The Beauty of Darkness

  “To the privy.”

  I kept my rage in check until I was outside the tent. There was far more that still needed to be settled.

  There wasn’t a lot of arguing this time when I told the guards to move aside. They must have seen something in my expression. Maybe everyone did. Griz and Jeb lifted their heads from pillows, but Kaden, Orrin, and Tavish all rose as I walked in. I stopped in front of Kaden, my hands shaking with fury.

  His eyes narrowed. He knew exactly why I was there.

  “Don’t you ever undermine me again, or dare to insinuate things that aren’t true!”

  “He asked. I only told him the truth. I can’t help how he twisted it in his own mind.”

  “You mean how you laid it out for him to twist!”

  “I thought we both agreed to be honest. You kissed me. Or maybe you’re leading him along too.”

  My hand shot out, slamming across his face.

  He grabbed my arm and yanked me close. “Wake up, Lia! Can’t you see what’s going on here?” In almost the same movement, the hot slice of metal filled the air, and both Tavish’s and Orrin’s swords were at Kaden’s heart.

  “Unhand the princess,” Tavish growled. “Now.”

  Kaden slowly released his grip, and Orrin pushed him back several steps with the tip of his sword, but Kaden’s eyes never left mine.

  I heard more footsteps. Rafe was walking toward us.

  “There’s someone else who needs to be honest besides you and me,” Kaden said. “I thought you were in on the story from the beginning, but then I realized you didn’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “The excuse he conjured so quickly—the port and the few hills? Why do you think the Komizar bought it? You really think the marriage was only about an alliance? Dalbreck doesn’t give a horse’s ass about the Morrighese army. They mock you. The port was all they ever wanted, and the esteemed First Daughter of the House of Morrighan was going to be their leverage.”

  I had no air. I couldn’t force words to my tongue. Instead, a blur whirled in my head.

  There’s a port we want in Morrighan and a few miles of hills.

  The rest is yours.

  The prince has grand dreams.

  Is it worth it to have any other kind?

  … I never thought it was right.

  Do you think the prince knew?

  He knew.

  I turned and looked at Rafe. Another secret? His lips were half parted, and he looked like he’d been punched in the gut—or had been caught.

  The anger burning at my temples drained away. My stomach floated loosely in my chest.

  Rafe reached out for me. “Lia, let me explain. That’s not how—”

  I stepped back, avoiding his reach, and turned to look at everyone else. Tavish and Orrin shifted uncomfortably but met my stare; Jeb looked away. Their expressions confirmed I was a pawn in a game that was so old it was practically a joke.

  The floor seemed to bob. I tried to find footing in this truth that rolled through the room like an unwelcome tide. I hugged my arms to my waist, every limb suddenly feeling awkward and out of place. I skimmed their gazes, felt the shake of my head in a distant, detached way. “How very disappointing it must have been for Dalbreck to learn I was a branded criminal in Morrighan. Being worthless to my own kingdom made me a worthless game piece to yours as well. My apologies.” The wobble in my voice only added to my humiliation. It seemed I was a grave disappointment to every kingdom on the continent.

  Kaden looked at me, his expression morose, as if he knew he’d gone too far. When I turned to leave, Rafe tried to stop me, but I jerked free, shaking my head, unable to speak, my throat swollen with shame as I ran out the door.

  I rushed across the courtyard, the ground a sickening blur beneath me. He knew.

  I had been so worried about the sham my parents were perpetrating, when all along, it had mattered not one whit to Dalbreck if I had the gift at all. My worth to them lay elsewhere. Leverage. The word cut deeply. I’d heard it so many times, the cabinet uttering it with a smug smile in regard to one lesser kingdom or another, one county lord or another, all the ways they used tactical pressure to get something, couching it in a word that appeared so diplomatic and practical, but was laced with force and threat. It is the way these things are done, my father had said, trying to explain it. A little pressure and they pay attention.

  “Lia—”

  I felt a tug at my elbow and whirled, yanking it loose. I didn’t give Rafe a chance to say more. “How dare you!” I screamed, my anger returned full force.

