Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Diana opened her mouth to say something vicious, glanced at Jeffrey, and turned it into a smile. “We really should go together sometime, Jeffrey,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek in the manner of an old friend. The smile she bestowed on Imogen as she left was not even a little bit friendly.

  Jeffrey raised his eyebrows at Imogen when the door shut behind Diana. “I had no idea you could be so catty,” he said.

  “I do not—did not like her behaving to me as if I am intruding on her evening.”

  “I’m sorry I told her she could stay. It was because of the territory decision. I hated to tell her no tonight when I essentially told her the biggest ‘no’ you can imagine yesterday.”

  “I know she is your friend, but she is not a nice person sometimes.”

  “She certainly has been more obvious in her, um, bid for my affections lately.” He touched his cheek. “Shall we go? I doubt Diana is waiting around downstairs to accost me again.”

  “And if she is you can have your guards carry her away.” That made him laugh.

  Back in the carriage, Imogen watched Jeffrey restlessly look out the windows, at the floor, in every direction except at her. She wondered what was going through his mind. She herself was thinking about Diana, who now she was safely elsewhere seemed more like a figure to be pitied than hated. Imogen didn’t think Diana was actually in love with Jeffrey, but if she was, how sad, to love someone who cared nothing for you. Then she remembered the look on Diana’s face as she sat in Imogen’s chair, that cruel, triumphant look, and decided Diana wasn’t worth wasting sympathy on, however tragic her circumstances.

  “I’m trying to figure out how to ask you something in a way that won’t insult you,” Jeffrey said abruptly, and Imogen froze. What under heaven could he possibly have in mind?

  “You will ask and then I will not be insulted even if it is insulting,” she said lightly, as if his words hadn’t thrown her into turmoil.

  Jeffrey laughed. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you in advance.” He leaned forward. “Mairen told me there was a part of you that wasn’t a warrior,” he said. “I’ve seen you become a diplomat and a part of Tremontanan society, and I think maybe that’s what she was talking about. But it seems to me you’re still clinging to the warrior part of you, and not allowing yourself to see what it’s like to truly become this new self. I was wondering why that is.”

  She froze again, but for a completely different reason. How dare this Tremontanan man challenge her like that? She looked out the window, her eyes burning with angry tears. She was a warrior. Living in Aurilien and dressing like a Tremontanan woman and going to dances and parties wasn’t going to change that—

  —but it should, shouldn’t it? It was what she’d promised Mother. One year, to learn those things about herself that had nothing to do with war. One year, and she’d already broken her promise by refusing to admit these new things she was learning had anything to do with who she really was.

  “Oh, heaven, that wasn’t meant to make you cry,” Jeffrey said, moving to sit next to her and putting his arm around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question.”

  “It is a true question,” Imogen said, blinking to dispel her embarrassing tears. “I made a promise to learn and I did not keep it.”

  “Why is that?” He grinned at her startled expression. “I’ve already made you cry; I don’t see how anything I say can make it worse.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I am fighting with myself, all the time I am here. I think I know, inside me, I am only a warrior because I know nothing else, and I am afraid I will want to be another thing when I know what that is.”

  “Would it be so bad, being a diplomat instead of a warrior?”

  “I am leaving behind everything I know.”

  Jeffrey looked out the window again. “I was never meant to be King,” he said quietly. “I was going to go into business. All my life, I knew—I was such a kid, but I’d already decided I was going to run a theater like my parents did before Father became King. That theater, if I could, bring it back into the family. I knew all about the business, how it worked, the finances, everything. Father still made me go through all the lessons Sylvester did, all that stuff about running a kingdom, but I never gave it more than the minimum of my attention because it wasn’t who I really was.” He sighed. “But the day came when I realized not only was I good at those lessons, I was better at what it took to run a kingdom than I was at theater administration. I was devastated. It was like I lost everything that made me who I was.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Threw a temper tantrum that lasted three days. Then I went and asked Father for a job in one of the departments. It’s how Zara trained him, back in the day.”

  “Then you think I should not be a warrior.”

  “I think you should be whoever it is you really are. I think there’s nothing wrong with losing one dream if you end up living a better one.”

  She was increasingly aware of the weight of his arm across her shoulders, his hand gripping her upper arm. “I do not know which is the better one,” she said.

  “Live them both, live them well, and find out,” he said. He turned so he could face her more directly. “I can’t tell you to do more than that.”

  He sounded so sad, so regretful, that impulsively she took his free hand in hers, startling him. “Jeffrey,” she said, then couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He looked down at their joined hands, then looked up. “You’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met,” he said. “Warrior, diplomat…beautiful woman.”

  Imogen couldn’t look away from his eyes, colorless in the low light. “You think I am beautiful?” she said.

