by AJ Nuest
Rounding a corner, he clenched his hands until his knuckles grated in distress. And what of his mother’s ring? At the mere mention, fear had widened her eyes. She had looked to his father. Without that jewel on her finger, she did not truly belong to him. Their betrothal had yet to be recognized, and she remained open to the advances of any man in the realm.
Perhaps the king had ordered she give up the ring with just this idea in mind. To deter any further decline in the royal bloodline before Caedmon could return and claim her as his own.
If such be the case, his father’s judgment was seriously flawed. Caedmon would prove to her his love. Demonstrate his devotion at every opportunity.
And, in return, she would remember.
Thus was his only hope.
He completed the final turn and the entrance to her rooms came into view, two foot soldiers standing on opposite sides of the door and two in the exact same positions across the corridor.
Frowning, he slowed as he approached. From the swollen battle marks on their faces, Denmar most likely had them in the Gantlet, but by Caedmon’s recollection the contests were usually held in late spring. One young man in particular appeared to have run headfirst into the blunt end of a battle axe. Nose sitting off-kilter beneath a white bandage, large purple welts discoloring the skin beneath his eyes.
Additional training, perchance? In preparation for their assault on Castle Seviere?
The guards snapped to attention in unison and pounded their fists to their right shoulders in a royal salute.
“Be at your ease, men.” He tipped his head toward his lady’s chamber. “Has Her Radiance yet departed for the Grand Hall?”
At exactly that moment, the door flew open and she side-stepped into the corridor, her delicate frame wrapped in silk the shade of deepest night. Unbound and sheeting past the flawless triangles of her shoulder blades, her hair cascaded like a white waterfall to land near the bottom lace of her kirtle.
Her intoxicating perfume had him near groaning. As if she’d bathed in the juice of ripe raspberries. Mayhap a few sprigs of freshly cut heather thrown in. And though his first impulse was to whisk her into his arms, rather than meeting his gaze, her attention remained otherwise detained inside the room.
“For the last time, I heard you. Tits above, Gertie, your constant nagging is getting worse than Marcelene.” A slam of the door and she rolled her eyes, drawing a deep breath into her lungs.
Longing made him hard at the sight of her. Or ʼtwas, perchance, the knowledge that her time among the nobles had not made her change.
She was still the same defiant woman he’d given his heart to in the mirror. The one who did not suffer fools lightly or hesitate to speak whatever words landed upon her tongue.
She locked onto his face and slapped a hand to her chest, withdrawing so quickly her back collided with the door. Caedmon bit back his amusement as she pushed to her feet, glanced left then right before meeting his gaze a second time.
“Well?” Crossing her arms, she plumped the smooth swell of her breasts above the beaded edge of her bodice. “What do you want?”
His cock pulsed at all the ideas her inquiry brought to mind. His true heart’s desire was to press her back through the door, rip open that infuriating gown and coax a passionate gasp from her throat. Possibly a desperate moan or two. He would lose himself in her sweet, warm depths…time and again…until she begged him to take her often enough, each of them had nothing left to give.
Two or three suns would most likely cover it. He heeded the glittering challenge in her emerald gaze. Then again, perhaps their dalliance would last four suns or more.
Clearing his throat, he snapped his heels together and executed a formal bow. “If Her Radiance would permit me the honor of escorting her to dinner?”
“Yeah, don’t call me that.”
He slowly straightened. “Then what would you have me call you, my heart?”
“Not that either.” She winced and pressed two fingertips to her temple. “My name is Rowena. Or am I not the only one whose memory is on the fritz?”
She experienced pain. He frowned. What remained unclear was whether she suffered his appearance, or if his endearments were the cause of her distress.
“My lady Rowena, then.” He offered his arm with a smile. “Would you allow me the honor of escorting you to the Grand Hall?”
She studied him from the corner of her eye before lightly placing her hand atop his.
Her fingertips trembled like a frightened bird, and beneath the slender curve of her wrist the cool weight of a metal object bled through the fabric of his shirt sleeve. He started them down the hall.
She was secretly armed? For a formal gathering?
He clenched his jaw. She felt the need to protect herself in his presence. Tread lightly he must, indeed.
“Oh my God.” Two paces in, and she abruptly halted. He turned at her side as she inched toward the injured guard and lifted her hand as if to touch his face.
“Urich.” At the last moment, she switched directions and brought that same hand to her brow. “I told you this would happen. I told you, but you wouldn’t listen. Now look at you. For God’s sake, I feel terrible.”
“Mistress, you offend me.” The young man notched up his chin, his swollen face contorting into a scowl. “I wear these wounds with honor.”
She slumped. A soft laugh parted her lips, and she shook her head. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just promise me, next time, you’ll remember to tuck and roll.”
The guard’s posture deflated and his face relaxed into what vaguely resembled a sheepish grin. “If milady is gracious enough to bestow on me a second chance, I shall indeed, as you say, tuck and roll.”
She dipped her chin and squeezed his arm before continuing down the hall.
