“Do you ever tire of being so mean?” he asked calmly, holding her gaze.
She swallowed hard and didn’t answer.
He turned away without saying goodbye. Striding down the hall, he let anger and hurt take first place. Decide objectively and feel later. That had been his mantra for nearly his entire life, and he wouldn’t stop abiding by that code even now. Even for Arla.
The queen was sending Shard to round up a drunken Sin, who was sunk in misery over a Solati woman. Unbeknown to Sin, he’d be joining a tri-world party to Osolis tomorrow. Prince Ashawn was meant to escort the party, but perhaps Shard would offer to take them instead.
There was only so much hurt he could take.
So leave he would.
Chapter Three
Present day.
Shard slipped out of his chamber, gripping his dagger tight when the door of the neighboring chamber opened.
“Shard.” The overweight and balding Bruma man greeted him coolly.
“Drummond,” Shard said with a smile. He darted a look at Arla, who had linked arms with her father.
She looked like some kind of ice princess. Even dead, he’d feel aroused by the sight of her in the barely there wisp of a powder-blue dress she’d donned for the welcome ceremony tonight. Her legs were long, her breasts full and tight, her stomach tapered in, and her hips flared at her waist.
Arla’s body was a dream. Her mind was a weapon.
He slid his focus back to her father and frowned. “The queen requested we wear the official advisor sashes this evening.”
Drummond released Arla and patted the front of his tunic. “She did?”
Shard blinked. “You weren’t listening?”
“That is . . . of course—"
“Lucky we saw each other before you entered the food hall.”
Drummond stared at him. “But where is yours?”
“In my pocket,” Shard lied smoothly. “I wasn’t sure how to arrange it, but—” he glanced at Arla again, “—perhaps Arla could help.”
Her father turned back to the room, sniffing. “Better grab it then.”
“Better,” Shard agreed quietly.
He leaned forward and closed the door after Drummond, holding his hand out to Arla.
“You look beautiful. But can you run in that dress?” he asked.
A grin split her face and a glint entered her eyes. She slapped her hand into his and they took off down the hall.
Reaching the curve of the stairs, they slowed and paused to listen back. Shard studied the brightness of her blue gaze as Drummond cursed loudly from outside his chamber.
Arla muffled her laughter and Shard tugged her down the stairs.
He wound his arm through hers when they reached the bottom, sneaking peeks at her.
Heat spread through him. Fuck, she was a goddess. And entirely aware of what she did to him. Nine months had passed since they’d fought and he’d left the castle not knowing if he’d even return.
But then Shard realized that no matter how mean Arla was to him or how she lashed out, she’d never once told him to leave. If you knew what was good for you, you’d leave.
Another test. And one he’d failed, so back he came after kicking himself for falling for her ploy.
She hadn’t ever apologized. Not in so many words, at least. He didn’t think Arla knew how to apologize. But in her own way, she’d shown Shard that she regretted her actions. A smile. One of their intimate conversations he loved so much.
Or was he reading too much into it?
His thoughts from the meeting chamber only hours before came back. What did he have to do to make Arla choose him? He’d tried patience and understanding. He’d offered security and stability. And she rewarded that by taking other men back to her chamber week after week.
He’d never, not even once, received a scrap or hint of attraction or deeper regard from her. She’d softened toward him with excruciating slowness. In moments like these, Arla would display what he could label as affection. But Shard was hesitant to read more into her infrequent smiles and small touches, simply because they were that. Infrequent.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” she asked.
He cocked his head, listening hard, and heard Drummond’s heavy tread.
Shard grinned and pulled her into a dark hallway. He pushed Arla against the wall and covered her mouth, daring her to push him away.
Her eyes danced above his hand. Or was he reading too much into that as well?
Slowly lifting a hand, she covered his own mouth and Shard’s entire body soared to life at the simple touch.
Pathetic, she’d once called him. Now he agreed. And when he’d come back to Glacium, Shard had vowed not to care, but that was a lie he’d told himself enough until he started to believe it.
He did care. And after eighteen months in close proximity with her, Shard had to know one way or the other. Or at least know what he had to do to win her heart.
Drummond passed by, but Shard waited until another two parties followed before removing his hand from her lips.
This was the closest they’d ever been. The most they’d ever touched. The softest she’d ever allowed herself to be in his company.
“Arla,” he started, throat tightening.
“Do you think firelight or darkness came first?” she interrupted him, studying the shadows in the hall where they’d taken refuge.
Shard pulled up short and leaped on the question like the coward he had never been.
“Firelight,” he finally decided. “We only know darkness exists because we see shadows. We see shadows because of light. Without light, darkness wouldn’t be darkness; it would just be a constant state without a name.”
She’d turned to watch him. “The same could be said for light then. You didn’t answer my question, really, but I figure your answer will be the same.”
“The reason?”
“Because some people are born believing in firelight and others in darkness. You believe in firelight.” Shadows flickered across her face.
“And some in both,” he ventured to say. Whether Arla knew it or not, she wasn’t the kind of person to believe in darkness alone. Both resided within her.
But they were on their way to a ball. She should be laughing and dancing, not skulking in some passage with him.
