by Ryals, R. K.
“I have the warrior’s right,” Cadeyrn announced. “By law, I am the girl’s original captor and may take her as my slave. I claim that right.”
I froze, my gaze going to Cadeyrn’s, my ears roaring. I’m pretty sure I shook my head. I even thought I heard Daegan and Maeve protesting as Oran growled ominously. Lochlen had calmed, and he watched as he often did, observing quietly as if he saw and knew everything.
Freemont gaped at his son. “The female war law is barbaric and has not been practiced in years.”
“And yet you have not abolished it,” Cadeyrn pointed out. “It is still my right. She will be taken to my chamber, not the tower.”
No! I flattened my palms against the wall, my eyes wide with horror. I knew Cadeyrn had a consort, knew that he’d shared his bed with another since his wife’s death. Was he saying I was supposed to do the same?
Freemont stared at his son. “You will be responsible for guarding her at all times. I can’t risk that. She could slit your throat in the middle of the night.”
“And yet, I have the right to risk it,” Cadeyrn stated, his tone final.
Freemont chose not to argue, his eyes going to Lochlen as the dragon transformed, becoming the russet-haired man with the disconcerting eyes once more. The setting sun in the sky above our heads cast long golden rays into the room, making his hair look like fire.
“My civility is short lived,” Lochlen announced. “The dragons choose Prince Cadeyrn. We will accept him as our military leader for any war that overthrows King Raemon of Medeisia. We will even accept him as the girl’s guard if you fear her so, but imprison her anywhere else, and I will destroy every man in this room and damn the consequences.”
I was still shaking my head. Over and over, I shook it. Daegan and Maeve looked just as startled as I did. What was Lochlen doing?
King Freemont’s jaw tightened. “So be it. The war council convenes tomorrow afternoon, and this matter will be settled once and for all. In the morning, we receive Gabriella, the princess of Greemallia, and my son’s future bride. Our alliance with Greemallia is needed now more than ever.”
The king turned, his hand over his eyes, his fingers rubbing furiously at his forehead. It seemed the only dismissal we were going to receive.
The king’s guard escorted us from the chamber while Ryon and Madden guided me sullenly away from the group. Oran followed.
I looked over my shoulder only once, my gaze meeting Lochlen’s. I shook my head, but his stare intensified. In it, I read his silent words … trust me.
Chapter 25
Ryon and Madden were tight-lipped, their gazes full of disapproval when they led Oran and I into a decadent upstairs room. Unlike the hall below, the castle’s second level was well decorated, the white stone walls covered in amazing tapestries and paintings, many of them ancestral. We had passed an open parlor and study before entering a hall with thick oak doors. Each one had a symbol carved in the wood, most of them celestial. There had been a moon on this door, a full moon. Grains of wheat had been carved around it. The Harvest Moon.
I didn’t have a chance to wonder much about its meaning before Ryon slammed the door in my face. I could hear the guards settling against its exterior, and I released a long suffering sigh before turning, my eyes sweeping the room.
Cadeyrn’s chambers were magnificent. There was a small living area with velvet cushioned settees and a large wine-colored throw rug before a massive hearth. Beyond it was his bed, an oak four poster with an equally dark comforter. It matched the rug.
Oran moved around me, padding across the floor before settling in front of the hearth. A low fire burned there, and I welcomed its warmth. I wasn’t sure if it was the setting sun or the thought of Cadeyrn sharing the room that made me so cold.
“I can’t do this,” I said.
Oran looked up at me. “He won’t touch you,” he promised.
I glared at him. “How do you know?”
The fire caught in the wolf’s eyes. “Because grief has a way of forming walls between people. Even if he still didn’t mourn his wife, I do not think the prince is the kind of man to force a bereaved woman.”
I was inclined to agree with Oran, but there was still a knot in my gut that tightened each time I heard a noise on the other side of the door.
I swiveled, my eyes catching on a large desk in the corner of the chamber opposite the living area. Large, potted plants sat on each side of it, the leaves dangling over the polished mahogany. The leaves shook when I stared at them.
