by AJ Nuest
He searched her face so long, she could’ve kicked herself for meeting his gaze. “I bear no wisdom in the dark arts, but if pressed to surmise would say we were bonded in love. The heart contains a force stronger than reason, does it not?”
A jolt rocked her back on her heels. Caedmon seized her elbow and, before she could push him away, he scooped her into his arms and carried her several steps down the veranda to a secluded seating area.
Each of the four corners was lit by a high flaming torch, and though orange fire glow danced along the ridges of his cheekbones, the subdued lighting kept his eyes a mystery, hidden in shadow. The scruff on his chin a dangerously sexy silhouette.
Lowering her to a stone bench, he stayed on one knee in front of her, arms resting on either side of her hips. “What befalls you, my lady? Shall I summon Fandorn or the medicant?”
“No.” She squeezed her lids shut and rubbed at the building migraine between her brows. “I’ve been here before and, trust me. Fandorn’s remedies only make everything worse. I just have a slight headache. I’ll be fine.”
“Quite certainly. And tomorrow morning, I shall awake having sprouted a second head.”
She huffed at his sarcasm. Apparently, he was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for. At least as far as she was concerned.
“Please, my lady. Your discomfort warrants great foreboding. Let us continue this discussion after you’ve rested. Come, I shall escort you back to your rooms.”
“No.” She stared into the hollows of his eyes, his face an indistinct blur through the grating pain in her temples. “The sooner I hear the truth, the better. If you really want to help me, then start at the beginning and keep talking until I tell you to stop.”
He eased back from her. Two heartbeats passed before he nodded, the tension in his shoulders displaying his inner turmoil better than any explanation ever could.
Shoving to his feet, he wore out the marble tiles in front of her. But he did as she asked, and clenching her teeth through the strain on her body, she teetered on the knife point of a curiosity that nearly drove her insane and trying to breathe through the ever-increasing torture.
Beautiful though it was, his story did not spark her memories. Contrary to what she’d so desperately hoped, she experienced no glimmer of recognition or blinding epiphany. No Aha! moment when all the events fell into place.
Sadness was the only thing he’d given her. This weird sense of loss over something she couldn’t remember. And the bitter realization that everything he’d told her was the truth. If nothing else, the vise around her head confirmed it.
Once he’d finished, she eased back from her tight perch on the bench and released her death grip on the worn edge. One detail, however, seemed suspiciously missing from his tale. “How long?”
Grit rasped under his boots as he turned to face her. “My lady?”
“How long did we know each other before I came through the veil? This time of Gleaning. How long did it last? Six months? A year?”
His shoulders dropped a solid inch. “Three days.”
“What?” She shot to her feet and the sudden movement, the shock and constant cranking on her head were too much. Tears swarmed her eyes, and she choked on a sob. The ground turned to mush and she stutter-stepped to the side as he grabbed her arms.
Three days with him, and she’d risked everything? Given up her entire life? No, no, that couldn’t be right. People didn’t experience the kind of love he described after only three days. Not unless they were completely insane.
Lowering her face into her hands, she moaned against her fingers. What the hell kind of spineless, weak-willed twat had she been? Falling in love with him in three days?
“Take heart, sweet Rowena. Though our time together was short, my love for you cannot be measured in the here passing of days.”
When had he pulled her into his arms? At what moment had she rested her forehead on his shoulder?
Straightening, she seized the sides of his shirt and twisted his open collar in her hands. If she could just shake some sense into him. Get him to stop saying things like that.
But standing so close, she finally got a clear shot at his face. At the love shining in his eyes, reflecting the torch glow like two polished bits of topaz. The anxious crease between his brows, begging her to soothe his misery with a kind word.
The parting of his lips, framed by all that dark stubble. The playful way his two front teeth overlapped the smallest bit.
His hand met the small of her back, and he brought her flush to the comforting warmth of his chest. Her pulse skipped a beat and then raced.