“You know,” he said lightly, “if I’d known the firelight and darkness in your question were metaphorical and not literal, my answer might’ve been different.”
Her lips quirked. They appeared soft. Warm. Not that he’d know.
“Arla,” Shard started again. “I’ve pursued you for the better part of two years.”
She glanced up at him and finally seemed to realize their bodies still touched. She pushed him away with a gentle shove. “Sick of it yet?”
“Yes,” Shard said honestly, equal parts terrified and determined to voice his growing doubt out loud.
Her eyes widened slightly before her face shut down. He’d coined the phenomenon her ‘ice mask.’ The mask that descended right before she lashed out.
He quickly continued. “We know each other well enough now that I hope, if you cannot care for me, you can respect my feelings as a friend. If you cannot love me, I need to know so that I can attempt to accept it. I am a patient man and I’ve accepted that you need to test me and push me, but how you treat me is taking a toll. So please, Arla, be honest and tell me now. Forget everyone else and what you think they’d want you to say. Tell me how you feel.”
He listened as the breath caught in her throat.
“Could you ever care for me?” he asked in a low voice.
Arla swallowed, looking directly into his eyes.
The trill of a violin from the food hall rang out, echoing into the hallway where they stood. She jerked and shifted her gaze to stare over his shoulder at the opposite stone wall. Or through it to the food hall, he suspected was more likely.
“Giving up?” Arla asked, smiling coyly as she glanc
ed at him again. The ice mask was back.
For once the sight of her smile didn’t drag an answering smile from his lips.
“Yes, Arla,” he said grimly. “If you can’t tell me how you feel, I’m giving up.”
“Then do it,” she snapped, rearranging the wispy material over her legs.
Shard reeled back until he hit the wall behind him and hung his head.
“That’s it then,” he said raggedly.
Arla folded her arms, saying nothing. Could she even feel? Or was she truly ice? Had he imagined everything? Arla shifted her weight a couple of times. He could see where her nails dug into the soft flesh of her arms. But she did not venture a single word.
“I wish you a life of happiness and good fortune with the man your father chooses for you,” he said.
She blanched, and he regretted the bitter words. Though perhaps he deserved a chance to lash out at her instead of the other way around. It might be good for her. Perhaps he’d savor these parting words in years to come.
Alone somewhere.
He doubted it. Ice she might be, but love her he did. Brave he’d been, but only regret would remain.
Seeing the shadows without light wasn’t possible. Even the cruel, cold light she’d shone over him.
Guess that only left darkness.
Shard left the passage, wondering how the hell he would ever mend his heart.
Chapter Four
“You aren’t dancing,” Ashawn said, plonking down onto the cushion beside Shard. The prince glanced at him. “In fact, you look a little down in the dumps.”
He should hate the prince for being the chosen object of Arla’s attention. But the prince was likeable, and Drummond’s social ambitions weren’t his. Ten cups of brew into the ball already and Shard was trying to remember that very important distinction.
Arla was dancing with an Ire man. Fucker. Any other time and he might have thought the man a Bruma, but spotting the different worlds was easier now with the colors they’d donned for the games.
Oranges and reds for Osolis. Browns and greens for the Ire. And blues and whites for Glacium. His own tunic was a deep blue over black trousers.
Drummond sauntered past, throwing a glare at him.
Right, the sash lie and running away with his daughter. Back before Shard royally screwed things up.
He lifted his goblet after Arla’s father. “Fuck you, too.”
“You know. . . ,” Ashawn said shrewdly, “you’re as drunk as I’ve ever seen you.”
That would be a yes.
“Probably for the best,” the prince said, humming. “The other two worlds expect us to be drunk. We mustn’t disappoint.”
Shard ignored the sarcasm.
“. . . I assume this has to do with Arla.”
He groaned. “Obvious?”
“The whole castle knows your, uh, heart only has eyes for one woman.”
Shard could safely assume the prince intended to say something other than heart. But surely the entire castle knew he loved Arla with more than what hung between his hips? Wait, was that what she thought? That he loved her with his dick?
“Sorry, what about loving Arla with your dick?” Ashawn asked him. “Not that I blame you. I’m a big supporter of loving others with that body part. I just always pegged you as more of a thinking-heart man.”
Shit. That was out loud? And what was a thinking-heart man? He swirled the amber contents of his goblet and knocked it back in one gulp. “Her father wants her to marry you,” he confessed.
Tonight was a good night for failed confessions. Perhaps if he made enough of them, he’d eventually win one.
“I’m aware,” Ashawn said pleasantly. “Why do you think I play so many pranks on Drummond? There is a rhyme to my reason. I’m curing certain members of the assembly of assholery.”
Shard glanced at Drummond, who’d sat down next to Lina’s brother, Landon.
“I see,” he answered at length. Was assholery a word? “And your pranks on Landon were because. . . .”
A bleary-eyed glance told him the Tatum of Osolis didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as he had during his last visit here—likely due to the presence of his wife, Greta, by his side, and his baby niece on his lap.
The prince snorted. “Are you kidding? Landon is my greatest success.”
