by AJ Nuest
Her pulse spiked as he strode into view, working the last tie on a velvet, royal blue vest. Black leather pants encased his long legs and, based on the way his damp hair had been slicked back from his brow, he’d given his appearance a little extra thought as well.
“I hope you don’t disapprove.” He opened a flat hand toward the table. “I thought to share our evening repast. My one regret is that we are not allowed the pleasure of doing so in the same room.”
Or, in other words, this was a date. Her fingers involuntarily tightened around her glass. Their first and, unfortunately, the last one they’d ever get. “It’s lovely, Caedmon. Of course, yes. I’d love to.”
She balanced her dinner on her nightstand, removed the mirror from the armoire and, for the second time in two days, carried it across her room and propped it against her pillows.
Caedmon waited until she was fully settled before filling his cup for a toast. “My first sip is in tribute to you, my lady.”
Above his smile, candlelight flickered in his eyes. But it was the intense longing underneath that made the air seem too heavy. The desperate shine which made her wonder when her lungs had forgotten the basics of oxygen exchange.
“As you are well aware, I am not accomplished in verse. I shall therefore spare your ears my inept ramblings.” He paused and his brows drew together as if he were trying to come up with the right thing to say. “However, allow me to state that I have not yet, to this day, encountered a woman who displays a shadow of your beauty, nor one who has been blessed with the strength and convictions of your heart. You’ve bestowed on me a great honor in being named Rescinder. One I shall endeavor the rest of my days searching for a way to repay.”
Her stomach sank, and what little appetite she did have took a flaming dive straight out the window.
How was it the guy could pluck her heartstrings with nothing more than a carefully chosen phrase? And why, for the sweet love of all that was holy, had this stupid magic mirror not come bundled with a magic wand?
If she understood him correctly, Caedmon had just confessed the circumstances surrounding their separation no longer mattered. Regardless of whether they were together or apart, he’d still try to get to her even long after the veil had shattered.
His chair legs scraped the floor, and he sat. She stayed focused on his hands, his long, blunt-tipped fingers, the hint of rough calluses on his palms.
Shit, she was in trouble. He’d set the bar so high, no one would ever live up to her expectations. Regardless of who she dated in the future, without fail, they’d all fall short.
“I’m wondering.” He speared a bite of chicken on his fork. His lips closed around the tines and her tongue nearly lolled down her chin. Oh, the things he could do to her with that mouth. “Your Ah-lee seems a trusted ally. Are you and he…?”
Silence hung. His brows rose.
“What?” She shook her head. Good grief, if she didn’t focus, the man was liable to think she was off her noodle. “Oh, no, Ollie and I are just friends.” She smiled. “Good friends. The best of friends. But only friends.”
Caedmon expelled a breath and nodded, swiping his napkin across his mouth. What, like he’d been worried? “And the other men in your realm? Are they all so…?”
She waited a beat even though she knew what he was after. Ollie had never been all that easy to describe. “Colorful?”
“Exactly.” Caedmon pointed his fork at her.
“No.” She chuckled, and yet his questions seemed strange for a man who spent most days surrounded by a bunch of pantaloon-wearing nancy boys. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged and picked at his plate, rearranging his food. A glance at her, and he cleared his throat. “Forgive my meddling. I was merely trying to determine the status of your eligibility.”
O-o-okay? She frowned. But what purpose did that serve? Whether she was or wasn’t available, her answer wouldn’t take care of the sheet of glass which separated them like some damnable brick wall. “Can you tell me why you wanna know?”
His fork clattered to his plate, and he raked his hand through his hair. “A man can dream, can he not?” He locked his tormented gaze to hers and her spine connected with the back of her chair. “He can wish for things he has neither the worth nor the right to obtain?”
And just like that, her entire world shifted on its axis. She was tossed headfirst down the rabbit hole into love.
Tears flooded her eyes, but she didn’t blink or look away. Ollie had been right. Caedmon winning her heart wasn’t about him sticking to some predetermined schedule. And it wasn’t about a legendary mirror, or unexplainable magic, or a golden key that connected them in ways she didn’t understand.
From the very beginning, he’d told her the truth. Even when she’d tested him. When she’d doubted him. Hell, even when she’d outright accused him of sleeping around, instead of getting mad or shouting at her like a lunatic, he’d defended her. And then to top it all off, he’d apologized for something he’d never done.
If those weren’t the actions of a man who had earned her love, she wasn’t convinced anyone ever would.
“There was someone.” So, for tonight, she would let him dream. She would return the favor of being one hundred percent honest and let them both dream. “He had trouble keeping his…promises. It didn’t work out.”
Caedmon squinted, studying her from the corner of his eye. “I find it hard to believe any man would not journey to the stars and beyond to remain in your good graces. Unless, of course, he was a dim-witted buffoon.”
She laughed. “He was the latter, among other things.” And since he’d brought up the subject….
She sipped her wine for a little liquid courage, even though instinct told her she already knew the answer. After what her ex had put her through, she could smell the double-timing gene a mile away. “What about you? What box do you checkmark in the marital status column?”
