Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  She heard the Regent of Cipres clear his throat, and refocused her thoughts. The man was paying her a great deal of attention and she could feel the weight of glares from other women in the room who would have given their eye teeth to be so close to this exceptionally handsome man.

  ‘Er, my family is from a rural part of the Kingdom. A small village, Mallee Marsh, not far from Flat Meadows,’ she said, knowing the man would never have heard of it.

  Gynt’s home! Dorgryl was just short of spluttering.

  Orlac kept his face steady but his ears too had pricked at the mention of this sleepy village. ‘You know we had a visitor in Cipres not long ago who hailed from that very place. How odd that you should mention it.’

  Lauryn was rescued from the direction of Sylc’s thoughts by a familiar laugh and then a not-so-familiar yet instantly unlikable giggle. Gyl and the princess were sharing another intimate joke it seemed. Lauryn could not stand it another moment.

  ‘Regent Sylc, would you be kind enough to excuse me just for a short while.’

  Orlac stood and effected a brief bow. ‘Of course.’ He did not fail to notice the high spots of colour on her cheeks.

  Lauryn fled the hall, half in anger, the rest in plain hurt. Outside she dragged in the air of the crisp night and calmed herself. Candles sitting in painted paper lanterns threw glowing colours around the courtyard in which she found herself, but she paid scant attention to the prettiness surrounding her or to the air fragranced by the different perfumes of the candles.

  What had happened between her and Gyl? Had that been a declaration of love, spoken only two days ago and sealed with a kiss? Several kisses, in fact, including a long and memorable one that had left her breathless and weak-kneed. And during that kiss she had indeed given her heart over to this man. And now here he was flirting outrageously with that girl. It was bad enough that he had already danced with several eligible women and been involved in lighthearted conversations with at least half a dozen others.

  Once they had been seated, Lauryn felt sure he would pay her more attention but he had not even made eye contact with her. She felt the sting of tears but refused them, fought them back. Instead the anger took over from the sorrow.

  ‘Ah now, why are you here, beautiful girl, and not amongst the festivities?’

  It was Cook. On her way to rouse up another shift of kitchen workers, who were being rotated throughout this day and night of festivity. ‘I came around here for just a quiet moment and an ale,’ she said, holding up a cup to show Lauryn. ‘You know your mother is very partial to the stuff but only Gyl and I were permitted to know this,’ Cook said, tapping her enormous and rather red nose.

  Against her mood, Lauryn smiled. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Oh yes, it was our secret. Your mother likes to have a large mug daily…says it keeps her regular.’

  Now Lauryn laughed. ‘May I taste it?’

  Cook thrust the enormous mug towards her.

  Lauryn sipped and pulled a face. ‘Ugh! I think I prefer Tallinese wine.’

  The large woman sat down on a bench nearby. ‘Ah well, you may get a taste for it if you stay with us long enough. I love your mother, Lauryn. I wish she hadn’t left.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘So what’s got you all sad?’

  ‘Oh I’m fine, just needed some air.’

  ‘You not only look like Alyssandra Qyn but you act like her, and in being so similar you can no more hide your emotions from your face than she can. What’s making you sad, my girl?’ The beefy woman took another long draught and then eyed her steadily.

  ‘It’s Gyl,’ she blurted, not really meaning to.

  ‘Oh that silly boy. Don’t let him upset you so,’ she said, waving one enormous hand towards Lauryn. ‘I’ve known him since he was a stripling. On the day he arrived he won the heart of two of Tallinor’s most important women.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The Light strike me if I lie to you. Queen Nyria was quite taken by him on first meeting and then your mother, bless her, loved him as if he were her own son. I saw him tonight, my lady. He’s flirting isn’t he?’

  Lauryn nodded.

  ‘Yes, Cook’s right. I always am. Well, child, flirt back. You’re not exactly the ugliest woman in the room tonight are you? Have you noticed how many men watch you?’