Good God, the man was a hard wall of muscle. In all her time at the castle, no one had ever looked at her…no one had ever touched her like him.
Hell, maybe she should just go ahead and give him want he wanted. At the very least, she could find out if her memories waited in his kiss.
It’d be just like all those bedtime stories Faelynn had told young Vaighn. A magic mirror, a handsome prince, true love’s fated kiss and she’d remember.
There’d be no more loneliness, no more pain. No more trying to figure out who she’d once been…
Rising on her toes, she tipped her head and tugged on his collar. A lightning bolt seared her spine, but she clenched her fingers and hung on. “Kiss me.”
His pupils dilated, arms tensing around her waist. One of his knees slipped between her legs, and she shivered as he eased her onto his thigh.
Dang. The way he fit against her, she was messing with fire. But, come on. It was only one kiss. Totally worth the risk, if she thought about it. A simple touch in exchange for everything she’d lost.
“Be wary of what you ask, my heart.” A thrill lifted the hair on her skin. He swayed and her knees gave as his breath heated the moisture on her lips. “I have long since warned one taste of you shall never be enough.”
“If you love me, Prince Caedmon, then prove it. Now kiss me or let go.”
His mouth descended in a rush. Over and over his velvet lips brushed, the tip of his tongue flicking and sweeping her upper lip until she opened for him and he dove in as if half-crazed by the thought.
The first stroke of his tongue and a delicious ripple swirled through her belly. Hot damn, the man could kiss. He tasted of fresh air, the first hint of spring…
Freedom.
She nipped and sucked his lower lip, delving inside for another heady sip. His low moan sent her head spinning. An aching pulse made her slick and wanting more. Driving forward, he shoved her higher onto his thigh at the same time her hips bucked.
Yes… Her body knew this man.
Fingers buried in her hair, he eased her head back and kissed her eyelids before plundering her mouth a second time. At the thought of him being inside her, the pain receded. She slid her hands around his shoulders and tangled them in his sleek mane.
The stubble on his cheek rasped her throat. Nuzzling her ear, he nipped and tugged on the lobe. His lips seared a path along her jaw and her nipples peaked. It was all she could do not to beg him to get his hands on her bare skin.
Her head fell back, and he grasped her hips, dipped low and plowed against her. Ecstasy shot through her limbs, tingling in her fingertips. A frustrated growl left his throat as he rolled his hips and devoured the top of her shoulder.
Sweet Jesus, the guy was too much.
What had she done? What had she done?
“Uncle!”
Rowena gasped and wedged her palms against Caedmon’s chest. Shoving out of his arms, she broke free and stumbled back from his outstretched hands.
“Uncle Caedmon, I’ve been searching for you everywhere.” Vaighn skidded to a stop beside them and tossed his arms around Caedmon’s waist.
Faelynn trailed her son down the terrace, her hand on her chest. “Apologies, my lord.” She dipped a curtsy. “In his enthusiasm, the boy escaped my reach.”
“Apologies not necessary.” Placing his palm on Vaighn’s head, Caedmon
kept his eyes centered on Rowena, simmering with a hunger that made it hard to breathe and her legs turn to mush beneath her skirts. “I’ve missed you as well, Vaighn. In truth, my absence has taken a toll on all those I hold dear. Some hearts more than others.”
Shaking her head, she withdrew another step and brought the back of her hand to her lips. At the contact, the intensity of his kiss came back full force. The taste of him lingered on her tongue.
Three days? Hell, the man had transformed her into a quivering pile of goo in a matter of three seconds.
God, she was dumb. Lowering her hand, she faked a boredom she didn’t feel—one of the few things she’d learned to use in her favor at Castle Austiere. Not only had she made a huge mistake, that kiss hadn’t done a single thing to unleash her memories.
All she’d accomplished was to let him turn on the same part of her Braedric had officially turned off.
“Master Denmar gifted me a new sword for my tenth season, Uncle. He said now that you’ve returned, mayhap you would teach me to fight.”
