It is an innocent request, with enough subtle humor in it that I relinquish my anger in a rush of air, surrendering an uneasy smile. I nod slowly and walk quietly into my bedroom, past the soundly sleeping child, to my door. He follows me, standing beside me in the dark room for a moment, my hand on the pull of the door. “I pray,” he whispers softly as I move to pull it open, and I glance back at him, “That you will forgive me for offending you…I’ll not speak of it again…”
I study him for a long moment in the darkness, and I sigh and give a small smile. “All is well, Alistair…all is forgiven. I must be tired is all. Sleep well.”
I open the door but pause with it partly open and look back at him. I consider him for a moment before leaning forward and kissing his cheek chastely. He looks at me stupidly for a moment, and I glare at him. “Don’t be so daft. It’s to repay you for jumping the balcony like a fool.”
He grins and laughs softly, saying only, “Ah, but you should not encourage me so, my lass.” I open the door and he steps out, taking the back of my hand and kissing it, then turning, grinning like a fool, and walking straight into Gabriel.
Chapter Forty Five
Gabriel
I return to my room in the hopes that sleep will find me, and quickly. But try as I might, I only toss and turn or stare up at the ceiling, hunger gnawing at my stomach. By all rights, I should be exhausted, having received little sleep in the past few days, but between the rampant thoughts and emotions tangling in my mind and in my chest and the hunger growling in protest to my abandoned dinner, I can find no rest.
Finally, and with an irritated sigh, I swing my legs over my bed and pull on a shirt over my slacks and pad barefoot out into the hall, planning on a short walk and maybe whatever is left over from dinner. I pass by Enté’s room, wedged between mine and Cara’s, and I smile gently at the soft, childish snores coming from inside, and then I pass by Cara’s room where she and the little fire-borne are sleeping.
I notice the door partly open and frown at that, stopping, curious. What is she still doing awake at this hour? My heart leaps and my stomach knots at the prospect of seeing her again. It has been but an hour or two since I saw her last, but the night is something else tonight. The tide is strong and the moon is full. Tonight is a night for Magik and mystery, and no such Magik appeals to me as my little spitfire.
The door opens. I hold my breath. But a figure much taller than Cara blocks the room from my view, and when he bows to kiss her hand, I catch Cara’s eyes over the top of his head, and her eyes go wide, her mouth parting a bit, and we just stare in dumb astonishment until Alistair stands up and backs up, turning right into me. We both nearly hit the ground except that I catch myself and grab him by his arms, my fingers biting into them. When our eyes lock, he is right before me, looking startled and not in the least bit amused.
No one says a word, not while I stand there, holding Alistair by his arms, a man larger than myself. Rage couples with my exhaustion and becomes even more maddening and insane. “Gabriel…” Alistair says hesitantly, and it is as though something snaps inside of me.
I let go of Alistair’s arms but grab him by the front of his shirt, turn, and push him back, slamming him back against the wall and pinning him there and Cara screams, “Gabriel!”
“Why were you in her room!” I roar.
“Gabriel!” Alistair calls, his hands on my wrists. “Put me down! This is ridiculous! I am your friend!”
“Why were you in her room!” I roar again and then look over at Cara. “Why was he in your—” I cut myself off, taking in her appearance. Here, in the flame-lit hall, I can see her clearly, wearing her pale, cream-colored nightdress which hides little from view, her breasts pressing against the fabric, the slightest tint of the rosy tips showing in the fire light. Around her is a dark green cloak with golden embellishments and a golden clasp. Alistair’s. “Why in the seven seas are you dressed like that!” I snarl, not realizing that I should probably keep my voice down. “And why are you wearing his cloak?” I turn my head back to Alistair, slamming him back against the wall again. “Why is she wearing your cloak, damnit!” Alistair stares back at me, a cold, hard look, watching me with a calm countenance as I rage at him.
“Gabriel, stop it!” Cara screams, grabbing my arm and yanking, furious. “You fool, stop this moment, before I strike you!”