  This time all Lauryn could do was shake her head. She genuinely had not noticed anything along these lines. She was still reeling from Gyl’s first fleeting kiss; the notion that anyone could fall in love with her or even desire her seemed remote. The suggestion that many men ogled her was laughable and yet Cook seemed earnest.

  ‘And what about that dashing Regent from Cipres? Oh he’s got all my serving lasses’ hearts a-flutter. They can’t stop talking about his golden hair and violet eyes; his perfect white smile and broad chest. I have to admit, he looks like a god.’

  ‘Yes, he is extremely handsome.’

  ‘Well, he only has eyes for you, my dear, and I would suggest you take advantage of that. Perhaps achieve a little jealousy of your own.’ Cook drained her mug noisily. ‘Well, I must get back to my steaming kitchen, my lady. We have the sweet pies and treats to be brought out next —I’m very proud of our marzipan fancies.’ And then she bustled off, with a wave to Lauryn.

  Lauryn smiled to herself. Cook was right. If she was going to win Gyl’s attention back, she would not achieve it staring at him like some sad lap-dog. Regent Sylc was showing an uncanny interest in her and what was the harm in returning that interest? None at all, she decided, as she straightened her pale green gown which set off her eyes perfectly.

  When she returned to her place, Regent Sylc stood politely once again and without so much as a glance towards Gyl, Lauryn took her seat and immediately fell into conversation with the man from Cipres. The night wore on and their talk became more intimate. At one stage he passed across a piece of candied fruit which had been rolled in sugar. No one, not even the King of Tallinor, missed Lauryn taking the Regent’s outstretched hand and somewhat seductively placing her mouth around the fruit he held, her lips just touching his elegant fingers which he then put into his own mouth to lick off the sugar which still clung to them. And when Sylc asked Lauryn if she cared to join in one of the dances, she readily accepted, making a small jest that he was so tall he might have to hold her off the ground.

  They danced several times and not once did Sylc take his violet eyes from her sea-green ones. She held his rapt attention and surprised even herself by how much she enjoyed his attentions. Sylc was devastatingly handsome, a witty and intelligent companion, and his mannerisms were as elegant and fine as his garments, which were tailored from the purest cream silk and dark velvet—a fine catch for any woman.

  Lauryn realised several pleasant hours had passed. She was pleased that she had managed to put the King to one side for this evening and enjoy the company of this splendid man who seemed to have no hankering to share himself around, which made her the envy of most of the eligible women in the room, if not all of them. She had cast a surreptitious glance Gyl’s way only once since her return and found him glaring at her. In reply Lauryn doubled her attentions to the Regent. Gyl would learn tonight that her heartstrings were not to be plucked and then left unplayed. She liked the vision she had conjured and laughed coquettishly at something Sylc whispered in her ear, infuriating the King.

  Gyl seethed. He felt like drawing his sword and running the Regent through. How dare he monopolise Lauryn in this manner—and their whisperings, laughter and flirtatious activities were not going unnoticed. This was humiliating, to say the least. He could have sworn Lauryn had felt the same way about him on the day of their ride and picnic. There was no doubting the affection in that kiss. Nay, it was not affection —it was much more than that. He had felt her desires—and, dare he say, her love—being returned in that long and passionate embrace.

  Gyl had made love to many women in his time; far more than he cared to admit to. He had broken hearts too, but
in truth he had never made any promises to these women. Their own desires had forced them to believe that he would be true to them; that, in lying together, they had reached some pact, some agreement of commitment. But not so. Gyl was a known flirt— he readily admitted it himself and he was happy to carry that dubious honour. His mother had made it painfully clear in recent times that he was never to promise himself to any woman without consulting her. It had made him laugh whenever she put her hands on her hips and threatened him with terrible punishment. Now he understood. She had known he would be king one day, knew he must make an excellent marriage—for the girl he chose was destined to be a queen.

