Laen got to his knees in front of her, taking both of her hands now. "Truly, you're both alright?" he asked, such concern and love in his voice that she could only smile and sigh with happiness. She was very lucky to have such a loving man, even if he was a pig-headed, stubborn caveman, on occasion.
She leaned forward and took hold of his hand, placing it low on her bump. Right on cue, a swift kick was delivered against his palm, and she felt her heart swell at the wonder in his eyes. "We're both in perfect health," she said, watching the relief soften the hard lines of his face as he finally believed her.
"Oh, gods, Océane." He moved closer and rested his head against her stomach, strong arms going around her. "I have missed you so very badly, both of you."
She stroked his hair, her hands moving down over the long, blond hair and over his massive shoulders, feeling the tension he carried there. "I know,” she said, her voice low. “I have missed you just as much. I've been going out of my mind with worry, and then when the snow came …” she broke off, the words a little uneven as her eyes filled. He looked up at her, stricken. "I knew you would be cross that I took the chance, but I had to come, you do understand?" she asked, hoping he realised she would have never risked their child in any way if she hadn’t been going out of her mind, if she hadn’t been so certain that he needed her.
He nodded. "I should be furious with you for putting both of you at such risk, but … I am just so relieved you are here that I cannot find it in me."
They sat together quietly for a moment as the sounds of the camp swelled around them, of shouted orders, of coarse jokes and men’s laughter, and the everyday business of feeding and organising an army.
"Are you going to tell me what happened, then?" she asked, knowing they had no time to delay. If she was going to get to the heart of this problem, she needed to do it, now. She watched as his face closed down and he moved back a little, instantly on the defensive. It was going to be no easy task.
"He's taken everything."
His voice was flat, his face expressionless, and she wondered how best to proceed. She knew in her heart that what she’d told Bram was the truth. Corin would never willingly hurt Laen. In fact, he’d far more likely cause himself pain than do anything to betray Laen. For a moment, she considered telling the angry man before her about what had happened the night she had fought with him in Paris, when Carla was dying. What had happened once Laen had given up on her without a fight and left her with Corin. She wondered what he would say if he knew that, in her fury and disappointment, she had thrown herself at Corin, practically offered herself up on a plate - and he had refused her. Corin had wanted her badly that night, she knew that. He had even believed himself in love with her, and yet he had said no, quite unable to do anything that would hurt Laen. But she knew how Laen’s jealousy would spark to life, too, and she didn’t want to risk making things worse, though, so ...
"The bastard!" she said, her tone hard and as furious as she could make it. "After everything you have done for him. You mean to say he tricked you into taking your men into battle for him? He made you risk your life for him, all the while using you so that he could grab power for himself? The selfish, lying bastard! He’s been deceiving you all along, both of us! How could he? I thought he was your friend?" she demanded, smoothing a hand over her belly to reassure the baby. She might be faking her anger, but raised voices were not exactly soothing.
Laen looked up at her, clearly shocked by the rage in her voice.
"Just you wait until I see him,” she continued, adding as much venom to her words as she possibly could. “I'll give him a piece of my mind, the two-faced, lying..."
"Océane!" She stopped her tirade to look at Laen, who shook his head, confusion in his eyes now. "It ... It isn't quite as simple as that."
"Oh?” she said, folding her arms and staring at him. “It seems pretty clear to me!” She sneered, quite impressed with her own performance so far, and prayed that it was working. “So he’s going to take your father's kingdom from him, your inheritance, Laen. He’s taking everything that is rightfully yours."
Laen nodded and then took a deep breath, letting it out again on a heavy sigh. He got up and sat beside her on the bed, putting his head in his hands and looking the picture of misery. "He doesn't want to,” he said, and Océane knew with his admission that his rage was subsiding; he sounded more confused and miserable than angry. “He has no choice. I didn’t believe that at first, but now … If the land is calling to him, and I know that it is, then he really does have no option. The land chooses its ruler, it seeks the one with the most power, with the ability to wield it, but it is unforgiving if its wishes are not met. If he tries to deny the call, it will kill him." He looked up at her then and she smiled at him, raising one eyebrow in question and taking one large calloused hand in hers. "So then,” she asked, her voice soft now. “If you know all that, what are you doing sitting here with that pig who dares to call himself your father?"