Let her try. I am glaring at Alistair. Our eyes lock, our faces right in front of each other, lips upraised in a snarl, eyes fierce and violent. She’s watching me, scrambling, trying to figure out something—I can tell from the corner of my eyes.
Her idea of “striking” and my idea of “striking” turn out to be two very different things. She finally grabs my face in her hands and yanks it to hers. I open my mouth to shout again, eyes locked on her, but she presses her mouth to mine. It knocks everything I had been about to say out of my mind when she thrusts her tongue into my mouth, no doubt bent on distracting me—which she does quite thoroughly.
I release Alistair just enough that he gives me a hard shove away from him, and from her, and I stumble back. Fueled by a blind rage in my own mindless exhaustion, I turn on him, braced for a fight, but Cara is immediately between us as voices began to fill the hall. Cara places her hands on my chest, burning hot, claiming my attention. She looks up at me, a pleading and irritated look. “Gabriel, don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.” I stare down at her, feeling angry, hurt, betrayed, grabbing her little wrists angrily. But the pain that flinches across her face stalls me, and I relax some, loosening my grip. “If you don’t want others to see me like this, I suggest we go to my own room.” It is a slightly warning tone, but I sigh and look up at Alistair who isn’t quite glaring but isn’t pleased either. I incline my head. He nods his. Tomorrow.
I put an arm around Cara and move towards her room where a little Inferno girl peers out curiously, frightened. I glance at Cara but she does not look at me or Alistair, instead focusing on the little girl and moving into her room. I follow her and then shut the door behind me and bolt it. Cara gathers up Zsoka and goes to the bed, soothing her gently. “All is well, little one. All is well…” She smiles gently and smoothes back some of her hair. Zsoka looks at me, clearly uncertain. I stalk away a bit to give them some privacy, moving towards the balcony to cool my head.
I wait there for several minutes until at last, she soothes the girl and returns to me. Scarlet comes up behind me, rubbing her hands up and down my arms. “Gabriel…” Her voice is a soft sigh, a siren’s song, and I fall lax into it, sighing gruffly. She leans forward and kisses my shoulder before coming around in front of me and giving me a gentle, chastising smile, taking my wrists and uncrossing my arms before wrapping them around herself, pressing her back to my chest. She leans up and kisses my chin, then settles back against me again. I give a heavy sigh and tighten my hold of her, leaning my chin against her hair and staring out at the moon. “Go on…ask me what you will,” she says gently, unafraid, “Or would you rather I explain myself?”
“Mmm you may try,” I grumble, but any threat that might have been there is gone from my voice as I breathe in the scent of her. Even in our world and with our soap, she still smells of fire. Of charcoal and incense and the faint salty spray of the ocean.
She gives a throaty laugh and says, “I was dressed in my nightclothes when I came out onto the balcony…Alistair was out here and wanted to talk and offered me his cloak so that I would be decent…we started talking about the war and Lady Cynthia and her husband, so he decided to come to the balcony so that we weren’t shouting above the wind—nearly killed himself too. He jumped from his balcony to mine.” She laughs a bit while I stare down at her incredulously. Yes, that sounds like something he would do. Always acting like a fool around a pretty girl. I thought he had outgrown such idiocy. Sighing, I lay my head against her again. “We talked for a while but…he said something to upset me and I asked him to leave. I was letting him out the front door when he bumped into you…”<
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“Mmmm…” While I was certain that Cynthia would still be scandalized, from what I know of Scarlet, it was perfectly appropriate. Well, outside of her being in her nightdress. She had the cloak on at least, but I’m not too happy at Alistair having seen her in it. And then I remember… “What did he say to upset you?”
She tenses in my arms, and a growing fear and anger raise in me. Scarlet is easily angered, but I dread whatever can actually upset her. “Cara? What is it?” But she does not answer me. I turn her around to face me and lift her chin. “What has he said to upset you?” I ask more firmly, and she must have seen murder in my eyes, for she sighs and answers…
“He told me that you are in love with me.”
