Doranis turned abruptly on his heel, closing the door quietly behind him so as not to frighten his son.
The servants weren’t spared. They flattened themselves against the walls as he passed them, frightened by the savage anger on the king’s pallid features.
The caravans! He wanted to bellow his rage, slam his fist into the nearest door, or blister the ears of the woman who suddenly decided this morning to rip his heart out of his chest and carry it off with her.
A servant, suffering from unfortunate timing, crossed his path as he strode to his chambers.
“You,” Doranis snarled, and the man blanched in terror. “Get to the stables and have them ready Peresil.” He didn’t bother to watch the man sprint down the corridor as if demons snapped at his heels.
Minutes later the king slammed into the stables, cloaked and hooded, his eyes outlined in the customary kohl to protect them from snow blindness. “Where is Peresil?” he roared, growing more furious and panicked as time slipped through his fingers, and the trade caravans rolled ever closer to the docks.
A groom rushed out from the safety of one of the stalls, the big bay stallion trotting behind him. He barely had time to leap out of the way before the king vaulted into the saddle and kicked the horse into a hard gallop through the open stable doors.
Peresil flew across the snow-covered terrain, sure-footed and quick. Soon, the tail end of the caravan came into view, a straggling, haphazard line of wagons and shaggy mountain ponies dusted in a light snowfall.
Surprised exclamations and welcoming cries greeted Doranis when many of the Helenese recognized their monarch racing toward them. Wagons slowed to a creaking stop, ponies brought up short on their reins as the tradesmen halted to bow their respects. Doranis gave a quick nod, his kohl-darkened eyes sweeping the line of carts in search of a small, dark-haired woman.
“Castil il Veras!” he shouted. “Show yourself!”
A short, uneasy silence reigned before Castil, wrapped in her thin southern cloak and scarves, jumped down from the back of one of the enclosed wagons and walked slowly toward him. Her eyes were both sad and questioning. She bowed briefly.
“To what do I owe this honor, Your Majesty?”
He guided Peresil closer, leaned down and lifted her into the saddle to sit in front of him. The caravan leader gawked at them for a moment, then shrugged and set the wagons to moving once more. Whatever went on between the king and his foreign consort was no concern of his. He had goods to deliver.
Doranis rode a short distance away before stopping. He dismounted and reached up to help Castil off the stallion. She stood before him, clutching her shawl tightly around her, unwilling to meet his eyes. He huffed out an impatient exhalation and whipped his cloak off to shroud her in its warmth. “You have no business wearing that useless scrap of wool in weather like this. This isn’t Caskadan. You would have frozen before you reached the docks.”
She snuggled into the heavy garment. A tiny smiled touched her lips before fading. “So you’re rescuing me then.”
“From your own wrong assumptions? Yes.” His fury swelled once more. “How dare you,” he said, the words bitter and pained.
She paled, and tears made her gray eyes glossy. “I never wanted to hurt you, Doranis, but I don’t belong here. My home is to the south, my place at a scribe’s table.”
His frustrated growl made Peresil shy away from him. “Your home is here, your place with me.” He flung out a hand toward the distant fortress. “Why won’t you make your peace with Kareena? She is dead, Castil,” he snapped. “I meant nothing to her. Why do you persist in this unwarranted guilt? In thinking you’ve somehow betrayed her?”
“You’re her husband!”
“I’m her widower!”
They stared at each other, locked at an impasse until Castil blew out a resigned breath.
“This isn’t just about Kareena, Sire,” she said in much gentler tones. “This is about you.” His eyebrows shot up. “You are a king, widowed yet still bound. To your country and your station. As I am to mine. You must marry again, a woman of high status. I can’t bear to see that. I refuse to.”
Doranis gaped at her, the relief surging through him so euphoric, it almost made his knees buckle. So that was it. Foolish, foolish woman; one he loved more than life itself. He grasped her shoulders, torn between the need to embrace her and the desire to shake her. He cupped her face instead, her cheeks warm under his cold hands, her expression anguished.
“You’re partially right. I am bound to Helenrisia, but as king, I’ve fulfilled my duty to the line. I married for my country, gave it another heir. The woman I next take to wife will be of my choosing, and she’s an untrusting sort. Lovely but quick to judge and find me wanting.” He offered her a wry smile. “Still, I find myself loving her despite her doubts impugning my character.”
The tears welling on her lower lids spilled over to drip down her cheeks. Doranis gathered her into his arms, and she sobbed. He stroked her back, talking to her while she sniffled into his shirt. “We’re going to freeze out here in no time. You’ll return home with me to the Maiden,” he said in his most imperious tones.
That did exactly what he hoped. The crying stopped and the tears dried. She stepped back, sniffled some more and raised her chin in a defiant gesture.
“Are you asking or commanding?”
His lips twitched. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, the tip of her nose equally crimson. He had never known a more beautiful woman. “Which will most readily bring you home with me?”
This time it was she who drew him into a fierce embrace and pressed an equally fierce kiss to his mouth. “Either one,” she said when they came up for air. “Home is where you are.”
Epilogue
Castil could hardly contain her excitement when the Estarta sailed into the harbor, her hull sitting low in the water with the weight of her goods. From her vantage point on the pier, Castil spotted a figure standing on the deck, waving frantically. She waved back, laughing with joy as her father greeted her from his place at the ship’s.
“He won’t approve of our current arrangement.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Doranis who stood behind her, his features half hidden by the hood he wore. Despite the protective covering, he still squinted against the bright sun flashing off the surface of the water.
“You are king,” she said. “What can he say?”
He snorted. “And he is your father. Were I him, I’d insist that you be moved to another bedchamber entirely until we are wed.”
She laughed. “Well then, mayhap you will finally awaken in my bed for once.”
His smile was mischievous, full of promise. “I am certain that can be arranged.” He rested his hand on her waist, pulling her back until she leaned against him, and they both watched as the Estarta cut through the waves toward them. The sea air was cool, heavy with the scent of salt and fish. Doranis stiffened for a moment, surprised by the gentle breeze that seemed to swirl around them. He sniffed audibly. “Do you smell that? It’s familiar, though I know no such flower grows here.”
Melancholy danced with joy inside Castil. “It’s sea rose blossom,” she said. “Kareena’s favorite scent. A blessing and a farewell, I think.” She flared her nostrils to catch the fast fading perfume.
“Fair journey, my beloved friend. And thank you.”
~END~
About Grace
Grace Draven is a Louisiana native living in Texas with her husband, kids and a big, doofus dog. She has loved storytelling since forever and is a fan of the fictional bad boy. She is the winner of the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice for Best Fantasy Romance of 2015 and a USA Today Bestselling author.
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Titles by Grace Draven
THE WRAITH KINGS
Radiance
Eidolon
The Ippos King (2018)
Phoenix Unbound (Penguin/Ace)
Coming soon
FROM THE M
ASTER OF CROWS WORLD
Master of Crows
The Brush of Black Wings
The Lightning God’s Wife
The Light Within
OTHER STORIES
Entreat Me
All the Stars Look Down (Sunday’s Child)
Beneath a Waning Moon
For Crown and Kingdom
Sunday’s Child / The King of Hel
Wyvern
The Undying King
Lover of Thorns and Holy Gods
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website: gracedraven.com
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Grace Draven, Sunday's Child
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