“Hello, child,” they said.
I sighed, letting the plants’ words roll over me, comforting me. I knew they didn’t need a reply; that they’d only spoken so I would know they were here.
I pushed my fist into my stomach and moved to sit on one of settees. I’d barely gotten settled when the knob on the door turned. I stood again, my palm flat against my belly.
Cadeyrn entered, his gaze finding me before moving away again. He didn’t say a word. He simply moved through the room before pausing next to his bed.
There was only one bed in the chamber, the massive oak four poster with its thick, feather-stuffed mattress. I refused to sleep with Cadeyrn. I wouldn’t touch him. I couldn’t.
The prince must have noticed my discomfort and took pity on me.
“There is an adjoining bed,” he said.
He reached toward the wall nearest him, placing his fingers inside a small niche I hadn’t noticed before. The wall slid back, revealing another four poster bed almost as big as the main one. I stared.
“Why are there two?” I asked.
I walked over to the wall and inspected it. It was a moving panel that pulled shut using a rolling system. If Cadeyrn had not opened it, I never would have known it was there. It fascinated me.
“This is a marriage suite,” Cadeyrn replied. “All suites have two beds; one for the husband, the other for the wife. There is a dressing closet behind the panel as well.”
I glanced between the two beds. A marriage suite?
“Was this the room you shared with your wife?” I asked, my voice low.
Cadeyrn didn’t look at me. He moved to his bed instead, untying his tunic at the neck. The Henderonian pendant he wore winked at me from where it lay in the v of his chest. I took his silence as an affirmative answer. He was offering me his wife’s bed.
“We don’t have marriage suites in Medeisia,” I said suddenly. Even I heard the tremble in my voice. “Wives share their husbands’ beds.”
Cadeyrn unfastened his sword belt and hung it on the bedpost nearest his pillow.
His gaze met mine. “Sadeemia is peculiar in its formalities. Noble women are often offered their own chambers or beds upon marriage. It doesn’t always mean they use them.”
I nodded. “So your wife shared your bed then?”
Cadeyrn paused. “Would it matter if she did?”
I heard the curiosity and annoyance in his tone, but shook it off, my gaze moving back to the bed beyond the panel.
“I just didn’t want to sleep where she slept,” I said quietly.
It didn’t seem right, my taking the bed of a woman who’d once been married to the prince.
“Then have no fear,” Cadeyrn assured me. “She never slept in the adjoining bed.”
Cadeyrn’s voice brought my attention back to him. He was watching me. Maybe my reaction was odd to him, but I couldn’t imagine ever sharing the things I had shared with Kye with anyone else. Because of that, I didn’t want to tarnish Cadeyrn’s own memories by invading his wife’s bed. It put me at ease knowing she’d never used it, that she’d shared her husband’s bed, especially since I had no intention of ever doing so.
Cadeyrn pulled his tunic over his head, and I quickly averted my gaze but not before I caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his skin. It truly fascinated me. It, like the pendant, was Henderonian. It told a story, but there were too many symbols in the knots and twirls of black ink for me to decipher it.
“The
re’s a dressing screen and a change of clothes beyond,” the prince offered. “I had my wife’s things removed, but a new wardrobe was commissioned in anticipation of Gabriella’s arrival. Some of them are already in this room. The others are in her betrothal chamber further down the hall.”
I walked behind the panel and found the screen. A clean dressing gown was draped over it.
“What does your tattoo mean?” I called out to Cadeyrn. “It’s Henderonian, is it not?”
I pulled my surcoat off and unlaced my gown, discarding it before pulling the dressing gown over my chemise. The prince hadn’t answered, and I stared at the screen separating us.
“Is it like the pendant you wear? Does it stand for your family?”
When the prince still didn’t answer, I peeked around the screen to find Cadeyrn sitting on the edge of his bed, his chest bare. He looked up, catching my gaze before I had a chance to duck away again. My cheeks flamed. It wasn’t him I was interested in, it was the story on his chest.