I stare at her, transfixed, watching her eyes. That I am…in love with her? I want her. I care for her. Tonight proved I am possessive and protective of her. But love? Was I…this is nothing like what I felt with Catherine. I had been her husband, she my wife. I had a responsibility to serve and protect her, to love her and take care of her. Scarlet makes me feel anything but responsible or reasonable, and I have a feeling that if I tried to protect her or take care of her, she would throttle me…but love?
Her hand reaches up, gently cupping my face, and I lay my hand over hers. I don’t know what she sees in my eyes this night as she stares up at me, but she goes up on her toes and kisses me. Her lips have never tasted so sweet. And I gather her into my arms and hold her there, her lips to mine, until I feel her suck in a soft breath, and I look down at her to see glittering tears on her face. “Cara…” I murmur softly, reaching out and touching her face, brushing away her tears. She leans her cheek into my hand and gives a sad smile and says nothing, closing her eyes.
And what can I say? There are no right words. The only words that can be said would shatter us into oblivion. I cannot love her. She knows that. I am a prince, and one day a king. I need to rule my people. As it is…she is throwing my country into turmoil. I brought her to Ocarine to save my own life as well as hers. I need her out of Crystalice. But I will have to return…and she and I both know that when that time comes…she cannot come with me…I’ve never told her…and she’s never asked. But we both know.
She is happy here. Out of the snow, away from the politics and the soldiers. This place is as close to home as I can give her. And I cannot stay with her. Perhaps if Mit’an’av were still alive, I could live in one of the more remote regions with her. In Ocarine or in Brooke even. But since taking her in, since Mit’an’av’s death…everything has begun to fall apart. The fact that even as a ward of the prince, Cara was still attacked proves that. Our people are angry, restless…and as their Crown Prince and future king…I have to prove to them that they are my foremost concern…and I…I just cannot do that with her in my arms…
As soon as we arrived…I knew. We both knew.
That I will go.
And she will stay.
Everything…everything is just all wrong. I hold Cara close for a while, my face buried in her hair, and then I walk her inside and tuck her in to bed with the half-awake Zsoka. I kiss her brow and smile gently at the little girl beside her. Cara takes my hand and squeezes it before letting go, and her hand slips out of my grasp when I stand and leave her to the darkness of her room. And what else can I do?
I am no longer hungry. My body feels like lead. My heart is sinking with heaviness as I return, slowly, to my own room. I speak briefly to a guard who asks me about raised voices in the hall several moments ago, calming his nerves, before I slip into my bedroom. I stay there for a moment, leaning back against the door, and when I look up to the dark ceiling, I am startled by twin, cold tears sliding down my face from the corners of my eyes. Irritated, I brush them away and stumble to bed, sinking into it with a heavy, heart-ached sigh, allowing sleep to swallow me.
Chapter Forty Six
Gabriel
Morning is no kinder to me than the night before had been. I am tired and sore, and although I slept, it was a light and fitful sleep that had offered me no respite in the least. I awake groggy and irritated, throwing my legs over the side. I sigh heavily and rub the back of my neck, groaning and closing my eyes. Sunlight pours in through the open balcony window, but the breeze is not as cool and insistent as it had been the night before. I sigh and drag myself up, going over to the basin and splashing my face before staring into the looking glass. A haggard man looks back at me, his long, white hair tossed on his bare shoulders, his eyes puffy and dark, jaw covered in a silver scruff. I look like hell.
Taking a blade, I clean up the sides of my face and tie back the rest of my hair at the nape of my neck before pulling on a clean shirt and slacks, finally leaving my corridor to find something to eat. Even resting here, I have work to attend to. The king and queen still oversee most of the matters, but I have several letters to go through each day, and my father delegates much of his work to me to prepare me for the work load I will soon have. Up until recently, I had been in high favor with my people—commoners, soldiers, and aristocrats. Recently however…I sigh, rubbing my jaw and sauntering down the stairs to the kitchen, making a meal out of bread and cold cuts before heading outside.
