“Where are we?” Saffron asked, looking around at the walls as if they might give her an answer.
Rogan had been concentrating for the last few hours on what he planned to say in this moment, but now that it had arrived he wanted to do something else even more. Reaching up, he cradled her face in both hands. His thumb briefly played with a loose tendril of dark hair before he closed the distance between their bodies. He felt her inhale deeply, and then crushed his lips against hers. His kiss took away all sense of himself for a moment – only his longing need remained.
For the duration of two shallow breaths Saffron submitted, accepting Rogan’s advance; then, her hands pressed against his belly, pushing him away. He reluctantly withdrew his lips, though his thoughts were still clouded by desire.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, the urgency shaping his voice.
“What are you doing, Rogan?” she countered, wiping his saliva from her lips.
“What? I’m…Saffron, it’s me.” He realized he was not making any sense and peered down at the floor, forcing himself to take slow breaths.
“I know who you are, Baron,” she said, seeming to regain control. “Why are you kissing me?”
At that moment, two men walked around the corner from the direction of the Gallery, in the midst of a conversation. “I know they have wings, but that doesn’t mean the histories all have to be re-written. Sure, I can believe the part about other realms, but gods and goddesses?”
“I don’t know, it must be possible…” The second man, spotting Rogan and Saffron, clearly got the impression he’d intruded upon a private moment. “All right, well, I think I’ll take the long way to the gardens.” The men both retreated the way they came.
The interruption gave Rogan time to pull his thoughts together. “Saffron, I didn’t bring you here to kiss you, I just couldn’t help myself. The truth is, I have wanted to kiss you for some time because I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Saffron’s brow pinched and she crossed her arms. “Baron, I enjoy your company and you are a fine man, but you have already been married. You have a life waiting for you in Chelpa once you chase down justice. I cannot pull you away from it, but it is not the life I want. I’m sorry; I just do not envision a future where we can be romantically involved.”
Rogan shook his head, unwilling to hear her words. “Saffron, please do not dismiss us so easily. Forget the way you think events might unfold – what do you feel? Yes, I have been married, and the loss of my wife stunted the realization of my feelings for you. I did not want to feel that sort of love again, because of the cost I paid for it. But being around you, getting to know you… I know now I cannot let the ghosts of my past prevent me from pursuing the happiness we could share together.” He reached out his hand and took a step closer, but she shook her head and quickly backed away.
She seemed to have difficulty speaking, and when she did, immense sadness carried her voice. “I am sorry,” she gasped, bringing her hand to her face and turning away. Saffron fled toward the Gallery without turning back.
Even if he thought it wise to go after her, Rogan found his legs suddenly unwilling to move.
Jaiden could not remember having had so much fun without a sword in his hand, with the notable exceptions of his liaisons with Criesha. Lords of Selamus, including the Prince himself, had praised him for his service to the Northern Provinces. He ate the best food, drank the best wine, and had to admit that Saffron had even made learning to dance enjoyable. His childhood dreams of visiting the palace on the hill had never been so vivid.
The day had drained him of vigor, yet left him satisfied. He met so many interesting people, like the Shaper of Selamus, his mind was still preoccupied playing over those interactions as he ambled down the final hallway to his appointed apartments. He was counting the doors, trying to remember which was his, when he noticed another presence from the corner of his eye.
Looking up, it took him a moment to recognize the lithe silhouette leaning with the back of her shoulders against the wall. Saffron’s red dress clung alluringly to the front of her arched form, its excess fabric draping from her thighs toward the floor. She stood erect as he drew nearer, and smiled coyly as he reached for the handle of his door.
“I have been waiting for you,” she said with a tone that was still seductive, despite slightly slurring the words.
Jaiden nodded as he opened his door and gestured for her to enter. “It certainly seems that way.” He immediately walked to the wrought-iron stand beside his bed and poured water from a jug into two cups, offering one to Saffron. “Can I do something for you, my lady?”
“I’ve watched you for a while, now, Jaiden Luminere. When we met you were brash, melancholy, self-absorbed.” She sipped from her cup, but made an unpleasant face when it dawned on her it wasn’t more wine.
“Thank you for your flattery,” Jaiden said, raising his cup in a mock toast and taking a drink.
Saffron shook her head, “But you were also undeniably talented – and stupidly brave.”
“Well, then, I suppose that all balances out.” He studied her face, trying to discern if she intended on paying him compliments or giving him a lecture. The fact she was drunk and he had never seen her this way, also unnerved him.
“The last several months, however, you have changed. I’ve seen you act kindly, even when you don’t know others are watching. You have sacrificed, placing the needs of others ahead of your own.” As Saffron spoke, she closed the distance between them, and soon her hand was on his head, fingers running through his dark, untamed hair.
“I’m sorry, am I still awake?” He reached up and gently took hold of her hand, then lowered their entwined fists between their chests. “Because this is starting to remind me of how my dreams have gone lately.”
Saffron’s eyes squinted slightly, as if she were trying to decipher his meaning. “Jaiden, I am trying to tell you that I have taken notice, and am finally ready to share myself with you in the way you wanted.” She leaned forward, shutting her eyes as her full lips puckered.