Sitting back from the table, Caedmon lifted his cup, a grin hinting at the corners of his mouth. “As a young man, I enlisted in the guard. Through prone to lewdness, they also share an unrivaled reputation among the kingdom. One that ensures no small shortage of distractions should the vestiges of battle need to be cleared from the mind.”
He brought his wine to his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed a swallow. “I shall not pander about and state I have not used this reputation to my advantage but, as of yet, I have pledged neither my heart nor my life to another.”
Yep. She crossed her arms. On the one hand, his story seemed totally on par with what she’d expected. And on the other, she couldn’t help thinking his life sorta read like a Shakespearian tragedy.
In his realm, most women probably saw Caedmon as the total package. To hear he’d never shared what could be an amazing experience with another person was a damn shame. “So, you’ve never been in love?”
“No, my lady. I had neither the occasion nor the time.”
Bingo. Lowering her gaze to her salad, she nodded. Then again, the world contained all kinds of hearts. Maybe Caedmon’s was so wild and untamed, falling in love took much longer than a couple days for him.
Setting her wineglass on the nightstand, she scooted down on her pillows and met his brown eyes in the glass. “You were wrong about something, you know.”
He sprang forward so fast, for a split second, she thought his forehead was gonna connect with the frame. “Reveal the error of my ways, and I shall immediately rectify my offense.”
A low laugh murmured in her throat. The guy was seriously too much. “You’re not an inept rambler. In fact, I love your bedtime stories.”
“Ah.” A grin spread slow and lazy across his face. “Then what shall please my lady this night? The legend of Helios’ daughters? The mythical waters inside the Cave of Tears?”
“Neither.” If hers was the only love between them, then so be it. If their future together held no hope, she didn’t care.
The important part was remembering everything she could
about him. The real magic was knowing, somewhere out there, good guys like Caedmon actually did exist.
Turning onto her side, she slipped her hands under her pillows, ready to lose herself in the steady cadence of his voice. “Pick up where you left off last night, right before you entered the royal guard. Start there and don’t leave anything out. Tell me the story of you.”
Chapter Eight
He awoke to her breath on his skin, her sigh the gentle caress of an evening breeze.
Caedmon had vowed to remain awake. Too precious were the fleeting hours to slumber in her presence. Yet as the pitch of night had bled into the sky, Selene’s bright face floating amid her starry shroud, he had moved the veil to his sleeping pallet, buttressing the frame against his pillows.
Soon after, his lady had quieted. Her questions had grown less frequent. Within the faint glow of breaking dawn, she had succumbed to sleep and, in return, he’d dropped into a fitful doze.
A glance down at his chest, and his muscles seized even as his pulse thundered like hoof beats against the turf. There, his lady’s soft hand lay curled like a fragile, white lily.
But this could not be. He snapped his gaze to the mirror.
Such a feat could only mean one thing, but surely his reasoning was flawed.
Doubting his eyes, he followed the slender trail of her wrist, along the delicate bones of her arm, up the span of her ivory skin. A ring of white light pulsed around her elbow where her arm had breached the veil but, on the opposite side of the glass, she slept, one hand cupping the tender swell of her cheek.
Her dark lashes fluttered upon the wisp of a dream, the little blue veins decorating the porcelain sweep of her lids reminiscent of butterfly wings.
In all his seasons on earth, he could not recall being so intensely drawn to a woman. Nor in the years since his mother’s death, could he remember a time he had faced such a fear.
Covering her hand with his, he tried to commit each graceful line of her features to memory, the discourse of their previous evening unfurling like the slippery silk ribbon woven into the edge of her nightdress.
ʼTwas, perhaps, unwise for him to tell her of his colt’s years. The angry storm which had tainted his adolescence. Revered by the commonwealth for his tragic rise to royal status, he’d been looked upon as a symbol of hope. Shunned by the nobility, he’d spent his days subverting the sting of rejection for naught but the gypsy taint in his blood.
To speak of his loneliness prior to joining the guard had only made her increasingly more agitated. No matter his efforts to soothe her, she’d remained steadfast he be treated with deference and respect.
He cocked a brow. As if those qualities were his to claim merely as a consequence of his birthright.
Lifting her hand, he pressed a gentle kiss to her fingertips. The smooth shell of her nails glided like the petals of a flower against his mouth.
Yet she was right that he’d lingered, too long caught amid the battlefield between both classes. Though to forswear his heart and not speak true would’ve only robbed from him the vast marvel of her acceptance. He would not—could not—lie to her even if the Nine had willed it so.
For the first time since he’d been dragged from the shelter of his gypsy home, someone understood him. Accepted him as whole. From what astounding wellspring the goddesses had conspired to grant him such a gift, he did not know.
Within the walls of his father’s kingdom, bloodlines meant everything. Wealth, rank and power were all sought with a persistence bordering on madness. Falsehoods were contrived, schemes devised. Fathers murdered and daughters used as bargaining tools all to secure a place within the realm.
Hearing the commonality of such a practice had sickened her. Much as it had always sickened him. In seeking refuge, he’d petitioned Master Denmar for entrance into the Royal Guard and had turned to the very bloodlust his mother had despised.