“Vaighn.” A frown accompanied Faelynn’s motherly warning. She glanced from Caedmon to Rowena before staring at the stone bench as if it had suddenly materialized out of thin air. “Come, my son. Let us leave your Lord Uncle and Mistress Rowena their privacy.”
Releasing Caedmon’s waist, Vaighn grumbled and stomped his foot. “But—”
“No, that’s okay.” Rowena smiled and strode past Caedmon and his nephew toward the candlelight spilling out from the grand staircase. “Prince Caedmon and I are done here.” She needed away from him. Right now. “Escort me in to dinner, Faelynn. I insist.”
“A moment, my heart.” He reached for her, but Rowena held her fists high and to the sides.
“Don’t touch me.” If he did, she’d no doubt make a fool of herself and fall into his arms all over again, lose what little willpower she had left. And, dammit, she hadn’t sacrificed the past two years striving for independence just so she could turn around and lay everything she’d gained at his feet. “In fact, don’t ever come near me again.”
Resisting the urge to check his reaction, she tucked her hand inside Faelynn’s elbow and walked straight for the wide double doors.
Chapter Twelve
Though both in attendance in the same room, the distance between them oft seemed measured in leagues.
Gritting his teeth, Caedmon searched the constant flow of mulit-colored silks in an effort to locate the one goddess who’d decided to avoid him most. Nearly every noble in the kingdom was present to celebrate his homecoming, and yet a black ichor flowed through his veins. Much as if he’d mistakenly ingested one of Fandorn’s leaded poisons.
Confounding woman. She could no longer deny a profound connection existed between them. He was certain of it. He’d put everything he was into that kiss and she’d responded with an enthusiasm that had him hard and eager for more.
And yet each time he recalled her parting words, his stomach seized and his shoulders wrenched as if he’d just received a swift, sharp kick in the balls.
Truth be told, he’d fully understood the danger in revealing the finer points behind their engagement. In his realm, courtships could oft times last a span of several years before an official betrothal was announced.
But matters of matrimony had always perplexed him. Nearly as much as the fairer sex. They contained a confusing choreography he’d neither needed nor cared to discern.
Until now.
Still, he’d held out a grim hope the quickening of their hearts would alleviate the last of her doubts. Prior to their arrival in the gardens, he’d detected she was more aware of him than she cared to admit. And once joined in a kiss…the way she’d molded her curves to his body, the swift, impatient jerk of her hips…
Sweet tits of the Nine. He raked his hair off his brow. Even as she’d withdrawn from him, a captivating awareness had flashed in her eyes. Some deep-seeded fear had kept her desire to be near him at bay. And fearing the passion between them would cool too quickly, he’d promised Vaighn they could train at Caedmon’s first opportunity and followed her into the brightly lit ballroom.
Bodies shifted off to his left, and he glimpsed her long, white locks through the crowd. The click of his boot heels stayed muted under the mingling laughter as he approached. And though she refused to acknowledge his presence set his teeth on edge, at the same time it confirmed every single one of his suspicions.
She was terrified of what had passed between them. Nearly as much as he was lost at how to put her fears to rest.
He filled his lungs and, without forewarning, she floated away from him. No words spoken. His jaw hanging slack like an utter fool. Moments later, he resigned himself to trail after her, only to be intercepted by several council members, a duke, two earls and a gaggle of blushing maidens.
The conversations lasted overly long. Yes, they must determine the siege strategy on Castle Seviere. Quite right, he was relieved to be home. Thank you, his health was more than satisfactory and no, he did not care to dance.
He finally extricated himself and caught sight of her near a marble column, standing beside Fandorn, their heads lowered in private discussions. But, before he drew near, she retreated and disappeared beyond a long table filled with flagons of ale and other assorted refreshments.
A flash of her bare shoulder here, the quick rustle of her skirts there—she played an infuriating game of cat and mouse, and after three such circuits around the Grand Ballroom, his patience had thinned. By a stroke of luck, evading an overbearing dowager, he spotted his lady paused before a set of open double doors, facing the gardens, alone.
