by Kit Rocha
It certainly didn’t make you the kind of person who should be wooing sweet, sunny princesses.
Then Ivan realized what name was missing from the list Hunter had rattled off, and his stomach sank. “Does Deacon know?”
“Uh, no. Deacon keeps thinking Maricela’s still a kid.” Ana held up both hands. “And we compartmentalize. I decided not to kick that hornet’s nest until I knew if Maricela was just...”
“Scratching an itch?” Reyes suggested.
Ana picked up her book and threw it at him again.
“What do you mean, if?” Zeke made a face. “C’mon, you and Deacon may be bunking it up, and no one’s gonna set off an extinction-level event by trying to pry Ashwin off Kora. But Maricela’s a princess, sweetheart of the whole damn sector, and Ivan’s--”
“A potential traitor who probably murdered someone,” he snapped, his stomach twisting at the truth in the words. His hands were drenched in blood, and Maricela was so fucking pure she glowed, just like her white gowns.
“No.” Zeke exhaled impatiently, as if Ivan was being particularly obtuse. “You’re a Rider. And I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to be setting up house and having cute little squalling heiress babies.”
Hunter stopped peeling his apple and pointed his knife at Zeke instead. “Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not! I mean, those are the rules, right? That’s what I agreed to when I signed up.”
“No, you didn’t.” Ana held up a finger. “You swore to forsake family ties and pledge your loyalty to us as your family.” Another finger. “To protect the people of Sector One and help them when they need it, even if it means killing so they won’t have to.” She held up the third finger. “And to protect the Rios family and obey Gideon Rios. That’s it. Those are the rules. Everything else is just...tradition that got made up along the way.”
Reyes toyed with the book Ana had thrown at him, turning it over and over in his hands. “Traditions can be as unbending as rules.”
“They can also change.” Ana turned to Ivan, her brown eyes brimming with the earnest intensity that made her so dangerous. “You’re not saying anything. Are you giving her a safe outlet, or is it more?”
Everyone was staring at him. His face felt flushed, and he didn’t know if it was from embarrassment, anger, or fear. The words that had come so easily lately tangled on his tongue.
A few wiggled their way free. The absolute worst ones. The truest ones. “I love her.”
Silence.
Then Reyes sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy shit.”
“Damn,” Zeke said. And when it was all he said, Ivan knew he’d really fucked up. Stunning Zeke speechless was a sign of impending catastrophe. Lucio and Hunter were both staring at him, too, and Ivan wasn’t sure if he’d shocked them all by having feelings, or by presuming to focus them on someone he couldn’t possibly deserve.
The silence was starting to hurt when Ana leaned in and hugged him.
Her arms were strong around him, and her long braids brushed his cheek. She smelled like almond soap and the faintest hint of Deacon’s aftershave, and she was hugging him like he’d said the most brilliant thing in the world. “That’s good, Ivan. It’s good. Love is always good.”
“Well?” Reyes grabbed a chair, turned it around backwards, and sat, staring expectantly at Ivan. “Come on, what are you gonna do about it?”
“Is there anything I can do?” Ivan waved a hand at Zeke. “He’s right. I’m a Rider. There are traditions.”
“Traditions that Gideon wants to change,” Ana interjected. “He told me so himself. He never meant for us to be totally shut away from any kind of love.”
Zeke snorted. “Yeah, even if that’s true, he probably didn’t mean he wants us to find it in his baby sister’s pants. Little sisters are off-limits, man.”
Reyes waved him away. “Don’t listen to him. He’s full of shit.”
The defense surprised Ivan. “What happened to traditions being as unbending as rules?”
Reyes nodded. “Sure, since when have I given a goddamn about either?”
Oh, damn. Now the hope was coming back. Just a warm little prickle of it, but it fluttered in his chest like it was struggling to grow. Ivan struggled to remember why he shouldn’t nurture it. “Zeke’s still right. Gideon’s going to kill me when he finds out.”