Cadeyrn sighed and patted his mattress. I joined him on the bed, but sat as far away from him as I could. He didn’t rebuke me for it.
Cadeyrn traced a finger along the design on his chest, following the black twirls as they moved around his breast and onto his stomach. “There is an old Sadeemian legend about creation and love. Unlike your country, we have only two gods, a god and a goddess. In the beginning of time, these two gods joined in marriage.”
The prince’s finger settled over a particularly complicated design, and I moved closer, squinting. I thought I saw a heart, but every time I tried to focus on it, it disappeared. An illusion. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I’d never have known it was there, lost as it was among the circles, knots, and lines. I sat back again.
“Their love was a great love,” Cadeyrn continued. “It was so great that they gave birth to many children who grew, and over time, inhabited our land. They prospered and multiplied. Their children were mortal children, born from the loins of a god but with the lifespan of a human. Those born with magic were considered more directly connected to the god and goddess, but they were not revered. Only the gods could be revered.”
Cadeyrn’s finger moved to his side. The ink looked angry, like furious waves upon a stormy sea. His voice lowered. “But power, no matter how weak or strong, makes many people greedy. A mortal woman, a virgin servant of the god, fell in love with him and grew envious of his wife, the goddess. Each day her hatred of their love grew, becoming so strong that she began to seek her own immortality, her own way to trick the god into loving her as much as he loved his queen.”
I found myself smiling despite the tense atmosphere in the room. “It is always a woman,” I said, “who leads the man to ruin.”
Cadeyrn didn’t disagree. “It does seem history favors the vengeful and beguiling female.”
My gaze wandered back to his tattoo. “Did the woman find a way to trick the god?”
“Aye,” Cadeyrn answered. “The woman was a powerful mage who practiced her magic with an obsessive vengeance, watching the goddess and studying her. Born a mortal, the woman could not take the shape of her goddess. However, over time she perfected a potion that fooled men’s eyes, a potion that made them see whatever the creator willed them to see. The woman’s success fed her arrogance and greed. If she could perform such magic, surely she deserved the god’s love. One night, she slipped the potion into her master’s wine while serving him, for then the gods lived in a palace on the mortal realm. Her spell succeeded, and she tricked the god into her bed. But the god’s immortality fought the magic, and the spell failed before morning. The god became aware of the woman’s deception, but as fate would proclaim, so did the goddess. The goddess was enraged. She fought heavily with her husband, and barred him from ever having contact with her again. Out of desperation, the god killed the mortal woman who deceived him and was forevermore shunned by the goddess and his people. This god became Sadeemia’s god of unrest, and the goddess became our goddess of serenity.”
I sat for a moment processing the story before I inhaled.
“The tattoo tells the entire story?” I asked.
The prince’s lips twitched. “A more condensed version, but yes.”
I stared at the design. “Such a tragic love story,” I whispered.
Cadeyrn watched me. “All love stories are tragedies.”
I thought of Cadeyrn’s murdered wife, and I thought of Kye. My hand went instinctively to my chest, clutching the dressing gown where the pain hurt the most. Tears threatened, and I swallowed. Were all love stories really tragic? It seemed history favored tragedies, but I’d read of great love stories, too. Happy ones. Peaceful ones. Kye had said the best kind of love hurt like hell. I grieved his loss, but I think it would have been worse if I’d never known him. I loved that I’d loved him.
My gaze met Cadeyrn’s evenly. “I’d rather love too much,” I said. “There is never love without hurt, but I’d rather hurt than to have never loved.”
With that, I moved to the bed beyond the panel, sliding it only halfway closed before climbing onto the feather-stuffed mattress. I heard Oran pad into the space to settle next to the bed, but he said nothing. The mattress was softer than anything I’d ever slept on, and yet I spent hours lying awake, my eyes on the open panel.
