He cups the back of my neck. “Seirsha, I—”
Pippa’s unmistakable laughter fills the stables, and I almost groan. We pull apart, trying to look casual, but it’s too late. The pair spots us, and their eyes widen.
Pippa sends Rigel a feline smirk. “This seems familiar.”
The princess wags her eyebrows as she walks past us, leading her horse with her. Unlike Pippa, Archer tries to hide his smile. He does a poor job of it.
Rigel shakes his head, but the curve of his lips betrays the irritated laughter he’s holding in. I don’t understand their teasing, but I’m still too flustered to ponder it.
I steal a glance at Rigel. He raises an eyebrow, which sends a riot of sparks straight through me. The tension has returned tenfold, but now it’s of a different nature.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It seems you and Rigel are” —Pippa taps her finger against my sitting room table, pretending she’s searching for the right words— “getting along fine.”
She smiles over her cup of tea.
“Yes.” I take a sip of my own tea.
The princess leans forward on her elbows. “How long have you been in love with him?”
I choke on the hot liquid. “I’m not in love with Rigel.”
Pippa laughs at me and waves her hand like I’ve said something humorous. “Please.”
I set my cup down. “And Father will never join our family lines even if I am.”
“Well, he’s smitten with you.”
My cup trembles in my hand, and I almost spill the tea on my gown.
She continues, oblivious to my discomfort. “He’s different around you. I see a warmth in him that I’ve never noticed before.”
“He hardly knows me anymore.”
Pippa helps herself to another one of Rella’s scones and slathers it with more butter than most women would dare. “Didn’t you grow up together?”
“We were often together when we were young, yes, but once we reached adulthood…” I shrug. “We were parallel, but our paths never crossed. I could see him…he was often here at court…but we seldom interacted.”
“Why?”
I shake my head. This is so hard to explain to someone who’s obviously never had restrictions placed on her. Pippa is free to the point of being wild. She doesn’t understand.
“Father wants me to be seen, but I mustn’t speak. I’m a decoration, a—” I struggle for the right word.
She frowns. “An ornament.”
I nod.
“A beautiful bird with a cold master,” she adds quietly.
The words mean something to her, and somehow we’ve connected. I take another sip of tea and look out the window at the gray day. The morning’s snow has turned to sleet. It’s almost the first days of summer. Soon we may have rain.
Pippa frowns at her cup and then glances around my sitting room. She’s restless. “Do you enjoy this?”
I swirl a stray tea leaf in my cup. “Not particularly.”
“Good.” She stands. “Let’s go.”
“Where would we go?”
She shrugs. “Take me somewhere I won’t feel like I’m suffocating.”
After I think about it, I say, “All right.”
***
Bea instantly takes to Pippa. They’re laughing so loudly, I’m afraid Rella will kick us out of the kitchens. I smile to myself as I work the dough under my hands. The yeasty aroma envelopes me, and for the time being, I am perfectly content.
Could Rigel love me?
I let myself fall to daydreams, remembering each memory I’ve treasured: the flowers he picked for me when we were children, the chaste kisses he stole when we were young and hopeful and stupid…the day he gave me the pendant.
“Seirsha,” Rella says. “Are you finished?”
I look down at the forgotten dough in my hands.
“She’s in love,” Pippa announces as if it explains everything.
I expect some kind of argument, but Bea and her mother only nod.
I give the dough a good smack with the palm of my hand. “This is ridiculous.”
A hush falls over the kitchen, and I look up to see what the problem is. My breath catches in my throat. Rigel stands at the door, looking as dark and handsome as ever. His arms are crossed, and he wears an almost amused expression. “Pippa, your husband is looking for you.”
“I’m making bread.” She proudly holds up the gnarly dough she’s been neglecting.
Rigel raises an eyebrow. “I see that.”
She wipes off her hands. “You’ll have to finish for me.”
The kitchen maids stare at the princess with slack jaws. No one has ever suggested a lord of Errinton, especially a lord with Rigel’s lineage, bake bread.
“All right.” He strides to our bench, takes a place by my side, and looks at me expectantly. “What do I do?”
I blink at him and then look away. “You’ll get floury.”
Rigel leans close so only I may hear him. “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
His face stays expressionless, but there’s humor in his eyes. I’m so disconcerted; I can only stare at him.
“Have fun,” Pippa trills as she leaves.
Bea and Rella not-so-subtly find another chore, and we’re as alone as we can be in a kitchen full of curious, giggly girls.
“What do I do?” Rigel asks.
I can’t look at him as I say, “You knead it, push it, and fold it. Give it a turn and do it again.”
He takes the dough and looks at me in question. I set my hands over his, guiding his fingers. My cheeks grow warm, and I remove my hands after I have demonstrated the process.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?” he asks.
“Father wouldn’t like it if he knew I was here.”
“We all need a sanctuary.”
I meet his eyes and let myself smile, not even bothering to hide it. He stares at me as if bemused.
“You’re not bad at this,” I say.
With little instruction, he’s moving the dough deftly under his hands.
“Well,” he says with a lazy shrug. “I’ve done it before.”
