she couldn’t risk it getting out that her marriage had yet to be consummated. “He’d know immediately if I told you. There’s no way you could keep a straight face. Besides, I prefer to be the only one here who knows what’s beneath his breeches.”