  His shoulders squared. “If you’d let me—”

  “How dare you lay guilt on me for one stupid kiss, when all along you had this sham of epic proportions on your conscience!”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “You and your conniving kingdom turned my entire life upside down over a port! A port!”

  “You aren’t getting the—”

  “Oh, believe me, I get it! I get everything now! I—”

  “Stop cutting me off!” he yelled. The steel of his eyes sparked with warning. “The least you can do is give me a chance to speak! We’re going to talk!”

  * * *

  We sat on the outpost wall. He had led me there, maybe wanting a place where no one would hear us, maybe trying to make amends knowing I had been turned away from there earlier. He had dismissed the guards in our section of the wall, saying we would keep watch. They had raised their eyebrows. The king keeping watch? But it was as natural for Rafe as his arm was on my shoulder now. Our legs dangled over the wall’s edge. How far we had come. Now he joined me on precarious ledges.

  He hadn’t denied it or tried to justify it, but he had promised the alliance wasn’t only about the port, and by the time he was done speaking, I believed him. It was about a lot of things, not the least of which was foolish pride and the need to reclaim a part of their history and what had once belonged to the exiled prince. But there was a practical side to their motivations as well. Dalbreck too had heard the reports of the growing Vendan population, and they’d had more incidents with barbarian patrols. Maintaining the Dalbreck army was the largest expense of the treasury. Of all the kingdoms, Morrighan had the next largest army. It was true that Dalbreck viewed their forces as superior to Morrighan’s, but they also knew they could use resources elsewhere if they didn’t have to maintain such a large military. An alliance could mean cutting back on their western outposts, and the profits from a deep-water port on the western coast would help finance the rest. After I was within their borders, they would press for the return of the port, claiming it as a dowry.

  Press. Another innocuous word like leverage. I didn’t even want to unravel all its nuances.

  “So after they secured a political alliance, they set their sights on more, and I’d be the winning game piece clutched in their palms.”

  He stared out at the darkening horizon. “I wouldn’t have let it happen, Lia.”

  “You’re a king now, Rafe,” I said, and jumped down from our perch onto the walk. “Will you devise new ways to get it?”

  He followed after me and pressed his palms against the watchtower wall, pinning me between his arms. A scowl darkened his eyes. “It doesn’t matter who or what I am or what the cabinet wants. You are what matters to me, Lia. If you don’t know that already, I’ll find a hundred more ways to show you. I love you more than a port, more than an alliance, more than my own life. Your interests are my interests. Are we going to let the conspiracies and schemes of kingdoms come between us?”

  His dark lashes cut a shadow under his eyes. His gaze searched mine, and then the turmoil receded and was replaced with something else—a need that had gone too long unquenched. It matched my own, and I felt its heat spreading low in my gut. It was only Rafe and me. Kingdoms disappeared. Duties disappeared. Only the two of us and everything we had ever been to each other—and everything I still wanted us to be.

  “No kingdom will come between us,”
I whispered. “Ever.” Our lips drew closer, and I leaned in to him, wanting every part of him to be part of me too, our mouths meeting, his embrace gentle and then passionate, wanting more. His lips traced a line down my neck and then nudged my dress from my shoulder. My breaths shuddered and my hands slipped beneath his vest, my fingertips burning as they slid over the muscles of his stomach. “We’re supposed to be keeping watch,” I said breathlessly.

  He quickly signaled a sentry below to resume his patrol of the wall and turned his attention back to me. “Let’s go to my tent,” he whispered between kisses.

  I swallowed, trying to form a coherent answer. “You aren’t worried about your reputation?”

  “I’m more worried about my sanity. No one will see us.”

  “Do you have anything with you here?” I didn’t want to end up in Pauline’s predicament.

  “Yes.”

  His tent was only steps away, but still almost as far as a lifetime when I knew how quickly the fates could turn on a moment and rip it away.

  “We’re here now, Rafe, and the watchtower is warm. Who needs a tent?”

  * * *

  The world vanished. We closed the door. Pulled the shutter tight. Lit a candle. Threw a woolen blanket to the floor.

  My fingers trembled and he kissed them, concern filling his eyes. “We don’t have to—”

  “I’m only afraid this isn’t real. That it’s only another one of my dreams that I’ll wake from.”