I turn to him, surprised. He flashes me a dazzling grin. More than a few of the kitchen girls giggle. I shake my head and look away before he can see how he affects me.
“Why the kitchens?” he asks.
“It’s warm.”
He sets his finished dough on the stone to rise, and then he starts on another piece. “The stables are warm.”
I scrunch my nose. “The stables smell bad.”
His lips tip in what’s almost a smirk. “Because of the men or the horses?”
Startled, I laugh. “Probably both.”
“There are certainly no men here.”
Giving him a sideways look, I say, “There’s one. I wouldn’t say he smells bad…”
I get a thrill in taking Rigel off guard. I smile at him in challenge, wondering how he’ll reply.
He narrows his eyes. “You have flour on your face.”
Suddenly self-conscious, I brush my cheek. “Where?”
Rigel dips his finger in the barrel next to us and swipes it down my nose. He leans in close, so we’re eye to eye, and he grins at me. “Right there.”
I gape at him, shocked.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the smallest pinch of flour and flick it on his tunic.
“Oh, Princess.” His eyes glint with humor despite his serious tone. “You’re going to pay for that.”
In the end—and much to Bea’s delight—it’s me and Rigel that Rella shoos from the kitchens.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me—I don’t know what’s gotten into him. We haven’t behaved like this since we were children.
Eyeing Rigel, I say, “I think I won.”
He’s covered in flour. He runs a hand through his hair, and a white cloud poofs around him. “Not a chance.”
We walk along the corridor and both of u
s attempt to dust ourselves clean.
Voices sound from down the hall. I look at Rigel, horrified. We can’t be seen like this. He takes my hand and pulls me around a corner. Laughing, we race down corridors until we’re deep in the castle. I don’t even know where we’re at.
Breathing hard from the mad dash, I lean against a stone wall. Our eyes meet. Rigel steps close, and my heart leaps. Of all the memories we have shared together, this will be my favorite.
He props a hand on either side of my shoulders and leans in, his dark eyes gleaming. “I’m fond of you, Seirsha.”
An easy grin stretches across his face. It’s almost as if the expression is familiar to him, like there is somewhere he feels comfortable enough to smile often. I want to know that place. I want to be that place.
My cheeks grow hot, and I’m grinning like a fool, but I don’t care. “I somewhat like you as well.”
“Come with me to my land tomorrow. Just for the day.”
My mood falls. “Rigel, I can’t.”
His eyes are on mine, unreadable.
“You can,” he says quietly. “You can spend as much time with me as you want.”
I realize why he’s right, and I turn from him, pushing my shoulder against the wall to move away.
Rigel sets his hand on my arm, stopping me. “Please.”
I hesitate, unsure.
He steps back and takes my hands. “I swear to you, on my honor and my life, I will not touch you.”
My eyes drop to our clasped hands. I raise an eyebrow, trying to lock down the erratic emotions I’m feeling. “You’re touching me now.”
He gives me a wry smile, and amusement shines in his dark eyes. “Do I need to be more specific?”
My cheeks flush again at the thought. “No.”
“Will you come tomorrow?”
“Father will be upset if you leave.”
Leaning against the wall, he says, “We’ll be back before dusk.”
I let myself get lost in his eyes. “All right.”
“Good.” He wears a satisfied expression, but then he looks around and frowns. “Now, where are we?”
***
Escaping to Rigel’s land makes me feel like I’m participating in something scandalous. It’s both exhilarating and nerve-racking.
Father’s locked himself in his chambers with Zander and Rovert. From what I understand, they are pouring themselves over dusty old scrolls. For several days, he’s taken all his meals alone and left me in complete peace. The respite is more than welcome, but it won’t last. The storm looms, though I don’t know what shape it will take when it arrives.
Rigel is in high spirits today. Pippa and Archer accompany us, but they ride ahead, giving us privacy. Pippa laughs at something Archer says. Again, away from the castle, the princess looks happy.
Growing agitated of idly passing her time at court, she paces like a mountain cat when forced to be still. Archer is her opposite—calm and steadfast. He keeps her grounded, and she gives him life. Her smiles are all for him, and he adores her. I’ve never seen anything like the two of them.
It makes me ache for something I’ve never known was possible. I peer at Rigel from the corner of my eye and wish we could recapture the easiness we shared yesterday.
“We’re almost there,” he says.
The ride is short, only a few hours. A castle rises in the distance. Originally belonging to King Leonard’s wife, it’s one of the newest in Errinton, built after the original estate burned down shortly after my usurper grandfather became king.
Guards stand on the walls, and they order the gates opened when they spot Rigel. The lord calls up his greetings, and they return them like they are actually pleased to see him. I don’t think Father has ever received such a welcome.
We ride into a courtyard, and I try to ignore the curious stares directed at me. Pippa and Archer call greetings to a cluster of Rigel’s archers, and they amble off to join them.
A man steps forward and takes my horse. He’s tall and muscular and looks like he’s had a sword in his hand for the better part of his twenty-five or so years.
The man snaps his fingers for Rigel’s reins. “Yours too, My Lord.” An easy grin stretches across his face. “You have company.”
Rigel’s expression is hard, but the man doesn’t flinch.