“Maybe,” Zeke agreed. Then he grinned at Ivan. “But hey, maybe I’m wrong. I mean, Gideon was going to let her marry Reyes, and you’re nowhere near as bad as him.”
“See, you’re talking, and you think it’s clever, but it’s really just the sound of you being an asshole.” Reyes turned back to Ivan. “You’re happy, right?”
Happy was never a word he’d considered before. He could remember being satisfied by a newly honed skill, or coming home to find his mother smiling and there and being relieved. He knew determination and focus and even the contented peace of being around his brothers and listening to their banter and knowing he belonged.
None of it had ever felt strong enough to qualify as happy. Not until Maricela.
“Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, I’m happy.”
“And she’s happy?”
“I think so.”
“Then fuck the rest of it. Fuck the rules, fuck tradition. Even, God help me--” He crossed himself. “Fuck Gideon.”
Hunter barked out a laugh. “Say that to his face.”
“Let’s hold off on the revolution.” Zeke twisted his fingers in the air above his tablet, and the floating text vanished. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Listen, man. Reyes is right. I’m being a dick. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. This is a really mean wall you’ve chosen to fling yourself against.”
A mean, angry wall, built not only of rules and traditions, but of all the lofty expectations for Maricela’s eventual marriage. All the rumors about him. His family’s bloody history. The nobles who would be furious that a commoner--a man dripping with ravens, a killer--had snatched their useful prize out from under their noses.
So many reasons to walk away. So many ways he could break all the bones in his body against this wall, to say nothing of his fragile hope and the mind and heart he was trying to heal.
Their useful prize.
One reason not to.
The darkness was still inside him. He felt it in the rage sparked by the thought of Maricela sacrificing her happiness in a marriage to someone who could never see her. Someone who only wanted the glory of her name, the prestige of her position.
Someone who would shove her back into her cage to slowly smother.
“Hey.” Zeke’s voice called him back. “You’re getting the scary eyes, man. Yeah, it’s a nasty wall. But when’s the last time we met a wall we couldn’t get over?”
“Never,” Hunter said fervently. “If this is your thing, man--your fate, your destiny--then you’ve got to see it through. You don’t just skip out on fate.”
Reyes nodded once. So did Lucio. Zeke gave him a double thumbs-up.
Ana squeezed his arm. “We’re family,” she reminded him softly. “That’s the first oath we take, the one to each other. You know we have your back.”
The emotion surging inside him hurt, like a bone being set. Sharp, blinding pain and then...
Relief.
The first oath they took might have been to each other, but the vow every Rider held dearest was the promise to protect the Rios family. No one knew the most dangerous parts of Ivan better than the people around this table. They’d seen him fight, seen him kill. They knew how easily he did both.
They knew about his family, his darkness, and none of them thought he was a threat to Maricela.
“Well, one thing’s for certain,” Lucio said gravely.
Ivan turned to him. “What’s that?”
He broke out into a grin. “When you decide to rebel, you don’t do things small.”
»»» § «««
When Isabela meant business, she brought out the big gu
ns.
In this case, it was a lovingly polished silver tea tray that had belonged to their mother, engraved with simple, sweeping scrollwork--as well as the Rios family emblem. It had been commissioned by their father as an anniversary gift, and Isabela meant it, no doubt, as a tangible reminder of the royal legacy entrusted to them.
Maricela munched on a tiny cucumber sandwich and tried not to sigh.
“Estela came to visit last night.” Isabela poured tea into Maricela’s cup. “We had a long talk about what we want for the future of the sector.”
And neither of them, for even a moment, would have stopped to consider that everyone else in the sector already had their own wishes for the future. Maricela would have bet her shoes on that. “Oh?”
“Mmm.” Isabela filled her own cup and reached for the little container of precious honey. “She made us a very intriguing offer. Do you remember her younger son, Rafael?”
“Of course. He’s very sweet.” And shy, and awkward, and Maricela felt terrible for him every time Estela practically shoved him her way.