Jaiden acted quickly, releasing her hand and stepping to the side. “Well, I cannot say I saw this coming.” She opened her eyes when he moved.
“I know I said before nothing would happen between us, but I changed my mind. You have become just the sort of man I always saw myself falling for.” Saffron blushed as she absently ran a hand down her torso, between her breasts, tracing the soft fabric with her fingertips. “More than once I have noticed your reaction to me.” She broke into a grin and looked up at the ceiling, “Suffering scimitars, I hate that you know just how attractive you are!”
When she looked back at him her face turned serious, mirroring his. “Saffron,” he spoke quietly, as if saying her name pained him. “Three weeks ago, all I could think about was how badly I wanted you, and that I wasn’t worthy. I even wrote a terrible song, hoping to impress you. But I belong to the Order of the Rising Moon now, and have taken a vow to be faithful to my Goddess, to the exclusion of all others. I take my oath seriously, and cannot give you what you seek, though I am beyond flattered.”
Saffron’s laughter echoed through the room. “Are you jesting? Jaiden, do you remember telling me how good you could make me feel, and then waking up outside a brothel in Greyhorne? You probably did not know I heard about that, but I did. And you expect me to believe you have taken some vow of celibacy, and furthermore intend to honor it, even when I am standing here offering myself to you?”
Jaiden did not know how to respond, but was fairly sure anything he said would be insufficient, so he merely tightened his lips and searched her eyes for empathy.
“You are insufferable!” She cast her half-full cup of water to the floor, smashing it into dozens of clay shards. She stalked to the door, put her hand on the latch, and froze. Regaining some control, she kept her back to him as she spoke. “Do not expect me to wait for you.” She gave Jaiden a moment to answer, and when he did not, opened the door and left.
; After Saffron rejected him, Rogan did not want to be around anyone. He felt like a fool, humiliated and self-delusional, and wished for the world he had wings like Palomar so he could fly back to Thispany that very night. Since no feathers began sprouting from his back, the next-best move was to pilfer a jug of wine from the kitchens and head for the exit.
He passed a few people on the way to the front doors, some coming in, some leaving, but thankfully, no one he recognized. The night air, at least, was pleasant. A few clouds obscured the stars, but it was warm enough not to regret the decision, which could not be said for his other recent choice. Why had he thought Saffron would feel the same way? He saw her dancing with Jaiden earlier. In fact, she had been introduced to at least a dozen other men in the past week who would be able to offer her more than him.
Rogan sat on the front steps of the palace and took a deep drink from his jug. The vintage was sweet, but he downed enough to feel its heat warm his throat. He shook his head and took another sip, trying to figure out how swiftly he could find his horse in the morning and start the journey home. Prince Falcionus would have to forgive his departing without a formal good-bye.
Leaves rustled suddenly off to his left, and he heard laughter in the dark from beyond the steps. A young couple stumbled onto the moonlit path, their arms encircling one another. Oblivious to his presence, they held each other tight; their laughter silenced as mouths met.
“Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head and standing as he tipped back his jug yet again. He was not going to endure watching other people blissfully kiss after his own attempt was so brutally rebuked. At least I can be alone in my own room.
The problem with that line of thinking was he could not remember precisely how to get back to his room, and ended up wandering the palace halls for another half-hour before finding it. The wine did not help, and by the time he shut his door, all he wanted was to get into bed. He half-heartedly washed his face, then took off his boots and tunic. Rogan had not intended to lie down immediately after, but a few moments later he was horizontal, drifting toward a wine-induced coma.
He still wasn’t even aware his head had hit the pillow when a noise disturbed him. Rogan opened his eyes but did not move. The sound repeated. Was someone knocking at his door? He grunted as he sat up. The lone candle he had forgotten to put out still cast a dim halo, but was not much to see by. Not yet fully lucid, he stood and shuffled to the door, failing to consider who might be behind it. Upon opening it, Rogan thought he might possibly be stuck in a nightmare. Saffron had returned to twist the knife in his heart. Only, that’s not what she did at all.
Without a word, she pounced. Her arms flew around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her mouth attacked his with surprising ferocity. His hands moved to her thighs to support her as he stumbled back, absorbing the momentum of her leap.
He attempted to mumble a question, but Saffron’s lips made articulation impossible.
“Shhh,” she said as she pulled her mouth away, “don’t say anything.”
Odd as it seemed, her voice put him at ease. It grounded him in reality, and for the moment, it was enough to know she had changed her mind – for that much was clear. He slid one of his arms around her back and held her firmly to him until he could feel the heat through her dress against his skin. He wheeled around, returning her kisses with vigor, and moved the hand on her thigh under the hem of her dress.
She gasped as he moved it higher, prodding along her soft flesh until he found his mark. Rogan lay her on his bed, and together they managed to scramble her dress completely off. For a brief moment, he paused and looked down at her, drinking in her beauty. Then, with the hunger of a man deprived for nearly a decade, he did all he could to make sure they both remembered that night. The solitary candle on his shelf expired well before Rogan had spent all his passion.