The same fierce protectiveness he’d encountered the day he’d been dragged from her side seared a path through Caedmon’s veins. Narrowing his gaze, he leveled a hard glare at the soldier and the young man had the good sense to shrink back. But he didn’t drop his gaze. In fact…
The prince quickly assessed the other guards. One bore a sharp red line across his neck, as if he’d recently been strangled by a thin rope. The second suffered a stitched gash down his cheek and, although the third appeared uninjured, based on the way he gingerly rested his bent arm against his side, Caedmon had no trouble ascertaining his ailment.
A set of broken ribs. All normal injuries for the Gantlet, and yet his lady had apologized?
He pursed his lips. Mayhap she’d attended the training with the other courtiers and her beauty had distracted them in the midst of the course. ʼTwould be no large surprise to learn as much. The same had happened to him once, two years past whilst sparring with Denmar in his bedchamber.
Still, a persistent niggling ate at Caedmon’s gut, as if he were missing a detail which remained just outside his reach. Each of the guards held contempt in their eyes, as if they found him unworthy of her consideration. And contrary to the unspoken respect he’d always received from his brothers, instead of cowering under his scrutiny, their stares only grew steadily more resolute.
Not that he could fault their willingness to ensure she remained safe. As long as their tendencies to watch over her both started and ended in that same spot.
As of the day she’d come through the veil, she was and always would be his.
A glance down the hall, and Caedmon quick-stepped to her side, the guards falling into formation behind them. Yet he was ill-advised at winning the affections of such a rare jewel. What did one discuss after so long an absence?
She’d been living at court, and he had not the first inkling of what topics were pertinent. The frivolities of art, perchance? Music or the latest fashion? None of those subjects were within his ken.
Lifting his head, he opted for the safer route of stating that which he knew to be fact. “The guards. They are all of them enamored of you.”
“What?” Her laugh bolstered his confidence, thoug
h she dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be dumb.” She glided a few paces down the corridor, a gentle smile gracing her lips, and then tipped her head as if resigned to his compliment. “Okay, maybe Urich’s got a crush, but get real. He’s only a kid. Besides, according to what everyone tells me, I’m too old to be of much use to anyone.”
Ridiculous. Resisting the impulse to show her how well he’d make use of her, Caedmon clasped his wrist behind his back. “I do not blame them. Your beauty has most assuredly grown legendary in my absence. And dressed thusly, your loveliness shall make every man at banquet linger over his plate.”
Her smile vanished. “I hate this dress. I can barely breathe and all the heavy fabric makes it impossible to move.”
“Then request another designed to meet your taste.”
A sarcastic huff blurted from her lips. “Now there’s a stellar idea. Marcelene would just love that. The woman lives to make me suffer. Ordering the seamstresses around like my opinion doesn’t matter.”
“If the servants displease you, I shall have them dismissed.”
“Wait, are you nuts?” She spun on him so quick, he all but lost track of her movements. “Gertie’s husband died last year, out hunting to provide for their family. If she lost her job she wouldn’t be able to feed her kids. And Marcelene’s nearing retirement. No one would hire her, especially after the horrible disgrace of being discharged from the castle.”
Closing in mere inches from his face, she jabbed his chest, each poke emphasizing the force of her heated tirade. “These servants, as you call them, have spent their entire lives taking care of your family’s every need. You can’t just fire them without considering the consequences.”
A whirl of her skirts, and she stormed away, silk rustling in time to the mesmerizing sway of her hips. “Idiot. Typical royal asshole who thinks of no one but himself.”
She rounded the corner and disappeared.
One of the guards grunted, disgust twisting his mouth into a sneer. Another crossed his arms and cocked a condescending brow.
His brows rose and Caedmon swept his attention back to the empty hall. Though he was not off put to find they more than simply adored her. They respected her, as well.
Goddesses wept, the thought of all that untamed feminine fortitude…coupled with his world…
He swallowed past the swirling vortex in his gut.
Rushing after her, he passed her on stairs and stopped on the first landing. “My apologies, Lady Rowena.” He bowed. “I was remiss in my reasoning. Of course, your wisdom in these matters outshines that of—”
“Just stop.” Her tone was harsh enough to snap bone. “Do me a favor and just stop with all the fake, flowery nonsense, okay?”
He straightened, studying the glint of frustration in her eyes.
“I can’t begin to overstate how sick I am of the constant translating, trying to weed out the truth behind all the effluvious verse.” Tipping her head back, she fisted her hands and spoke toward the ceiling. “God, what I wouldn’t give for at least one person in this place to just say what they mean.”
This was his opportunity. He stepped forward. To learn she shared his same discontent due the false pleasantries demonstrated by the ill-named nobility greatly increased his comfort. Yet if he erred in the slightest, she would dismiss him out of hand.
Not once had he so carefully considered his words. “My dear lady, I am a bumbling fool when it comes to matters of courtship. I neither sing, nor do I dance. Although my father is king, my beloved mother was a gypsy and, as such, my bloodline is tainted. I am more at my ease out of doors than contained within the walls of this castle. As a warrior prince, my sworn duty remains the defense and safety of this kingdom. Thus my return here is twofold. To disband the plot Braedric has set in place against me, discern the depth of his treachery and uncover the proof to have him brought to task, and to win back the hand of the only woman I have ever loved save my mother. In the nearly two years since our last kiss, I have thought about you every moment, of every hour, of every day, and betimes found the strength to endeavor only with the knowledge I would one day soon look upon your lovely face.