Buffered from courtly politics, he’d found the one place his efforts were judged and rewarded according to his successes. Where his ascent in stature was afforded his own control.
Unfurling his lady’s fingers, he held the warmth of her palm to his cheek. An exercise in both ecstasy and longing. Goddesses’ wept, what he would’ve given to daily explore the softness of her skin.
All this and more, he’d told her. Oft times sitting agape whilst she’d described his frustration as if pilfering the very words from his tongue. The numerous battles he’d won. The endless stream of lives he’d cut down in the name of his king. The quiet solitude which came from sleeping under a canopy of stars. The brutal winters and long-suffering days without sustenance. The way his body had hardened to the elements and the sinful pride of knowing none of his brothers could best him on the field.
And, in speaking thus, another miracle had occurred.
Tipping her hand, he brought the faint curve of her wrist to his nose.
She’d never once faulted him or placed judgment on his soul.
Her floral perfume invaded his senses and he closed his eyes. His cock stiffened to a near painful throbbing in response.
He had hoped a glimpse inside his sinister past would grant her some perspective, a small measure of reprieve. But, if anything, she only grew more adamant in his defense, dismissing his resolve as a choice he’d made for survival.
Returning her hand to his chest, he gritted his teeth against the urge to pull her into his world and kiss her until reason and sensibility abandoned them. Until the deep ache in his veins had been sated and the chant of his name became a plea upon her lips.
If only he could breach the veil. Then the danger would all be his.
Yet she, alone, held the power to cross.
He could never ask such a thing. Not of her. The key be damned. His father’s reign and the fate of his people, two nations in ruin. None of those things compared to the grace she bestowed him, the few precious hours he’d known at her side. He would face any adversary to ensure her wellbeing, regardless of the cost or the scourge waiting at the gates.
His palm met the resistance of the glass as he guided her arm back through the mirror. The light tapered to a pinprick and winked into nonexistence. She frowned and turned to her other side.
Her breathing deepened and slowed.
Far off in the distance, the grand bell tolled twice. Apex. The day dwindled, and the veil had thinned enough, he could claim the coveted prize.
Shoving up from his sleeping pallet, he returned the mirror to his armoire and stalked across his chamber. He unsheathed his sword and swept the tip in a wide arc, relishing the weight of the blade in his hand.
This was what he knew. The clash of steel against steel, the rumble of hooves and the blare of trumpets, a guttural warrior cry as the guard rode in for its first wave of attack.
She’d not yet asked him about the key.
Rolling his shoulders, he centered his sword, struggling to rein in his concentration.
And once she did, he must be prepared to answer truthfully, without fail.
A whirl, and he jabbed at the air. His feet tangled, and he stumbled to the side. Goddesses wept, he was a bumbling fool. How could he demand she sacrifice everything? What unjust god decreed him the privilege of this heinous act?
Centering his sword a second time, he closed his eyes and breathed deep. A hoist of the blade, and he spun, executing a downward thrust he’d used in battle too numerous times to count.
The weapon teetered unsteadily in his hand. A tremor traversed the length of his arm. He growled and hurled his sword to the side.
Storming to the fireplace, he braced his hands on the mantel and shook his head. No mortal man could make this choice, the weight of his country against the survival of his heart.
“What’s the matter?”
He jerked his gaze to the mirror and quickly stood. Blessed tears of the Nine, she was a splendor. The lace coverlet pooled around her hips. Green eyes bright with concern and the golden cascade of her hair tousled from sleep.
&nb
sp; That someone of her beauty and strength would consider him an equal caused a great rending tide of love to sweep over him. At her command, his blood would no doubt rush to spill from his veins for the mere sake of earning her smile.
“The hour grows short, my lady.”
Lowering her lashes, she nodded. “I know.”
“We have much yet to discuss.”
* * * * *
Rowena’s stomach dove for the floor and it was all she could do not to shake her fists at the mirror the minute those words left Caedmon’s mouth.
The tension in his shoulders, the vicious way he’d nearly decapitated that chair all told her he was holding onto something. Something that was slowly eating him alive. And she only needed one guess to locate the problem. “The key.”
“Yes, my lady.”
But giving it to him was no longer an issue, right? In those few foggy minutes before she’d been fully awake, she could’ve sworn her hand had passed through the mirror. Could’ve sworn he’d kissed the tips of her fingers and smelled her wrist.
So, why wasn’t he happy? Why wasn’t he jumping for joy at the chance? Whatever obstacle was keeping them apart had finally, thankfully disappeared.
She slumped. Or maybe handing off the key was only the first part. Frowning down at her hands, she tugged the blankets over her thighs. Now that the doorway was open, that left a whole slew of new items to tick off the list.
Like, which of them would go through? How long would they stay? What would happen once they got there and if he was even interested in finding out.
Squeezing her lids closed, she shook her head. It was anyone’s guess how long he’d been awake. After all, he’d pushed her hand back through the glass. Maybe he’d already gotten in touch with his inner commitment-phobe and his kiss had been meant as more of a preemptive goodbye.
“I only have one last question for you, Caedmon.” Lifting her chin, she stared into his eyes. “Why is this key so important to you?”