For a moment, she paused, listening to Veron telling the duchessa about his brother in Nightbloom. As long as Nunzio kept his voice down, this night wouldn’t turn into a disaster.
“Maybe we could discuss this another time,” she said softly. They could find a way to move forward on the project. Somehow. Maybe the Order would agree to help build the library elsewhere, closer to Nightbloom?
“Are you no longer passionate about literacy and cultural exchange?” Nunzio tilted his head. “Of building peace through shared knowledge and education? Those were your words.”
Keep your voice down.
“Of course I am,” she whispered, then sipped her wine. The rest of the nobiltà were deep in their own conversations. Thank the Mother for small favors.
Nunzio leaned in. “Then give me a name, any name, of a person who can manage the implementation of your plan,” he said, “because I cannot in good faith meddle in this country’s political agreements. How did you mean to both oversee the construction and management of a library while marrying and residing in Nightbloom?”
Each word elicited a shiver, even as she struggled to stay still. There was a lull in the conversation next to her, and she dared to look at Veron.
His eyes were wide beneath furrowed brows. He gave a slow, disbelieving head shake.
He’d heard it.
He’d heard it all.
No, no, no, no… She opened her mouth, but he raised his chin, went still—unnaturally still, the wideness of his eyes narrowing to icy, metallic gold.
Coldness.
With a deep breath, he was smiling again as he turned to the duchessa and said something about stone-singing.
What was—?
He—
Her chest tightened as Veron chatted with the duchessa, his steely velvet voice smooth with charm, his quiet laugh lofty.
She’d disappointed him, completely and utterly, and he had bottled it, continued trying to keep the duchessa and her nobiltà entertained. Inside, he had to feel…
“Princess?” Nunzio asked, and he continued speaking, but the sound of his voice faded as a high-pitched ringing found its way to her ear, grew louder and louder until she could hear nothing else.
Her gaze dropped to her lap, to her hands on the violet tulle of her gown, hands that had held Veron’s not even an hour ago.
* * *
Aless stood when Veron did, and although he guided her from the hall with a gentle hand at the small of her back, there was nothing gentle about his expression.
He bid the duchessa goodnight with an elegant smile and inclination of his head, called good-natured goodbyes to certain members of the nobiltà he’d chatted with. But beneath that charm was that cold gaze, the chilled gold of his eyes, and the look he’d given her at the table.
The night had been a blur. It still was. She’d eaten tonight and drunk, she supposed, and maybe even danced. Probably with him. But it was just a mess of colors and murmurs and laughs, and then a walk to an empty corridor.
She’d betrayed him. Before they’d ever met, she’d already been resolved to go back on her word.
No matter how badly she wanted to see Mamma’s dreams realized, she’d sacrificed Veron’s trust to pursue them. Now he knew. And hated her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as he walked her up the stairs, past the windows to the gardens where her life had changed. “I wanted to tell you tonight, but then the Paladin Grand Cordon was there first, and he had questions, and…”
And Veron didn’t even look at her. Didn’t waver from ascending the steps. Didn’t seem to have heard her at all.
“Veron, please,” she pleaded, gripping his arm tightly, but he didn’t react.
She squeezed her eyes shut as they reached their quarters, where the sharp-eyed guard stood sentinel, along with another. Veron greeted them, and even those brief words were like balm to her wounds.
Inside, he closed the door and released her, then took off his jacket as he headed to the starlit window, where earlier today she’d seen the beauty of him, terrifying and enchanting. In his favor, he could be gentle, shimmering in the sunshine of quiet moments. In his malice, he could be terrible, drenched in the blood of their enemies. And she wanted him. All of him.
He’d brought her into a new world, his world, full of beauty and magic, and had shared it with her. She wanted to live in that world of beauty and magic with him. As his wife, his partner.
She had to try to fix this. She had to. “Veron—”
“I only had one expectation.” His voice was low, cold, lifeless.
She took a step forward. “Please, I—”
“Do you remember, Alessandra?”
Trust is the one expectation I have, he had told her, on their wedding night.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Trust.”
“And all this time, you had this… plan.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “All this… nearness. Affection. Was it all just so I wouldn’t suspect?”
“Of course not,” she replied quickly, rushing up to him. She reached out to touch his arm, but he didn’t budge an inch.
Swallowing, she stared out the window at the darkness, letting the silence settle.
A sprawling courtyard of tangled rose vines lay below, bathed in starlight, shimmering—
Ripped away.
She shook her head.
No, a dream.
Below lay the knot of hedges in the night, rows of lavender, the rectangular pool. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t expect we’d like each other this much, Veron. I thought we’d always have an aversion to each other, but that we could become friends. Inspire peace through friendship. That you could be free to do as you wished, and I could see to the library, teach our people, keep fostering this peace—”
“This peace is built on the concept that a human and a dark-elf could bind themselves to one another even in marriage,” he replied. “Even if only in semblance.”
“I know that.”
He turned on her. “And you thought separating would be conducive to that? I expected better from you, Alessandra.”