  But his mother need not have worried. Gyl felt remote from women. As much as he enjoyed their company and the exploration and touch of their soft mouths on his skin, not once had he felt any connection of love. Herek had once spoken of chemistry. The Prime had admitted it was old man Merkhud, a former physic to King Lorys, and his father before him, who had said that until the humours were right between two people, then the love would never happen. Until that point, it was all lust and heated desires.

  What Herek said had made sense to the young Gyl and so he comforted himself with the notion of chemistry when he found himself wondering why no girl could ever touch his heart. And then in a blink this one had…dripping with mud and answering him back—in a manner just short of insolent—she had sparked something in him. And then again in his mother’s private garden, she had fired him up and he had been so taken by the surprise of his feelings he had walked out on her and almost set off an argument between them. He recalled how he had searched her out in the Throne Room when the shocking news of the heir to Lorys was revealed and it was her calm flowing out to him across the room which had steadied his nerve. Every flick of her golden hair, every casual glance of those gorgeous green eyes, every feisty riposte or gentle grin just hammered another nail of love for Lauryn into his heart—and he had known her such a short time! This must surely be the chemistry of which old man Merkhud had spoken, for Gyl could not help himself. There was no remedy for this powerful feeling; no drug which could alleviate the exquisite pain it brought now to his heart to see her so much as smiling at another.

  He would not be able to take it much longer, her continued ignoring of him and her attentiveness to the Ciprean. Gyl had not exactly taken an instant dislike to the man, but within a few hours of his arrival he had loathed the very name Sylc because it was on the lips of every woman in the palace.

  As Gyl churned his grumpy thoughts, Cook entered the hall to take some well-deserved applause as the last course was served with sweet wines, bringing with her a crown made from sugar crystal. It was transparent as glass and had been painted with luminous colours to look as if it were made of jewels. It was exquisite. She beamed as her staff presented it to their King, who graciously accepted it and made a toast to the finest head of kitchen Tallinor had ever been fortunate enough to enjoy. Cook bowed low and when she stood, her eyes—ever expressive —cast a severe glance towards the Princess, now once again seated close by him. Her face clouded into the look of reproach which had become very familiar to him over his years of growing up and stealing hot biscuits from her kitchen.

  Could that be it?

  Could it be that Lauryn was cross with him for favouring the Princess? Well, he had to be courteous to all of his guests, did he not? And perhaps she did not grasp how politically important it was for him to curry favour with all of the monarchs feasting at his table tonight.

  He needed to ensure a smooth transition from Lorys to himself as King. He could not risk falling out of favour so early in the piece. Snubbing a Princess was a sure way to disgruntle a King, and risk alienating important and strategic neighbours. But Lauryn would not be thinking along these political lines, he realised. She would be feeling scorned perhaps and no doubt hurt by his inattention. It was true—he had deliberately avoided her gaze. But he needed to tell her that it was the only way he could keep his eyes, filled with unspoken desires, off her. It took all his willpower not to sneak a foot beneath the table to touch hers; or whisper something only she could hear. All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and kiss her all night long—but not tonight. Tonight he had to play the role of King for all the realms on show at the palace.

  Gyl felt sickened by the realisation that she had interpreted his activities tonight as a cooling of his desires for her. It was so far from the truth. He would marry her here and now if only he could. There, it was out! Spoken aloud in his mind, it could not be taken back. He wanted Lauryn for his wife. He needed Lauryn…her strength, her courage, her love. He suddenly could not care less if his mother approved or disapproved. He thought she would hardly consider it the wisest choice but that would not deter him. He was King after all. He would marry whom he pleased.

  How could he put things right? Tomorrow he would find a way. First thing in the morning, he would send a messenger to her chambers requesting a meeting.

  14

  Sylc the Thief

  As the coronation feast and its entertainment drew to a close, Orlac kissed Lauryn’s hand and then held her gaze steadily. His strangely violet eyes—an almost impossible colour—said all that he needed to. She felt her throat go dry. The message which he conveyed in this look was unmistakable, even to a maiden.

  ‘Thank you for this evening,’ she said. She felt her cheeks burning.