Almost instinctively, I move towards the training yards on the west side of the castle. I know that he will be there, and although I hadn’t been seeking him specifically, I go there anyways. Alistair is shirtless and laying waste to several wood and straw dummies set up. He looks about as haggard as I do, his face tinted with dark brown, his hair slick with sweat now, hanging in dirty blond curls about his face. He roars, attacking another dummy and I shake my head, having calmed from my jealous rage the night before. Alistair and I are brothers. Our quarrels are light and easily mended…at least until now.
He catches sight of me at last and looks over at me with dark shadows in his eyes. “Gabriel,” he greets stiffly. Our quarrels have never been to the point where I have held him by his shirt against a wall.
I sigh heavily, hating mornings. “Alistair.” A long stretch of silence passes between us as I move to the weapons rack and find for myself a suitable blade to practice. I point it square at him, and he knows well the challenge. I come at him without mercy, my blade clashing with his. He had been training all morning, but I am fresh awake; I stretched a bit in my room but am otherwise untested for the morning. There is never any play with us. We throw everything we have into our fights, swords clashing together fiercely, both of us panting and grunting, glaring, digging in our heels, spinning to avoid other blows. It is a familiar routine that I am long used to.
Slash. Parry. Crash. Apart. Duck. Dodge. Again. There are no rules for us. For me and Alistair, we never follow the constraints of any type of fighting. We fight to win. We’re only slightly above throwing dirt in each others’ eyes, but not by much. He lands a blow to the side of my head, and it knocks me back with just enough time to block and clear the spinning visions before I’m at him again. Hit. Hit. Block. Swing. I catch him in the side. He must be aching and exhausted. I’m panting hard and sweating now. Damn this heat. We begin again. Parry. Block. Dodge. Swing. Duck. Again.
At last, with no clear champion declared, we both collapse onto our backs. We breathe hard for a long while, soft dirt and a few little rocks under me as I stare up at the bright sun for a long while before finally closing my eyes. I just breathe long, heavy breaths and I huff them out and groan, pushing myself up. “All is well?” I hear him say, not far from me, sitting up with his arms leaned on his knees.
I give a single nod, panting. “All is well.”
“Fair,” he says and inclines his head. “Then I have something to ask.” I raise a brow and wait. After a few gasping breaths he rasps, “I wish to court Scarlet… formally.”
I stop breathing. I should have expected as much from him, Alistair. But…the seriousness of his manner surprises and unsettles me. Alistair is never serious. The only time I have seen him even remotely severe is when his father died many years before and when Thomas died months ago
. I am sure that not everything is a jest to him, but he is so light-hearted and good-natured that it appears that way to anyone who does not know him well.
Finally, I laugh. A great, booming laughter. “Now I know you mean me death!” I cry. He gives me a peculiar look, and then I explain, “If Cara ever heard that I gave you ‘permission’ to court her, she would end me.” Alistair breaks out in a grin. I shake my head. “I doubt she’ll let you,” my chest clenches angrily, “But if I try to forbid it, she’ll only fight me on it just to spite me.”
“You have experience in this manner?” he asks with a laugh, hauling himself up.
I chuckle and offer him help, standing. “Something of the sort. I do believe that I had been fairly straightforward about her not leaving her room at the castle, but she had no trouble convincing my guards to take her out and about.” I laugh at the memory that had so angered me before, and I remember the result of that night…holding Cara in my arms as she cried against me, laying her to bed. And deciding that night that I would protect her come what may.
“Are you two finished killing each other?” is the voice of our exasperated woman, standing not far in a pink dress embroidered with burgundy roses all along the borders. She holds in her arms a basket, the Inferno girl on one side of her, and my half-blood son on the other side, both clinging to her fluttering skirts and following her gaze to us.
“Hail!” cries Alistair before I can speak, grinning like a fool and hurrying over to her. I sigh and shake my head, following suit to the edge of the training grounds. He hauls himself over the wooden fence, landing before her. She takes a step back and arcs a brow. “Scarlet, my dearest heart,” he coos, turning her face red as he swoops and captures her hand. I clench my jaw, a motion that does not go unnoticed by her.
A Heart of Ice Page 28