“No, it would only mean that we still want to be friends but are on different paths—”
“That the symbol the peace is built on, our marriage, can’t work. We’d be setting an example that would take root in every heart across the nation. We’d be doing the Brotherhood’s work for them.”
She reached out for him, but he avoided her grasp. “But our parents forced—”
“The two of us were sacrificed for an entire realm of peace,” he said, his voice low. With a hand to his forehead, he sighed. “The worst part of it all is that I would have understood. If you’d just told me in Bellanzole that you wanted to be released, I would have understood.”
“I don’t want to be released.”
He stared at her coldly. “I have orders. Even if you wanted me to, I couldn’t. Even if I do understand.”
He’s the one who wishes he could release me. She exhaled sharply. “So that’s it? One misstep, and you hate me forever?”
“I don’t hate you, Alessandra, but I can’t trust someone who has a hidden agenda.”
“I made that decision before I ever knew you, Veron. You didn’t deserve to be betrayed, but did I deserve to be married off against my will? Traded like some pawn? Was that to be the sum of my worth?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then ran a hand up over his face and back over his hair. “I can’t blame you for that. But the lying? Trust means everything to me. We could have come to an arrangement. But if this had come out some other way, had…” With a shake of his head, he strode to the bedchamber, and she followed. “You don’t even see it, do you?”
What was he talking about? “See what?”
He plucked a pillow off the bed and a folded blanket off the chest at the foot of the bed. “Alessandra, tell me where Gabriella comes from.”
What was he getting at? “She’s my lady-in-waiting. She’s from… the royal court.”
&
nbsp; He marched right back to the parlor, tossed the pillow and blanket on the sofa, then began removing his boots with a grimace. “Her home.” The sofa cushion dipped under his weight. “Where is she from?”
She shook her head.
“Gabriella takes care of your entire life. Where is she from? Does she have any siblings? What’s important to her?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his cold gaze boring into her. “You’ve never asked, have you?”
No… she hadn’t. She should’ve, but… but…
She lowered her chin, scrutinizing the crimson and sable rug, its fringe, broken in places.
“You don’t even really know her. And she lives for you, Alessandra. But this—your plan to refuse the second ceremony—would have rippled and caused destruction for so many, those who live outside the tunnel of what you choose to see. Your father might have seen this as reneging, might have pulled the aid he’d given us, and do you have any idea what a baby’s starving cry sounds like?”
A chill wove through her. She… She hadn’t considered that.
Without the marriage, would Papà have trusted the dark-elves enough and keep sending them aid? Or would he have looked for an ally elsewhere?
And while Veron had mentioned how much people were looking forward to the aid from Bellanzole, she hadn’t realized that people were… really starving. That babies were…
Those golden eyes speared her own a moment longer. “I don’t blame you for fearing what this marriage would be. Nor even for not wanting it. But did it ever occur to you that, for the good of both our peoples, we might discuss alternate arrangements? That maybe I didn’t feel too differently than you did? Was planning to betray me, to run away without a care for the treaty, really the best course of action? Or just the easiest?”
He looked away with a sigh and stretched out on the sofa, his arm tucked behind his head.
Wringing her tulle skirts, she waited, but he wouldn’t look at her. He’d said he didn’t blame her, but that wasn’t what this felt like. Their people expected so little from one another, and maybe he’d expected little from her, too. And despite a couple brief, glowing moments, she’d fulfilled those low expectations... instead of defying them.
They’d spent every night since Bellanzole together.
Not tonight.
She left for the bedchamber, where she shed all of her clothes, hairpins, and washed her face, donned her nightgown, found her old copy of A Modern History of Silen, and nestled into the bed, cocooned herself in the bedding. Such a wonderful night had been destroyed, and it was all her fault.
Veron was angry about the lie, but even more so about the betrayal.
Cradling the book close, she opened to the first page, traced her finger across Mamma’s script. Be brave, my rose, and fill the remaining pages with your deeds.
As a child, she’d written in minor things. Things most people would deem trivial. Saving a cat from cruel children. Making a statement. Winning an argument.
Over the years, she’d set her sights higher. So high, the view blurred the sight of individual people, the ones she wanted to save, and even the ones around her. She’d focused so intensely on healing her spine, and earning Papà’s love by doing so, and shut out nearly everything else until she’d succeeded—at least in recovering from her curvatura, if not in impressing Papà.
And then she’d worked so hard for peace, for realizing Mamma’s vision, that she’d lost the instinct to see those around her.
She saw Veron now, or was beginning to. She’d see Gabriella. The dark-elf guards with them. And the people she intended to save. She wouldn’t be anyone’s pawn, but in her pursuit of Mamma’s vision, she wouldn’t sacrifice the lives of others by destroying the peace. Not the Sileni, not the dark-elves, not even the Brotherhood if it could be avoided. Enough lives had been lost.
And Veron might have given up on her, but she… she wouldn’t give up on him. He was right about her not thinking through the consequences for his people, and even her own. He was right that she shouldn’t have lied.
But not being able to trust her after this? When it came to that, he was dead wrong. And she would prove it to him.
Tomorrow he’d begin to see just how stubborn she could be.