Then, with a tight, amused smile, Rigel hands the reins over. “How are things, Malcolm?”
The man whistles for a couple of gawking stable boys and hands the horses off to them.
“Nothing to report.” Malcolm crosses his arms, showing off his impressive biceps. He gives me a small, cocky nod, making sure I notice the movement is purely for show. “The hound had her litter.”
“Make sure Peter gets one.” Rigel’s voice is dry as he watches the man’s obvious preening.
“He’s already picked one out,” Malcolm answers. “A fat male.”
I shift, feeling like an awkward outsider. Malcolm’s attention again slides to me.
“Seirsha, this is Malcolm, the captain of my guard,” Rigel says. “Malcolm, this is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Seirsha.”
Malcolm cocks his head and gives Rigel a questioning look that Rigel chooses to ignore.
Finally, the man bows low over my hand and grins. “A pleasure, Your Highness.”
I grow uncomfortable, wondering if he plans on returning my hand anytime soon.
I’m just about ready to pull it from his grasp when Rigel intervenes, saying, “Enough.”
Malcolm laughs, says his goodbyes, and saunters back to the stables.
Rigel offers me his arm. “This way.”
“Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something.”
We travel past the stables, around several small cottages, and finally stop at a large stone structure.
“The smithy’s?” I ask.
Rigel nods and pulls me through the door. It’s hot inside—delightfully so. A man with a thick hide apron works at an anvil. He turns when we enter. “You’re back,” he says in a loud voice that takes me by surprise. His eyes move to me, and he falters.
Rigel nods to the man. “Hello, Henry.”
Once again we go through the mandatory introductions. Unlike Malcolm, Henry seems uncomfortable with my presence. He wipes his hands on an old rag, but it does little to remove the black smudges. I smile at him, hoping to ease his discomfort. We exchange greetings, and then he goes back to work.
We leave Henry in peace and make our way to a small room off the back. There’s a worktable and a forge, but the area looks as if it were intended for something more delicate than iron and steel. A case sits in the corner, and I stop to examine it. Rings, necklaces, and other jewelry sit nestled on black velvet. The pieces are exquisite, and I can’t help but marvel at them.
After I examine the jewelry, I study the armor adorning the walls. This must be Rigel’s personal smithing room.
Rigel waves me over to a dark green rock on the bench.
“What is it?” I ask.
He hands me the rock, and I turn it over in my hand. “Is this the mineral you found when you were a boy?”
It’s cold despite the warm room. The surface is surprisingly smooth, as if it’s been polished, but I know from the jagged edges it has not been worked.
Rigel nods. “This is the exact piece I chipped away from the heart of the mountain.”
“I thought you tried to smelt it.”
“At the time it didn’t work.”
I hand the mineral back to him.
He studies it before he sets it on the bench, and then he waves me over to a shield on the wall. “Do you recognize this?”
“It’s dragon steel.”
The silver metal is darker than steel, though not as dark as iron. It glistens in the firelight.
Rigel grins in a way that reminds me of when he was a boy. “You want to see something amazing?”
I hide my smile with a frown. “What?”
Af
ter setting the shield on the workbench, he pulls a sword from a cabinet. It’s a beautiful weapon. Delicate scrollwork runs down the length of the strong, straight blade. He holds the sword and raises an eyebrow at me. Then, with one fluid movement, Rigel strikes the shield. He lays the sword on the bench and lifts the shield so I may inspect it.
“Impossible,” I whisper as I step forward. My fingers slide down the metal. “It’s marred it as if it were as soft as gold.”
My eyes meet his gaze, and then they travel back to the sword. I hesitate and then pull the weapon toward me. The scrollwork is intact. It’s perfect.
“What’s this made of?” I ask.
It looks like dragon steel, but it couldn’t have dealt that damage if it were.
Once again, Rigel picks up the green mineral. His eyes shine with excitement. “I figured out how to smelt it.”
“What is it?”
Rigel shakes his head. “It has no name.”
I laugh, still reeling from what I just witnessed. “You have to call it something.”
Our entire kingdom’s greatness was built on the alloy that Rigel’s sword damaged as if it were the softest metal imaginable.
The weight of it hits me. “Do you realize you have singlehandedly discovered the substance that will revive Errinton?”
He attempts to look humble as he runs a hand through his hair, but he’s brimming with excitement.
“Rigel!” I exclaim, laughing. “This is amazing!”
“I wish your father agreed.”
“He doesn’t?”
Rigel shakes his head.
I step forward, unable to keep my eyes off the sword. “Has he seen it?”
“Yes.”
Dumbfounded, I stare at the blade. I don’t understand. This is exactly what Errinton needs.
Rigel touches my shoulder, drawing my attention back to him. “I haven’t given up. I have people mining for the mineral as we speak. Pippa’s brother has requested five suits of armor, and I am hoping Glendon may soon order as well.”
“And you still haven’t named it?”
“I’ve been calling it drachite.”
I think about it. “Dragon stone? Why?”
Rigel runs his hand down the blade. “What does the metal look like?”
“It looks like dragon steel—but it’s obviously not.”
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