“Apparently, he was quite taken with you.” Her sister stirred her tea slowly. “With his two elder brothers ineligible to inherit, his father has begun grooming him as the heir to the entire Reyes estate.”
It was another of Isabela’s treasured tactics--when she knew her topic of conversation wouldn’t be welcome, she danced around it. Normally, Maricela found it amusing, but she knew where this was heading, and irritation prickled over her.
She set her tea cup in its saucer with a clatter. “Luckily, Rafael still has time to petition the Riders. He could have his ink by autumn.”
The only sign of her sister’s annoyance was a slight narrowing of her eyes. “That’s no joking matter, Maricela. I’ve spoken to Gideon about this. He can’t accept any more noble heirs. There’s been enough tension between our families over Reyes joining, and I had to work hard to smooth things over with the Monteros. That’s why this is so important.”
The idea of her brother turning away potential Riders because of their noble circumstances made as much sense as him turning away lowborn commoners: none. “Gideon would never make that promise.”
“I didn’t say he promised, just that he’s aware it’s a concern.” She waved a hand. “Besides, Rafael is only twenty-two. He can’t join for another three years, and he’s hardly suited to it in any case. I know what you’re doing, and I wish you wouldn’t. Would it hurt you to listen to the offer Estela made?”
“Not at all. But it won’t help, either.” Maricela shrugged. “The only thing Rafael is less suited to than joining the Riders or running the Reyes estate is marrying me.”
“Estela made a good offer, sweetheart. It includes some binding agreements that would offer the sector stability--”
“Besides,” Maricela interrupted, folding her hands in her lap to still their trembling. “I’m going to marry Ivan.”
Isabela froze with her spoon above her cup. A drop of tea rolled off the end and splashed audibly in the sudden silence.
It took forever for her sister to break it, and when she did her voice was rigidly controlled. “You’re going to do what?”
“Marry. Ivan.”
The spoon clinked against the saucer as she set it down, and sympathy flooded Isabela’s face. “Oh. Oh no, this is all my fault, isn’t it? You listened to me and took him as a lover.”
“No. I mean, yes, but no.” Maricela retrieved her cup and sipped her tea, which had grown cool. “There’s no need to blame yourself. Not everything in this sector happens at your command, Bela.”
“Maricela...” Her sister reached out to touch her arm, infinitely tender. “Sweetheart, having your first real lover can be an intense experience. When I suggested it, he wasn’t your bodyguard. I never would have otherwise. I know this must seem terribly romantic, but you can’t read too much into it.”
For a moment, annoyance flared again, then died just as quickly. Sure, Isabela was treating her like a child, but how could she not? She’d helped raise Maricela, had become like a second mother to her.
Maricela sighed again. “I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t an infatuation. I’m not blinded by sex. I love him.”
“I know it feels that way.” Isabela patted her arm. “Maybe it’s even true. But he’s a Rider. He has duties and sworn vows. Vows I know he takes very seriously.”
“Incredibly,” she admitted. “But it’s not exactly without precedent. Ashwin is a Rider, and he and Kora have managed to work things out.”
“You know their situation is different. I’ve come to love Kora a great deal, and I welcomed her into our family. But she didn’t grow up here. The people barely know her. Her choice of partners was never going to upend the stability of the entire sector.”
“Neither should mine.” The protest almost lodged in her throat, but Maricela pressed on. “Do you talk so much about stability because you can’t call it what it is, Bela? Business.”
“Survival,” she countered. “You’re too young to remember what it was like before your brother’s sacrifices and my marriages established peace. Our family members were dying so often they couldn’t paint the saint portraits fast enough.”
“You’re the leader of our religion, for Christ’s sake.” Maricela’s throat ached now, tight with tears she refused to shed. “We’re supposed to value love above everything else, but you want me to marry someone you know I don’t love, and for what? To keep the nobles in line. To buy their cooperation.”
“No.” Isabela cupped her cheek. “You are my baby sister. I would never want you to marry someone you didn’t think you could love. I have only ever wanted you to consider them, to give them a chance.”