“From this moment henceforth, you have my solemn vow. I shall no longer feign to be something I am not.”
By the time he’d finished, unspent tears lay tangled in her lashes, glistening in the candlelight like silver-spun feathers. A moment passed before she filled her lungs and blinked them away.
“Well…” A mirthless laugh spilled from her throat. “I guess I asked for that, didn’t I? And it’s not like I can fault you for setting high goals.”
He smiled despite the constant urge to capture her lips and chase any lingering doubts from her mind. “I rally to prove myself worthy of your heart, my lo—lady.”
She peeked askance at him, nerves betraying her calm guise as she nibbled her bottom lip. “Look, I appreciate your candor, Caedmon. I really do. But you gotta understand. These past two years…” She toyed with the folds of her skirt. “Let’s just say I learned a lot about what a person has to do to survive around here, and it’s gonna take more than a few pretty phrases to earn my trust. Try though I might, I still don’t remember you.”
He tucked a finger beneath her chin and lifted until she met his gaze. “Perhaps this night would best be served by creating some new memories, my lady.”
She froze, a slight blush tinting her cheeks. One of her slender eyebrows rose. “Nice. I thought you said you were a bumbling fool at courtship.”
He chuckled, turning to keep her within view as she slipped past him onto the landing.
“And just so you know, I’ve set a few goals of my own, Your Highness.” Meeting his stare over the curve of her bare shoulder, she inclined her head. “Come, Prince Caedmon. Walk with me.”
* * * * *
The idea was tempting. She had to admit. The guy was a tall, delicious package of rock-solid muscle. Hell, sexual magnetism practically oozed from his pores.
Instead of the pretty pantaloons worn by most male courtiers, he’d opted for pair of black, knee-high boots and brown leather breeches. And, oh how the laced sides and gloved fit rode every bulge in a way that her itching to find out what was underneath.
Waves the color of a raven’s wings brushed his broad shoulders, so glossy and thick her fingers itched to test the strands. The dark stubble on his cheeks had been groomed to accent the square line of his jaw. His loosely draped shirtsleeves did a pathetic job of masking his thick biceps, and the way he moved…self-possessed, composed, and at the same time, like a barely contained power simmered just under the surface of his skin.
The man prowled like a jungle cat hunting his next meal.
All this, coupled with his confession of undying devotion, how he kept calling her his heart or love. Prince Caedmon showing up outside her room was enough to make her teeth sweat.
He walked at her side, past the Grand Hall and outside onto the terrace. She flicked her hand to give them some privacy and a muscle ticked in his jaw as the guards quickly strode to opposite positions inside the open doors.
Approaching the railing, she tried to ignore the nervous tension in her shoulders. The tightness crawling up her neck. Dangerous or not, whether being in his company risked everything she’d worked so hard to achieve or his hovering was merely some sort of trick, she needed time alone with him.
In her peripheral vision, he stopped at her side, but she rested her hands on the balustrade and stared straight ahead at the gardens. Their conversation was no doubt going to give her all sorts of grief. Both physical and emotional. But she didn’t know what else to do.
There were too many unanswered questions. Ones that only he could answer. It was either strike while the iron was hot or go back to second-guessing everything she thought she knew.
A light breeze infused with night-blooming jasmine rippled her hair, cooling her cheeks and the skin on her forehead. Filling her lungs, she braced for the oncoming pain and clos
ed her eyes. “Tell me how I got here.”
A heavy sigh came from her right, weighted with understanding, and behind her closed lids a visual of his full, kissable lips swam into view. “You entered this realm through the veil.”
A throb nearly split her skull in half, and she gritted her teeth as the aftershocks vibrated the length of her spine. So it was true. All the rumors she’d heard. The story Fandorn had told her. She was from another time and place. Had tumbled through that shattered mirror she spent all those endless hours trying to piece back together.
But there was simply no way. That damned thing was nothing more than a broken sheet of glass. As if her obsession to locate every last shard hadn’t been enough, the time she’d spent staring into the dumb thing had gained her nothing but a reputation for being narcissistic.
Conceited, the people had called her, but they didn’t have the first clue. She’d been searching for the truth, hoping to scrape together some tiny shred of evidence that she just didn’t belong in this place.
It was only after months of failure, she’d finally chucked every last splinter inside the armoire and slammed the door. But, hell, maybe that had been a good thing.
The resounding bang that followed had also been her first step toward freedom. Of finally ditching the constant reminder of the life she had lost. In the days after, she’d become her own woman, shaken off her pity party and requested her own suite of rooms.
But if there was one thing her time with the mirror had taught her, she didn’t possess otherworldly powers. And traveling through dimensions was impossible. Magic mirrors did not exist. “Your words make no sense.”
He grunted. “I have not now, nor shall I ever lie to you. Of that, you may rest assured.”
She pivoted and aimed a hard finger at the ground. “Falling through mirrors? Tumbling through some magic portal? How, Caedmon? Can you please tell me how something like that is even possible?”