He looked up, narrowing his eyes at her as he realised what she’d just done. "Woman, you are too tricky by half,” he growled, huffing with indignation.
She snorted with amusement at his chagrin. "Not really, my love. I just know how you tick." Océane sat watching him, wondering how to get him to tell her what was in his heart; she had a fair idea, but she wanted to hear it from him. Laen stared back at her, the reluctant look in his eyes proving that he knew what she wanted. He hesitated, always unwilling to give his feelings up, though he was improving the more she encouraged him, the more she made him see how it helped him to share his thoughts.
He shook his head, staring down at his boots. “It isn’t the kingdom.” She squeezed his hand, a silent show of support and encouragement, willing him to continue. He turned to look at her, dark eyes serious. “I’ve never wanted to be king, Océane, you know that.” He laughed, the sound full of mockery. “Gods, can you imagine? I have no patience for politics. My father rules with fear, it’s a bloody dictatorship where you do as he demands or lose your life. I don’t want that. I could never rule like that, but I am no good at negotiating either. There are too many men who would oppose me and I’d be forced to fight them, there would be a civil war within days. My temper gets the better of me too often. I’d do or say something …” He gave her a rueful smile. “Never mind Mechstrana, how the hell would I negotiate with the other two kingdoms? Let alone beyond the Fae Lands. I’d start a war with someone before the first year was out, and we both know it.”
Océane snorted with amusement, knowing what he said was true. Laen had many wonderful and admirable qualities, but she wasn’t blinkered in her love for him; diplomacy was not one of them. “What is it, then?” she asked, leaning into him. Océane waited as he explained, his voice halting and uncertain, and her heart broke at the simplicity of it.
“Am I being idiotic?” he asked, once he’d finished, looking down at his boots.
She hugged him hard, shaking her head as she tried not to cry for him. “No, of course not,” she said, her voice fierce. As she’d suspected, Corin wasn’t blameless in this, but she could see how the man had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. “You have every right to feel the way you do,” she added, hesitating before she added the bit that he needed to hear. “But … I think you have taken things way too far. Don’t you?”
He nodded, his face grim as he rubbed his face with his hand. He looked exhausted. “I always do,” he said, sounding disgusted with himself. “You know that, and the problem is, once I have, I don’t know how to go back.”
“Yes, you do,” she said, reaching up and putting one hand to his cheek, turning his face so that he was forced to look at her.
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice rough. “He might not forgive me this time.” She watched as he swallowed hard, the fear in his eyes hurting her heart. “What if he won’t see me?”
“Don’t be foolish, Laen,” she said, shaking her head and knowing that Corin would want to repair this
rift more than anyone. “He loves you.”
Laen shook his head, his jaw growing tight. “You didn’t hear what I said to him.” He got up from the bed and began to pace, his hand raking through his hair. “Océane, I … I was very cruel.”
“You’ve told me you’ve been cruel to him before, Laen. Many times. He’s always forgiven you before.” She sighed as the guilt in his eyes only grew deeper. “What did you say to him, Laen?”
He stopped and turned to her, stricken as he remembered. “I told him I’d rather he died rather than take my father’s kingdom.” He remembered the venom with which he’d delivered those words, too, the anger that had consumed him - and the hurt and shock in Corin’s eyes.
“Oh, Laen,” she said, feeling tears slide down her own face at the remorse and shame that coloured his words, and for the pain he must have caused a man who had only ever been kind and supportive to her. He wrapped his arms around his chest, looking back at her, his expression showing how lost he was, how he believed the situation beyond hope.
“You really think he can forgive me for that?” he asked, clearly not believing it possible himself.