Chapter 13
Before Veron could properly open his eyes, there were already sounds coming from the bedchamber. Quick footsteps, the slosh of water, rustling fabric, and creaking hinges.
The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and she was already up. He shook his head. The sun had to be mistaken.
He was on his feet and stretching when Aless walked in, wearing a form-fitting but utilitarian purple dress and holding the Offering bow. With a raise of her eyebrows, she met his gaze.
“I’m ready for an archery lesson, if you’re going to the range.” She sat in an armchair while he began his morning routine.
He nodded an acknowledgment, then washed up. All this time, from the moment he’d met her in Bellanzole until last night, she’d been lying to him. There had been moments when she’d wanted to confess—on their wedding night, and in the garden, at the very least. But she hadn’t, in all this time.
He wanted to trust her, but if she was prone to hiding things, could she be expected to change now, for the rest of her life?
They were still married. He still cared for her. But in the garden, had there been a lie in her kiss, in her embrace? Had the touch of her hand borne deception in its warmth? Had the tears in her eyes welled with betrayal?
Would she have told him the truth eventually?
Even so, that wasn’t trustworthiness. Where did that leave them?
He dressed, staring at his bow in the corner. Even if he and Aless didn’t see eye to eye right now, he had promised to train her, and he wouldn’t go back on his word. But he couldn’t forget last night either.
He grabbed his bow and headed through the parlor and out in the hall. Her light footsteps fell in behind him, along with Riza’s and Danika’s.
Some of the kuvari were already in the training yard, practicing with their vjernost blades, and the duchess’s men were somewhere between sparring and gawking. Seeing the kuvari in combat—honed for decades or centuries—was a thing of wonder, mesmerizing and deadly. One of them in Mati’s Quorum, his sister Vadiha included, would someday take Mati’s place. Their skills had to be impeccable.
At the range, Gavri was already shooting and moved to retrieve her arrows—clustered in the center, per usual—before her gaze snapped to his direction. She bowed, removed her arrows, and quit the yard.
Staying out of his sight, as he’d ordered.
He swallowed over a pain at the back of his throat.
With a tilted head, Aless eyed him, but he only took her bow and strung it for her. He didn’t need to talk, not about this.
In the sword ring, one of the kuvari disarmed another, and whoops rose up from the Sileni guards clustered around them. He nodded to the victrix—Lira, who smiled knowingly. Only Mati and Riza could take her when it came to swords, and she well knew it.
After he gathered some supplies, he met Aless fifteen yards from a target, where she crouched, plucking clover. He pointed his chin downrange. “You said you’ve done this before.”
She grimaced. “Poorly.”
“Show me.” He took a step back and crossed his arms.
She held out a partially braided clover chain until he reluctantly took it. Then, with a heavy sigh, she faced the target, nocked an arrow with her shoulders high, aimed, then closed her eyes as she released. The arrow landed on the ground five feet away.
She winced at him.
Poorly had been right. “Give it another try.”
She puffed. “Veron, I…”
He only fixed her with a stare. No one was perfect without practice.
With an even heavier sigh, she turned back to the target again, but this time, he grabbed her shoulders—eliciting a gasp, but no
objection—and turned her to stand at a right angle to the target. Using his foot, he tapped her feet shoulder-width apart.
Her shoulders were tight as a bowstring.
“Relax,” he told her, patting her shoulders gently, and she smelled like… like—he frowned—like the lavender last night, and it soothed, made him want to close his eyes, breathe slow and deep.
With a nod to herself, she nocked another arrow, and he readjusted it under the nocking point on the string. As she extended her bow arm, he pressed her shoulders down.
“You’re at full draw. Transfer the weight of the bow from your arms to your back. Now aim.” As she did, he added, “See the string line up on the top bow limb a little to the right of the sight ring. Now pull your shoulder blades closer to each other as you relax your right hand’s fingers, and keep aiming. Your relaxed left hand will let your bow drop a bit. Let it. And don’t move until the arrow hits the target.”
She released, eyes open, and the arrow missed just shy of the target.
Her eyebrows drew together, but then she glanced up at him, lips parted, purple dress battered by the wind. Like the lavender last night, when they’d…
Just a blink, a flutter of dark lashes, and he was in the garden again, his shoulders tensing as he wanted to wrap her in his arms, shield her from the wind, feel those soft lips against his once more…
He cleared his throat. “Not bad. Keep practicing.”
Before she could reply, he headed for a target of his own, far from hers.
Before a mirror, Aless rubbed her shoulder as Gabriella put the finishing touches on her hairstyle. She shifted in the chair, rubbing against smooth mahogany armrests, and flinching. Both of her shoulders hurt, and her arms, and her fingers… but she and Veron still had to make an offering at Stroppiata’s shrine before they left the city. Although she felt like a mess of soreness and fatigue, she’d have to be perfect. Ideal.
Or at least look it.
Veron had kept his word and given her an archery lesson today. If she’d been a better person, she would have released him from the promise. Let him keep his distance. Let him forget all about her. Not worn the lavender dress. Not used the lavender perfume. Not seized the opportunity to get close, as she’d once seen another courtier do.
No Man Can Tame Page 14