Cadeyrn moved in the room beyond, his shadow looming on the wall as candles flickered. I heard him cleaning his sword, and watched as his shadow form leaned over a sheaf of parchment. He mumbled to himself as he worked, repeating figures and ideas as he went over them, his voice too low for me to hear clearly. And he paced, tracing the perimeter of the room as if he were checking for dangerous dust bunnies. There were no windows in this room, no way to access it other than the door.
The prince paced so long I finally gave up on sleep, his restlessness causing me anxiety.
“Do you fear attack?” I asked, my voice loud enough to be heard beyond the screen.
The pacing stopped. “No,” he said after a moment. “I am less feared when out in the open. Attack is more likely to happen beyond the palace walls rather than within.”
I stayed silent, and he paced once more.
Sleep wasn’t easy for me these days; I relived too much in my dreams. But if it was hard for me, it seemed impossible for Cadeyrn. I’d not noticed this in the desert.
I flung my feet over the side of the bed. They were bare, and even though it was such a little thing, I hid them with the bottom of my dressing gown. It was obvious Gabriella of Greemallia was taller than me, her bosom fuller. The gown dragged the floor and sagged where my chest was supposed to be.
I padded to the panel, my gaze moving to the room beyond. Cadeyrn also was barefoot, his chest still bare, and I watched as he leaned next to the hearth, his gaze on the fire as his hand rested on the wall.
“Is it ghosts that keep you awake?” I asked.
I was becoming more comfortable with the prince. He hadn’t attempted to force me into his bed, and he had proven himself a good man on more than one occasion, if not a little surly and entirely too stubborn.
Cadeyrn didn’t move. His gaze remained on the flame.
“Ghosts and other things,” he answered.
I left the protection of the screen, moving carefully to the living area before perching on the edge of a settee, checking to make sure I dropped the gown over my toes.
This seemed to amuse the prince. “You act more like a maiden than the lover of a prince.”
I flushed. “You mock me,” I said.
He shook his head. “I don’t mock.”
His bluntness was hard to figure out at times, leaving me without words when normally I would speak. I pulled at the hem of the dressing gown.
“My relationship with Kye doesn’t make me worldly,” I said finally.
The prince’s gaze swept over me. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist and stared at the fire. “Your wife, was she Henderonian?” I aske
d.
“Yes.”
It was a simple answer for a simple question. I’d often heard of Henderonian women. They were supposedly great beauties, tall and slender with dark eyes. Like every country, they didn’t all look alike, but most of them shared similar features customary to their region. Many of the Henderonian women tended to have red or auburn hair.
“I had a Henderonian dresser back home,” I said. It was such a silly thing to say, but it filled the silence.
“Most people do,” Cadeyrn responded, his voice tinged with amusement. “They are famous for their woodwork.”
I cleared my throat before rubbing my palms on my gown. “It had a crack down one of the doors,” I continued, ignoring his jibe. “My half-sister was always throwing fits. It was hers before mine. It was stored in my room after it was damaged. I learned to write under that dresser.”
I looked down at my fingers. They used to be stained with ink and full of calluses. I had been ashamed of them once, even after Kye had taken them in his, holding them as if they were the most beautiful fingers in the world. They were still calloused, the nails bitten to the quick, but there were no ink stains. I imagined there was more blood than ink these days.
“Mareth,” Cadeyrn said suddenly. My gaze flew to his. “Your sister is Mareth.”
I nodded. “How did you know?”
“I met her once when visiting with your father. You were maybe twelve turns at the time. I don’t remember you, but I remember your sister. Her fits are quite memorable.”
I choked on a laugh.
“Do you aspire to be a scribe?” Cadeyrn asked.
I looked up at him. “I did once. I liked the quiet and the solitude, and the smell. I loved the smell. Ink, parchment, and leather.” I paused. “And the stories. I like facts and legends.”
“It still calls to you then?” the prince asked.
The potted plants near the desk stirred, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Other things call louder now,” I responded.
The prince’s gaze followed mine.
“What can you do?” he asked.