Shard sipped again, glaring at Drummond. “Arla’s father is a git.”
“Hmm. An ambitious fool, I’d agree,” the prince replied after a minute. “Especially ignorant when it comes to females. The rest of the time, mostly intelligent.”
“Ignorance isn’t an excuse for . . . assholery.” Shard grunted, searching for the nearest keg of brew. Maybe he did like that word.
“No, and yet no one ever taught him otherwise.”
What? Shard squinted at him. “What are you saying?”
Ashawn lifted a shoulder. “Not everyone can look at themselves. And even if they can, not everyone can be bothered to change. Drummond probably isn’t capable of either, so why bother?”
Shard shook his head. “Sorry, aren’t you seventeen?”
“Jovan’s advice,” he explained with a shrug. “But don’t tell. I have everyone fooled. The ladies flock for my wisdom. They think I’m a thinking-heart man.”
Which wasn’t too far from the truth from what Shard had seen.
He was closer to Arla’s age, too. And he was a prince and a good man.
“If you marry her, treat her right,” he said hoarsely. “She deserves kindness.”
Ashawn snickered. “You are very drunk, my friend. But if it consoles you, let me tell you that Arla gives my willy nightmares. She’s colder than the blizzards of the Fourth and meaner than the. . . .” He cut a look at Shard and trailed off. “She’s not always nice,” he finished lamely.
Turning to find Arla in the dance area, Shard scowled at her hands roaming over the Ire man. “You don’t see it’s just an act?”
The prince tilted his head, following Shard’s gaze. “You’re asking if I see something other than her boobs?”
Anger speared Shard. He turned his scowl on the prince, whose mouth had stretched into a shit-eating grin.
“You’ve got it bad,” he sang, standing. “Go after her, Shardy. Nothing to lose, is there?”
No, nothing.
Except Shard had already lost.
The prince walked away but turned back. “She does have great boobs, though,” he called quickly, before escaping into the milling crowd.
Did Shard say he liked Jovan’s brother?
He didn’t. Not one bit.
Shard was contemplating the act of getting upright to procure another drink when another person plonked down on the cushion beside him.
What was this? Visiting hour.
“Ashawn told Jovan who told me that you’re getting really drunk,” the queen said, a glimmer of amusement in her deep-blue eyes.
“Correct,” he replied, taking a sip before recalling the goblet was empty.
She held out one of the two full goblets in her hands.
Shard arched a brow at the goblet she brought to her lips.
“Kendra is fed and asleep in Landon’s arms. I have a window of freedom and I plan to savor this single drink that will hopefully not also send me to sleep,” Lina confessed. “Don’t ruin it. What has you worked up?”
He wasn’t having this conversation with her; Shard knew exactly where it led. He darted a look at Arla, seeing she was now pressed up against a Solati. Perfect.
“You are in knots over Arla again,” the queen remarked, ever-so-slightly stressing the word again.
“Ashawn went straight to you,” he shot back.
She smiled widely. “You think so?”
No, he didn’t think so. People didn’t like his company because he ‘saw everything’. That quality was okay in their queen, apparently, just not in him. Not that the assembly’s opinion bothered him. He just . . . fuck, everything was everywhere.
“I asked if she co
uld ever care for me,” Shard admitted, staring into the amber liquid of his drink. “She said no. So I’m giving up. Moving on to whatever happens next.”
“She’s a fool,” Lina said simply, sipping at her drink and tipping her head back.
He and Ashawn had already established that Drummond was a fool and that he could neither see it nor change it. Arla wasn’t like that. She knew better.
Shard covered his irritation with a sip of his own drink. Even after countless rejections, he still wanted to defend her. That was extra annoying.
“She’s hurt,” he said finally.
“You are angry that I dislike her.”
Damn it. One time he’d like to keep his emotions to his damn self.
Lina hesitated. “After you confessed your devotion to her at the last ball—”
“The ball where I offered her my tunic and she dropped it on the ground and walked off?” he asked. “Or the one where I took her a plate of food and she slapped it out of my hand?”
The queen winced. “The latter. If I hadn’t feared the baby falling out of me, I would have wiped the floor with her after that.” Anger trembled in her voice. “Hurt she may be, Shard. But a person shouldn’t treat anyone like that. Out of respect, I’ve kept silent, but seeing you this way, in pain, hurts my heart. I want only the best for one of my greatest friends.”
Shard gritted his teeth. “You haven’t kept silent, though. You might not have spoken aloud, Lina, but I heard you all the same. And I’ll tell you now what I’ve always told you. She isn’t that person deep down.”
“You’ve known her for nearly two years and she hasn’t changed. Or shown you the inclination that she’ll change.”
She had softened toward him. The beginning of this night proved that.
Shard tightened his grip on the goblet, blinking away the slight blurriness of his vision. “I could change her.”
“If people want to improve, they improve themselves. No one can make that decision for them.”
He glared at her. Had she been listening in on his and Ashawn’s conversation?
Forgetting she was his queen and ruler, for a second Shard could only see himself as he stared at her. Because really, Lina was the female version of himself.
Shard: A Tainted Accords Novella, 4.8 Page 2