  He removed his hand from hers and caressed her cheek, smiling. “From the moment I first saw you,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

  She was only startled for a moment, and then the feel of his lips against hers, his hand gently touching her face, overrode her surprise with desire. She put her arms around his waist and felt him slide his hand from across her shoulders to the nape of her neck, under her hair, holding her steady against the movement of the carriage. She returned his kiss, enjoying the softness of his lips and his warm breath on her cheek. She’d been kissed before, stolen kisses in the shade of the tents or near the horses’ enclosure where no one could see, but she’d never felt this heart-pounding excitement, this blissful awareness of his hands and his mouth and the heat of his body as he drew her closer. He kissed her again, then pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on hers. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said in a low voice, “but I’ve been thinking about doing that for several days now and this seemed the perfect time to take advantage of you.”

  “If take advantage of me means you kiss me again with your wonderful mouth, I like it,” she said, and he grinned and kissed her again, this time playfully, tracing the line of her ear with his gentle fingers and making her shiver with delight.

  The jolt of the carriage coming to a halt banged their heads together gently. Jeffrey’s teeth grazed her lower lip, which made them both laugh. “I’m not quite ready to stop, are you?” he said.

  “It has only been two minutes. That is not long enough,” Imogen said.

  Jeffrey knocked on the roof of the carriage. “Go once around the Park,” he commanded, then took Imogen in his arms again and said, “So how long would be enough?”

  She trailed a finger along the hard edge of his jaw, feeling the faint roughness of stubble overlaying the smoothness of his skin. “If you always kiss the way you do just now, I do not think I could put a number on that.”

  “I do have to take you home sometime.”

  “But sometime is not now. And I think I will have to kiss you because you seem not interested now.”

  “No?” He swung her around to recline across his lap, making her giggle, and proceeded to nuzzle his way along her neck toward her lips, saying between kisses, “I
am very… interested… in everything… about you.”

  She laughed, and for a while they forgot about speaking.

  Later, they sat hand in hand watching what little was visible of the Park pass by their window, and Imogen said, “If you think about kissing me for many days, I do not know it.”

  “I’ve always been good at hiding how I feel. It’s a survival trait when it comes to the Council.”

  “Then you are courting me when you ask if I want to see the play.”

  “I hoped it wasn’t obvious. I sort of panicked because of those damned invitations. I knew they would just keep coming and eventually I’d run out of reasons for you to turn them down. So I decided to court you secretly, give you time to get used to the idea before I declared myself.”

  “I do not see how I could be used to a courtship I do not know happens.”

  “It’s been about three years since I courted a woman. I think I might have forgotten how.”

  “But you could just say you are interested. I would not be cruel if I do—did not care for you.”

  “Three years, remember? I was afraid you’d say no and then things would be awkward between us, and I really didn’t want that. This way, if it turned out my charms didn’t appeal to you, we were just two friends who happened to enjoy the same social activities.”

  “We Kirkellan do not do things that way.”

  “You said. The trouble is, if I gave you a gift…in Tremontane that means a lot more than just an interest. In the eyes of the kingdom we’d practically be betrothed.”

  “I see.” She squeezed his hand. “I like how your way worked.”

  “I’m surprised it worked at all.”

  “I feel sorry for those men now.”

  “Oh, I was telling the truth about every one of them, so don’t waste your sympathy.”

  “You do not make their flaws bigger?”

  “Exaggerate? Maybe a little bit. But tell me you wouldn’t rather be with me right now than with Larkin Argyll and his ears.”

  Imogen looked at him in the dimness. “Maybe his ears are handsome.”

  Jeffrey grabbed her around the waist with one arm and pulled her close. “I don’t think so,” he whispered, and kissed her again, his fingers once more caressing her cheek. She kissed him for a moment, then drew back. “This is not kissing time. This is you talking time. I think you cannot want to kiss me very long.”

  He twined his fingers with hers again. “I think I wanted to kiss you from the time you told that stable mistress you’d make her eat her own Device if she didn’t apologize to Victory.”

  Imogen laughed. “That is a very long time, Jeffrey. I think I do not believe you.”

  “Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But I can tell you this,” he said. “When you sat next to me at the lake, with your face turned towards the sun and those strands of hair blowing in the breeze, I knew I would do almost anything to have my arms around you and feel your lips on mine.”

  Imogen blushed. “I think you know how to talk to women,” she said.

  “Just you.” He kissed her again, slow and sweet. “Will you dance with me tomorrow at the Spring Ball?” he asked as the carriage again came to a halt.

  “Of course.”

  He kissed her again. “Just one dance. I’m not ready for the world to know how our relationship has changed, madam ambassador.”

  Imogen frowned. “This is something you are embarrassed about?”

  He ran his finger down the side of her neck and along her shoulder, traced the pale line of the scar that emerged from her gown’s neckline. “No, but the political implications of the King of Tremontane becoming romantically involved with a high-ranking diplomat from another country are…complicated.”

  “Then you should not have kissed me,” she said, pretending anger.

  Jeffrey recoiled slightly, his eyes registering hurt and surprise before he realized she was teasing him. “You—” he began, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him once more, playfully. “You should not have everything your own way all the time, I think,” she whispered.

  “I think there’s little danger of that with you around,” he whispered back.