  “This is our dream, Lia. Together. No one can wake us.”

  We lay on the blanket and his face hovered over mine, my prince, my farmer, the blue of his eyes as deep as a midnight ocean and I was lost in them, floating, weightless. His lips slowly skimmed my skin, exploring, tender, setting every inch of me on fire, the room and time disappearing, and then his eyes were looking into mine again, and his hand slipped behind me, lifting me closer to him, the yearning of weeks and months burning, and the fears that we’d never be together dissolving.

  The vows we made to each other, the trust written on our souls, all of it swept past me as he brought his mouth back to mine. Our hands knotted, and the rhythm of his breaths surrounded me. Every kiss, every touch, was a promise that we both knew, I was his and he was mine, and no conspiracy or scheme of kingdoms had a fraction of the power that surged between us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  We hurried up the steps of the veranda, neither of us feeling guilty about being late for dinner, but we were both caught by surprise when we saw Kaden and Griz among the guests. Captain Hague took particular delight in whispering, “As per your orders,” as I passed him.

  The timing for listening to me couldn’t have been worse, and he knew it. Rafe’s hand tensed in mine when he saw them. Making peace with Kaden was still a long way off for him. As uneasy as everyone at the table was with their presence, I knew none were as uncomfortable as Kaden and Griz. To Kaden’s credit, he avoided saying anything that might be construed as combative. He seemed contrite even, which I hoped was a sign he regretted his method of delivering “honesty.” The unsaid and the innuendo had tarnished his truth. I supposed we all needed practice at it. Truth was a harder skill to master than swinging a sword.

  Even Jeb had come to dinner, refusing to be confined to bed any longer. I could only imagine the pain he’d had to endure to wriggle his arm and shoulder into the freshly pressed shirt, but he wore it with style and pride. Cruvas linen, no doubt.

  Banter turned to the upcoming party plans and spirits grew lighter. Our dinner mates seemed to grow more at ease with Griz’s and Kaden’s presence—though even their smallest gestures were still monitored.

  Rafe made it through the evening with considerable restraint, though several times during dinner, his hand strayed to my knee beneath the table. I think he enjoyed watching me stumble over my words. I returned the distraction when he was deep in conversation with Captain Azia. After having to begin the same sentence three times, he reached under the table and squeezed my hand, to stop me from drawing lazy circles on his thigh. Captain Azia blushed as if he knew the game we played.

  * * *

  The next day was crowded with more duty for Rafe. I saw the weight of it in his eyes. He’d had to muster incredible self-control back at the Sanctum, keeping up a charade day after day by playing a conniving emissary, and now he had been thrust into another new role—one that came with enormous expectation.

  I was walking past his tent when I heard strained voices within. Rafe and Sven were arguing. I stooped near the curtained door to relace my boot and listen. A message had arrived saying the rotation of troops would be delayed a few days, but it also brought news of a growing rift between the assembly and the cabinet.

  “That’s it,” Rafe had yelled. “We’re going back now, escort or no escort.”

  Sven stood his ground. “Don’t be a damned fool! The message Bodeen sent has arrived at the palace by now. It will announce you’re alive and well and on your way, but you can’t discount the fact that enemies will also know you’re on your way. It’s too big a risk. A large escort is prudent. Knowing you’re alive is enough to calm the assembly until we get there.” Rafe’s reaction to cabinet squabbles seemed excessive, and I wondered if I had missed something, or maybe the news had simply added to his impatience.

  Rafe wasn’t the only one growing impatient. With each passing day, I was more certain I needed to leave. The pull grew stronger, and I had restless dreams. In them I heard pieces of the Song of Venda, a jumbled melody punctuated by my own breathless running, though in the dreams, my feet refused to move, as if they had grown into the ground beneath me, and then came the low rumble of something approaching. I felt its hot breath on my back, something hungry and determined, the refrain sounding over and over: For when the Dragon strikes, it is without mercy. I would startle awake, trying to catch my breath, my back stinging with the memory of sharp claws slicing into me, and then I would hear the Komizar’s words as clearly as if he stood beside me. If any royals survive our conquest, it will give me great pleasure to lock them up on this side of hell.