To demonstrate his resilience, he neared and placed his hand on the small of her back. “I would speak with you.”
She stiffened at his touch, jerked her attention to some distant point before her. “Oh, you would, would you?” Her lips compressed into an uncompromising line as the ends of her hair whispering along his hand. “Tell you what, Caedmon. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
A whirl, and she slipped through the assembled courtiers gathered near the edge of the dance floor.
No. He would never give up his intent to win her back so easily. Especially in lieu of the information he’d gleaned prior to his escape.
Muttering a curse, he spun to pursue her just as a member of her personal guard stepped into his path. Young Urich, if Caedmon remembered correctly.
Crossing his arms, the guard leveled a hard stare directly into Caedmon’s disbelieving eyes. “I believe Her Radiance has made her preference for your company abundantly clear…Your Highness.”
Caedmon’s eyebrows inched toward his hairline. Sweet Goddesses wept. Had the blow to his face addled the boy’s brains?
His tone held the boldness of a challenge, despite his bearing being no taller than Caedmon’s. No more broad in the shoulders and chest. Yet his experience and ability with a sword were most certainly not in question. ʼTwas well recognized among the kingdom all palace guards were trained to within a hair of their lives.
The depth of his loyalty, however, Caedmon could assuredly put to the test.
Closing in mere inches, he kept his heated threat low. “Stand down, Guardsman, or I shall personally ensure your head is removed from your shoulders.”
The guard huffed. “I gladly offer it. As would every other guard in the palace.”
The crowd parted to accommodate the rest of her entourage, the three men taking up positions behind the first, all affecting the same stance—arms crossed, legs braced, creating a wall of flesh Caedmon would need to hack through in order to advance.
He cocked a brow. Did they truly think he meant his lady harm? But…to what purpose? He’d done nothing to earn the brunt of their negative assumptions.
“Now, now, lads, what seems to be the trouble?” Denmar pushed through his men and slapped a hand on Caedmon’s shoulder, easing him back a step. “’Tis not the time or place for a skirmish, my boy. Tonight is for merriment.�
�� He lifted his goblet to encompass the nearby guests and smiled grandly before draining the contents.
“What’s this?” He upended his cup and a red droplet left the rim to splatter the white marble floor. “’Tis a grand fete and I’ve no wine in hand? No, no this will never do.” He increased the pressure on Caedmon’s shoulder and steered him onward into the room. “Rest assured, my prince, their quarrel is not with you.”
Light from the candelabras cast a dim glow along the crown of his shaved head, mirrored in the polished sheen of his black leather eye patch. At the opposite end of the dance floor, he stopped and faced Caedmon, though his gaze dallied on the dais and, more specifically, the thrones situated along the northern wall of the room.
Strange. Caedmon squinted. Nothing seemed out of place in the presentation of the royal court. King Austiere sat high in the center, Braedric and Faelynn enthroned on either side, Fandorn standing back a pace from the King’s right elbow.
“Give the sorceress some time, Caedmon.” Yet the captain’s jaw remained set as if he garnered no pleasure from the display. “Much has transpired in your absence. Many things are not as they appear.”
Caedmon frowned and darted another glance toward the far end of the room. Denmar had been as much, if not more, a father to him then the king. He would be a dim-witted buffoon to ignore the bitter disproval pervading the captain’s counsel.
He filled his lungs to inquire after the warning, but was stalled as a resounding gong echoed along the vaulted ceilings, announcing the commencement of the evening meal.
“Ah. Cook finally got his lard arse in gear.” Denmar clapped his arm around Caedmon’s shoulders. “Come, my prince. Let us talk of such matters later. A good meal and some pleasant conversation will serve you well.”
Pleasant conversation, indeed. Never before had Caedmon suffered through such a tedious affair. Seated between his father and Fandorn—Braedric within easy earshot on his father’s left side—he spent the entire meal feigning enjoyment whilst twice considering each response that came off his tongue.