Océane got to her feet, stepping into his arms and holding him tight. “I think Corin would forgive you just about anything, Laen.” She looked up at him, knowing she had given him hope. “But now you need to decide what it is you want, what it is you believe in. You know, Laen, you know the difference between right and wrong, you are an honourable man.” She paused, reaching up on her tiptoes and pulling his head down to kiss him. Moving back again, she stared into those dark eyes. “So now … you must stand up for what is right, no matter how terrifying that is. If you want to salvage this, to have him forgive you, you must renounce your father … and take your place at Corin’s side.”
He nodded, certainty in his eyes now, and perhaps a glimmer of hope. “I know.”
She drew his head down again and he kissed her, passion and longing spilling over as he illustrated just how much he had missed her, needed her with him. Océane pushed him away, gasping for breath and holding on to him tightly to steady her reeling senses. “I’m not sure this much excitement is good for a woman in my condition!” she said, laughing at him as he smiled at her, stroking her face with his fingertips and looking at her with such adoration that her breath caught.
“Then you had better prepare yourself,” he said, his words warm now. “For that was simply a reminder of what you have been missing.”
She quirked one eyebrow and drew his attention to her stomach. “I have a rather obvious reminder of that, thank you very much,” she said, the words tart, though she was grinning at him. “Though …” she added with a prim little sniff. “I have no objection if you want to kiss me again.”
He complied, more than willing to do so, until she pushed him away once more with regret. “There will be time enough for this soon, Laen,” she whispered. “But it is dark now, and Corin stands in the Field of Kings in the morning. You must do what you need to. You must be with him tomorrow. Whatever you do. Don’t let him face that while believing you wish him dead.”
He nodded, though his face was grim. “I will speak to my father now and then we will leave.”
Océane clutched at his arms as terror prickled down her spine. “Laen, is that wise? Shouldn’t we just go?” she demanded. She had expected him just to leave and go to the castle, not confront a man with armies at his beck and call.
Laen shook his head, resolute. “I will not sneak away as though I am ashamed of my actions, Océane. I am not a boy any longer. My father is and has always been a tyrant and a bully, and I have let him get away with it for far too long. I no longer care what he thinks of me. I have spent my whole life letting him tear me in two. I tried to make him proud when the things it took to do so made me sick to my stomach.” He shook his head, and despite her fears for him, Océane felt her heart swell with pride at the man he’d become. “I don’t want to make a man like that proud when his pride comes at such a cost, I would rather he be ashamed of me; in fact, I’m glad if he is.” He seemed to stand taller in the light of his words, a little of the tension leaving him as he made peace with the enormity of his decision. “I will tell him to his face that I will support Corin tomorrow … and always.”
She put her hands to his face, beaming with pride for his courage. “I am so very proud of you, Laen.”
He pulled her a little closer, his eyes full of sincerity. “And that is all I need.”
His smile grew as she shook her head and kissed him. “Not true,” she whispered, giving him a little shake. “You need him, too. So go and make things right between you.”
He leaned his forehead against hers with a sigh. “I love you, so very much.”
She saw the same words flickering under his skin and grinned. “Back at you, baby.”
Laen snorted with amusement and placed his large hand on her stomach, such a gentle touch from a man capable of such anger and destruction. “Both of you,” he added.
She felt the tears begin again and found she couldn’t speak, though words seemed unnecessary now, in any case. Laen sighed and let her go, moving away and strapping on his sword as he looked up at her.
“I must make arrangements to get you out of here, now, before he realises what I’m about to do,” he said, his voice urgent and business-like now. “He’ll use you against me otherwise.” He moved back and kissed her once more, soft and sweet, and then left to make his arrangements.
***
Once Océane and Carla had been safely, and discreetly, escorted off the camp and to the castle, Laen went in search of his father. He felt a sense of rightness in what he was doing, eagerness, even, to finally hold his head up and tell the man what he really felt after far too many years of holding his tongue and swallowing his pride. It was beyond time to stand up for himself, for what he believed in, and for Corin, too.