  After a particularly restless night, I went into Rafe’s tent the next morning while he was still dressing. He was in the middle of shaving. I didn’t bother with greetings.

  “Rafe, we have to talk about my going to Morrighan to warn them.”

  He studied me in the reflection of his mirror and dipped his lathered razor in the basin to rinse it. “Lia, we’ve already talked about this. The Komizar is gravely injured or dead, and the Sanctum is in chaos with more dead. You saw how the Council was, like a pack of hungry dogs. They’re tearing each other apart right now.” He took another swipe at his neck. “And none of those left have the ability to lead any kind of army anyway.”

  “For now. We hope. But I can’t take a chance on guesses. I need to go back and—”

  “Lia, the bridge is destroyed. They can’t even get across.”

  “Bridges can be fixed.”

  He dropped the razor in the basin and turned to look at me. “What about the bounty on your head? You can’t just waltz back into Morrighan. We’ll send word. I promise.”

  “Word? To whom, Rafe? There are traitors in the cabinet conspiring with the Komizar, and I don’t know how many. I wouldn’t know who to trust, and the Chancellor intercepts—”

  He wiped his face with a towel. “Lia, I can’t go back to Morrighan right now. You know that. You’ve seen the turmoil my own kingdom is in. I have to settle things there first. We have time to figure this out.”

  He didn’t get what I was trying to say. I knew he couldn’t go to Morrighan with me, but I saw the look in his eyes. He wanted me to trust him. Time felt like precious sips of water slipping through my fingers. His gaze was unwavering, bright, and sure. I nodded. I’d give it a few more days, out of necessity if nothing else. The physician had said Griz couldn’t ride a horse or wield a weapon yet. The long neglect of his wound made it slow to heal, but the healthy flesh was beginning to knit tog
ether—if he was careful and didn’t tear it loose again.

  Rafe buckled on his scabbard and gave me a quick kiss before he left. The officers were riding out to observe training exercises. He seemed relieved to be doing something within the realm of his expertise—being a soldier—instead of arguing with Sven or Bodeen about court matters.

  I stood in the doorway of his tent watching him walk away, wishing it was simply a matter of sending word to Morrighan, but I knew a messenger from Dalbreck probably wouldn’t even make it past the border alive.

  * * *

  The next morning, Vilah, Adeline, and Madam Rathbone brought more dresses to my tent trying to find something for me to wear for the party the next evening. After much fussing, they settled on a deep blue velvet dress—Dalbretch blue—with a silver sash. “We’ll put together the other accessories,” Vilah said. “Unless you’d prefer to?”

  I left it to them to figure out as Vilah suggested. I liked a beautiful gown as well as anyone, but it was probably obvious to all of them that I didn’t fuss over the particulars of fashion.

  “Do you mind if I ask—” Adeline blushed. “Never mind,” she said, shaking away her question.

  “Please,” I said. “Speak freely.”

  “It seems that you and King Jaxon have genuine feelings for each other, and it just made me wonder…”

  “Why did you run from the wedding?” Vilah finished for her.

  “They claim it was a deliberate snub planned by Morrighan all along,” Adeline added.

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “That is just bruised egos speaking,” I answered, “and a court full of men who couldn’t believe a girl could derail all their plans. The Morrighese cabinet was just as angry as Dalbreck’s. My departure wasn’t nearly as dramatic as a conspiracy. I simply left of my own accord because I was afraid.”

  Adeline twisted the silver sash in her hand. “Afraid of the prince?”

  “No,” I sighed. “The prince was probably the least of it. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of the sham and the gift I thought I lacked. I was afraid of all the lost choices I would never be able to make, and that for the rest of my life someone would always be telling me what to do or say or think, even when I had better ideas of my own. I was afraid of never being anything but what suited others and being pushed and prodded until I fit the mold they shoved me into and I forgot who I was and what I wanted. And maybe most of all, I was afraid I would never be loved beyond what a piece of paper had ordered. That’s enough fear to make any girl jump on a horse and ride away, princess or not, don’t you think?”