Chapter 26
Nothing Can Last
A nother knock at the door kicked Rogan out of his dream. Lying face down, a string of drool linked his chin to the mattress when he lifted his head. He reached to his left and felt Saffron’s bare, slightly damp skin. “Mmm,” she responded, still mostly asleep. So, last night did happen.
Although he gave no bidding to enter, the latch on his door jiggled as if someone were trying, unsuccessfully, to turn it.
“Baron Rogan, can you please open your door? I brought you breakfast, but can’t hold the tray and turn the latch.” The thick accent gave the voice away, and instantly Saffron shot to alertness, pulling up the blanket to cover her nakedness.
“Dhania!” she hissed at Rogan.
“Bloodhounds of Beyond!” he exclaimed as he reached over the side of the bed, frantically grasping for his trousers.
“What is my sister doing at your door?” Saffron whispered harshly.
“How would I know?” he retorted, pulling one leg into his pants only to find it was the wrong one.
Saffron had recovered her gown and was gathering the material as quickly as she could to slide it over her head.
“I cannot hold this forever!” Dhania complained, the latch once again shaking up and down. At last she negotiated it and the door swung inward, just as Saffron’s garment slid down her torso to her hips.
Dhania stood in the doorway with a wooden tray stocked with several dishes, holding bread, fruit, and warm tea. They all came crashing to the floor when she saw her sister in Rogan’s bed. “What is going on in here?!”
Rogan had never seen an expression quite like the one displayed on Dhania’s face. He placed it an equal mixture of surprise and rage. His immediate instinct was to tell her that the situation was not what it looked like, but he kept his mouth shut, realizing it probably was.
Dhania pointed at Rogan while looking at her sister. “Did you?”
Saffron stood and leaned to search the floor as she spoke. “Dhania, I was not myself last night.” She slipped one of her wayward sandals on her feet and continued to look for the other. “It was a mistake – I was weak.”
“A mistake?” Rogan was incredulous. “Saffron, last night was a lot of things, but I don’t think you can say a mistake was one of them. Did you not once tell me events occur for a reason?”
“And you!” Dhania turned her ire toward him. “First you kiss me, then you lie with my sister? I cannot believe I brought you breakfast.” Dhania threw her hands over her eyes. “Such a bastard!” She spun and accelerated down the hall, leaving the doorway full of broken pottery.
“You kissed Dhania?” Saffron shook her head as she placed the other sandal on her foot. “Then you have the nerve to tell me you love me, and do… what we did last night?”
Rogan shrugged and held his palms up. He opened his mouth to explain himself, but was suddenly tongue-tied. As Saffron left his room, he finally found his voice, “She kissed me!” She did not stop or respond, and he did not really want her to. He flopped back onto the bed, put a pillow over his face, and growled.
“This is not what I rode all the way to the capital for!” How could one of the most amazing nights of his life turn on its head so quickly? He did not know whether to try and find Dhania first to smooth things over, or chase after Saffron for an explanation of why she’d described the bliss they so recently shared a mistake. Nine Hells, she was probably doing that with Dhania right now.
Perhaps the setback was a sign – like the ones Sir Golddrake supposedly received from his goddess. Maybe the cosmos was pushing him toward returning to Chelpa and looking for any signs his son was still alive. Nothing was more important, right? The North seemed to be doing fine without him, and he knew he could at least be useful to the oppressed towns in his native country.
It was settled – enough of this distracting confusion plaguing him of late. He would wish Sir Golddrake the best of luck and be on a south-bound horse that afternoon.
Amurel faced a difficult decision; the Order of the Rising Moon was at a crossroads. In his petition for provisions and monetary allowances, Amurel promised the
Order of the Rising Moon would do all it reasonably could to protect the interests of Selamus and Dawn’s Edge from outside threats. Prince Falcionus offered even more than he had asked for, though Amurel had not anticipated him placing such shrewd stipulations on his otherwise-generous gift.
Food, clothing, medicines, weapons, horses, and even more wagons to help transport the abundant supplies would all be made available to the Master, on the condition that Prince Falcionus gain the title of secular Commander of the Order, and a share of leadership – including tactical and dispensary input – equal to Amurel.
Essentially, the Order, which Amurel had sacrificed his familial lands to establish, would no longer belong to him. His ego told him to seek other terms, other nobles to invest in him, and maintain control of the Order at all costs. None of them would be as wealthy or influential as the prince, however, and if he spurned Falcionus after seeking his aid, the man might use that influence to further impede Amurel.
He sat on his bed, sword across his lap, polishing the steel as he worked over the problem. His ultimate goal had to be not only preserving the existence of the Order, for which he needed the prince’s supplies, but its purpose as well. If they were not serving Criesha’s agenda, the goddess would no doubt abandon him, or worse.
The morning sun painted his quarters a bright rose as it filtered through the colored windows. “Goddess, please lead me in the direction you desire. It is difficult to know what is best.”
He’d spent much of the previous evening mulling over all the possible scenarios he could conceive, and watching as the extended nobility of Dawn’s Edge paid homage and vied for Jaiden’s attention. Sir Jaiden Luminere, since the Duke of Rosegold had knighted him. The Savior of Synirpa.
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