He found the king in the vast tent that served as his quarters, yelling in fury at some poor bastard who had displeased him. His magic swirled within around him like a dark, oily smoke that choked the atmosphere. The man kneeling before him was built like an ox, a warrior of experience and courage, and yet he looked terrified, as well he might. The king was not unknown for taking a man’s head for the most trifling of misdemeanours if his mood was black enough. The soldier looked up at Laen with pleading in his eyes, knowing that he had spoken up for others before, usually to his own cost.
“Father, leave the man be,” Laen snapped, having no patience for anything else now. He would say what he came to say, and then he’d have to try and get out of here in one piece. He wasn’t about to fool himself that that part would be easy. “I must speak with you.”
Braed turned and regarded him with his usual distaste. “Unless you have finally come to your senses and agree to stand beside me to take the city, we have said all there is to say.”
Laen squared his shoulders, stepping forward and standing eye to eye with the man who had terrified him for most of his life. “You may have said everything,” he snarled as rage for everything this man had done to him over the course of his life boiled to the surface. “But I have not.”
Braed narrowed his eyes, snorting with contempt as he looked Laen over. “Gods, don’t tell me you’ve finally found your balls?”
Laen gritted his teeth and turned to the soldier who was still kneeling, watching them both with wide eyes. “Get out.” The man didn’t need telling twice. He saluted Laen and the king, and exited the tent with remarkable speed for a man of his size.
Laen watched as his father eased his bulk into a huge, fur-lined chair, and picked up a tankard. He drank deep, throat working, black eyes never leaving his son. Smacking the empty vessel back down on the table, he belched, chuckling at the disgust in Laen’s expression. Gods, he’d have been a replica of this hateful man if not for that fateful day so many years ago. “Well, then, boy,” he said, sneering. “You have my attention. Spit it out.”
“I’m leaving.”
The king snorted, leaning forward, his face full of contempt. “You think I didn’t know you’d go running back to him?” A nasty, insinuating smile split his face, showing too many teeth. “Going to kiss and make up, are you, boy? Tell me, what exactly will you do to earn his forgiveness?”
Laen’s hand went to his sword as the white heat of fury gripped him and his magic flared, darkening the atmosphere further and making the air feel so charged that it could combust at any moment. “You go too far, Father.”
Those black eyes, so like his own, yet so very different, looked at him with derision. “Do I, indeed?” He sat back in his chair and gave him a knowing smile. “I spoke to him. Did you know that?”
Laen felt fear clutch at his heart for what Corin must have faced during that encounter, and though he fought to keep his expression impassive, it must have shown on his face as his father yelled in disgust. He swept his hand across the table before him, and the tankard, plates, and papers were flung in all directions. The king got to his feet and bore down on him, rage making his magic flare and prickle against Laen’s skin, burning him. It wrapped around him, twisting tight around his throat and forcing him down, to his knees.
“You disgust me!” the king hissed as he forced his son to kneel at his feet. “Do you know what that little bastard said?” he demanded, such hatred and vitriol in his voice that Laen wondered if he would live to tell Corin he was sorry. “He said he loves you,” he spat, reaching down to grasp Laen by the throat, disgust dripping from every word. “He said that he would do anything in the world to have you back. Does that gladden your heart, boy?” he demanded, squeezing Laen’s throat so tight, black spots flickered over his vision.
Laen stared up at his father, at the contempt in his eyes, as his words sunk in. Corin would forgive him. It made him smile. “He said that to your face?” he said, his voice rasping as he fought to loosen his father’s grip. He laughed out loud at the wrath in his father’s eyes. “Gods,” he said, realising he had hope now. He could turn this around. He prised his father’s hand free and moved away, gasping and laughing at the king at the same time. He grinned at the man who held him at his knees. “Corin always was braver than me, and yes, to answer your question, yes, it does.”
The Darkest Night Page 30