  He helped her down from the carriage, escorted her the few steps to the embassy door—it really was unnecessary, but even a few moments more with him was heaven—and kissed her hand, his lips lingering longer than was necessary. “Good night, my dear… ambassador,” he said with a smile, and was gone almost before she was inside.

  The foyer and parlors were dark, the few Devices that were still lit turned down low. Someone moved in the left-hand parlor. “I need to talk,” Saevonna said. She was still in her Tremontanan dress and in the dim light her eyes looked enormous.

  “Did something happen?” Imogen came to sit next to her on the sofa.

  Saevonna shook her head. “But I think I want it to. Oh, Imogen, I really like him, and I think he likes me, but…I never thought anything like this was possible. I can’t even really talk to him!”

  “Well, you know what Kallum says—”

  “Kallum isn’t interested in a steady relationship with anyone but himself. I just feel so confused…maybe I shouldn’t have kissed Marcus, but it felt so wonderful….”

  Imogen put her hand on Saevonna’s shoulder. “I know exactly how you feel,” she said.

  Saevonna’s eyes went wide. “You, too? But, Imogen, he’s the King. That makes it a hundred times more complicated.”

  “He’s still just a man. That’s all the complicated it takes.” Imogen didn’t feel as certain as she sounded. Now that the pleasure of kissing Jeffrey was a sweet memory, she wondered if it had been a stupid thing to do. “I’m going to go to bed and think about this in the morning, and I suggest you do the same.” They ascended the stairs together, silently, but when they were about to part company, Imogen said, “Saevonna?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would it be so bad, falling in love with him?”

  Saevonna was silent for a moment. “I think what’s bad,” she said finally, “is that I don’t have a ready answer for that question.” She turned and went down the hall toward her room, her head bowed.

  Back in her sitting room, Imogen rang for Jeanette and let her undress her, pleading fatigue when Jeanette questioned her silence. So Dorenna had been right; Jeffrey was interested in her. She climbed into bed and touched her lips. He was very interested in her. The question was, was it a good idea for her to be interested in him? Too late for that, she thought, you know you don’t care that he’s a King and you’re a Kirkellan warrior. But it was true their being romantically involved had complicated political implications. If Bixhenta, to take a not totally random example, learned she’d just spent an hour in the arms of the King of Tremontane, he’d think she was firmly in the enemy camp and would never trust her again. No, she wasn’t going to think about it now. Time enough in the morning.

  She burrowed into her many pillows and closed her eyes. She could still feel his arms around her, his hand in hers. Damn. They couldn’t go on, could they? He’d said it himself; she was the face of the Kirkellan here in Aurilien, and the face of the Kirkellan had no business having such intimacy with the face of Tremontane, however attractive that face might be. She was supposed to remain impartial.

  She rolled onto her side and stared into the darkness. Wait until morning. It’s not as if you can do anything about it now. It was hours before she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She came late to the breakfast table the next morning, bleary-eyed and aching as if she’d slept on the bare ground instead of her too-soft mattress. Dorenna and Revalan sat at the table, placidly eating, and Areli stood at the sideboard helping herself to eggs and sausage. Imogen dropped into a chair and put her face in her hands.

  “Somebody had a late night,” Dorenna said.

  Imogen peered out at her through her fingers. “You have no idea,” she said.

  Dorenna sat up straight and stare
d at her in astonishment. “You didn’t,” she said. “Imogen, you barely know the man. Did you—was it in the palace?”

  “By heaven, Dorenna, I didn’t have sex with him,” Imogen said, exasperated. “He kissed me. I kissed him. Many, many times.” Her cheeks flushed at the memory even as her heart felt heavy. “And now I don’t know what to do.”

  “What is it Tremontanans do when they’re courting, anyway?” Revalan said, and broke a piece of bacon into three sections, stacked them and stuffed the stack into his mouth. “Bad enough they have to dance around the issue of whether or not they’re interested in a romantic relationship,” he went on, his voice muffled.

  “It probably doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’m allowed to find out,” Imogen said.

  Areli took a seat next to her. “Why under heaven not? He’s not married, he clearly wants to pursue the relationship, you’re attracted to him—”

  “And he’s the King of a foreign country. And I’m an ambassador.”

  “So?”

  “So suppose we have to go to war against Tremontane? She’d be compromised,” Revalan said.

  “We’re not going to war against Tremontane. Imogen, this is crazy. You can’t just give up,” Areli said.

  “Why not?”

  Areli and Dorenna exchanged glances. “Stop it,” Imogen said. “You’ve been teasing me about Jeffrey practically since I met him. All you know about him is he’s handsome and tall and a King. That’s not enough to build a relationship on and certainly not enough for me to risk my reputation as the representative of the Kirkellan. I’m better off telling him—” Her stomach clenched. She rose from the table and started putting food on her plate. Nothing smelled good. She must be coming down with something.

  “Imogen,” Areli said carefully, “we may not know him, but we certainly know you. We’ve seen the way you look at him and we’ve heard how you talk about him. This is not some passing physical fling, and you know it, or you would if you’d let yourself think for five minutes.”