For a horrible, endless moment, Maricela stared back at her older sister, and she couldn’t tell if she truly believed the claim or not. If she honestly saw all the endless pressure as suggestion. Gentle, easily resisted nudges.
She had to believe, at the very least, that Isabela believed it.
“Then I know,” she said firmly, pulling Isabela’s hand away from her cheek. “I couldn’t love Rafael, not like that.”
“All right.” Isabela rested her hand on the table, her gaze roaming Maricela’s face. A hint of worry filled her eyes. “Have you... Have you made promises to Ivan already?”
“I asked him to marry me, yes.”
“And he said...?”
If I was anyone else, I would. “I didn’t expect an answer right away. He has a lot to consider.”
“Maricela.” Her sister closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “Do you know how much he has to consider? Have you truly thought about it?”
This time, she couldn’t control the sharper side of her tongue. “Not really. It’s just my life I’ve asked him to share. That thing I’ve been living for decades now.”
“No,” Isabela said, opening her eyes. They were deep brown, filled with tears. “It’s not just your life. It’s his, too. Find me a painting of Carter Maddox. Find me a token, a charm. Find me anyone who remembers that you had an uncle at all.”
A chill seized Maricela. “That is not the same thing. The Prophet wanted everyone to forget him, because if they remembered Carter, they’d remember that there was only one person willing to try and save their precious Adriana, and it wasn’t Fernando Rios.”
“Oh, I wish it were that simple. Carter was erased from our history because he disobeyed the Prophet. The people wanted him erased.”
“They what?”
“You have to understand,” Isabela pleaded. “They were the first generation after the Flares. People who had watched the world burn. Belief can be gentle now, but back then, it was the only thing keeping them alive. Grandfather’s word wasn’t just law, it was divine. They didn’t see Carter’s disobedience as a man trying to rescue Adriana. They didn’t believe she could be rescued. He was spitting on their beliefs.”
A handful of those followers were still around, adults who had entered worship as c
hildren or young adults. And they had taught their kids to believe, not only in the word of the Prophet, but in his divine mission.
In his family’s divine mission.
The first frisson of doubt swept over Maricela. If people then had viewed something as human--something as vital--as Carter’s desperate bid to save his wife and son from captivity as blasphemy against the Prophet, what would they think of Ivan? Would they see him as a man celebrating the love upon which their religion had supposedly been built? Or as a Rider turning his back on his sacred vow to Gideon?
No. “This is different, Isabela. Ivan isn’t breaking faith, and he’s already proven himself. He--he saved Mad’s life during the war. They wouldn’t turn their back on someone who’s going to be a saint.”
“Carter saved Mad’s life, too,” Isabela replied quietly. “And I can honor Ivan for what he did during the war, but you’ve listened to me and Gideon often enough to understand what we’re trying to do. My word isn’t divine. It shouldn’t be. The priestesses decide now who our saints will be, and they listen to the people.”
People who were already whispering about Ivan, falsely condemning him for a murder he hadn’t committed.
“You have to consider this, Maricela. For his sake. Before you do something you can’t undo, you have to ask yourself if it’s fair to risk his chance at eternity, at the legacy he’s sacrificed so much for.”
An image flashed before Maricela--standing in that sunlit square in the heart of the city, watching joy slowly overtake the darkness in Ivan’s eyes as he realized that he could secure his legacy, redeem his family. Wash away the lingering stain of his uncles’ heresy and betrayal.
How would he ever be able to look at her if she took that away from him?
There was no good answer. Even if Ivan felt their relationship was worth the risk, it had the potential to endanger Gideon’s position. The fact that she and Ivan had been carrying on a secret affair under her brother’s nose wasn’t public knowledge--yet. As soon as the heads of the noble families learned that she’d passed over their lucrative offers of marriage for Ivan, they’d realize the truth. And they would talk, every hint and careful insinuation meticulously crafted to make Gideon look ignorant, fallible.