  ‘I feel the pleasure was all mine,’ he offered graciously, not yet letting go of the hand he had so recently kissed. She could feel his cool skin against hers. What was happening here? ‘In fact I believe I may have been too greedy tonight…perhaps I have kept you from the other guests,’ he added.

  Lauryn could not help it; the truth was she felt immensely flattered. When she had set out to teach Gyl a lesson earlier in the evening, she had had no idea that her flirtations might lead her to where she now found herself. She had to admit, in spite of deliberately provoking it for her own ends, that she had genuinely enjoyed Regent Sylc’s dashing company. Everything about him was cultured and sophisticated; any other woman would be falling into his arms. And yet there was something about the intensity of his interest in her; something curious about him she could not quite put her finger on. She felt sure her time spent with him this night had achieved her original goal—she could feel Gyl’s wrath and that was satisfying. But now she had the Ciprean all but tumbling her into bed. And what scared her more than anything this night was that his intentions did not shock her. In fact, she would have to show considerable willpower to resist him.

  She decided to tell the truth, perhaps naively hoping it would help to work things out. ‘Actually, you have been something of a saviour tonight. I don’t know many of these people…none, in fact. The King —well, he is a friend—but he has been otherwise engaged.’

  ‘I noticed,’ he said, betraying no expression.

  ‘Yes…well, your company tonight has been extremely welcome and I have enjoyed myself.’ She hoped that might bring a gracious close to the evening’s proceedings and knew her inexperience with men was now glaring.

  Orlac’s gaze intensified. In spite of the dozens of people milling around and saying their goodnights, Lauryn felt there was suddenly no one else in the room but the pair of them. It was as though the Regent had pulled her with him into some sort of private cocoon. She felt a sense of breathlessness within the powerful hold he suddenly had over her.

  In her distraction, she tried to pinpoint what it was that bothered her about him. Staring into the curiously coloured eyes she was reminded for just an instant of her father. An odd comparison perhaps, but he too had eyes of such intense colour that if you had not looked upon them with your own, you would not have been able to picture their vibrancy nor, she believed, could one expect to see them ever repeated in any other face. Her father’s were of a colour to remark upon, and so was the colour of Sylc’s—a dark and yet somehow brilliant violet.

  And in that moment of wonder she saw something in Sylc
she had seen briefly in her own father. It was not merely the colour of the eyes which was similar—it was their vulnerability. There was a sorrow lurking behind those bright eyes, that brilliant smile and the smooth manners. The same sort of hurt she had seen in her father. His grief was over her mother—or so she thought—and she tried to imagine what had caused the same haunted look in Regent Sylc.

  She faltered, drew back her hand, and the spell was broken. She was aware of all the people in the hall again, and particularly aware of a pair of royal eyes burning into the back of her head. It was time to make her exit.

  ‘I bid you farewell, Regent.’ She made a move to leave.

  ‘Not farewell I hope, Lady Lauryn, just goodnight perhaps.’

  She nodded, smiled demurely and departed the hall as fast as she could, relief flooding through her.

  In his chambers, as a small fire burned cheerily to warm the cool rooms, Orlac paced. He felt disturbed enough to unleash his powers now and bring this whole castle down around King Gyl of Wytton. The girl had unnerved him. What was it about her which tugged so strongly at him? Juno’s insight was keen. How had she phrased it? Your own idea of perfect—that’s right—and then she had gone on to describe none other than the Lady Lauryn, surely? Her description of petite, almost fragile looking fitted perfectly…he ticked off all the other points in his head, even the comment about her temper. He had noticed she was quick to fire, especially when she had felt slighted by the King and excused herself. Orlac was now certain Juno had seen a vision of this woman.

  It was meant to be, then.

  He had not realised he had been airing his thinking aloud and nearly cursed himself when Dorgryl joined his thoughts as though continuing a conversation.

  Well claim her, then.

  Orlac scowled. Throw her over my back and ride off into the night with her—is that what you mean?