Somehow, Elia was not surprised to see Romaric in the holding cell at the forefront of the castle’s prison. He leaped to his feet when he saw her coming with her cluster of guards. More guards than necessary, she thought, but perhaps they meant to make up for a lack of force when it was needed. Had so many guards been posted outside, Banne never would have made it in.
The guards waved for Romaric to move back. He did, though he scanned her from head to foot. “You’re all right,” he said, an observation rather than a question. “Did you…?”
“The assassin is dead,” Elia replied. The answer gave her no satisfaction. She understood the reason and need, but none of how things ended left her happy.
He studied her face as they pushed her inside. “I don’t think I was able to convince them.”
“If you had, they would have been more prompt.” And Cass wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Her heart ached at the thought of that injury. It had been so much worse than the gash on his side that she’d bandaged. Worst of all was that it had been meant for her. He shouldn’t have suffered. Not for her sake, not after everything she’d done.
Romaric frowned, but said nothing as the guards made Elia stand with her arms raised.
They skimmed their hands over her arms and torso, then checked her legs through the fabric of her divided skirt. She flushed at the recollection of Cass and his more thorough investigation and found herself glad she’d left that hidden blade behind.
Satisfied, the guards retreated and locked the cell. “Notify the king. See what he wants done with them,” one said.
Another spared them a glance. “Don’t get comfortable.”
As if they could. The cell was furnished as well as the one Elia had shared with Peretor in that cellar, which was to say it held nothing but a pot in the corner.
She bit her lower lip and sank to sit in the center of the floor with her hands folded in her lap.
Romaric remained standing, though he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at the guards outside their cell from time to time, but mostly, he watched her. When he spoke at last, his voice was soft, concerned. “You’ve lost your light.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“You always glowed. Even when you were angry. You don’t glow anymore, El.”
After everything she’d seen and done, she didn’t feel like glowing. Still, she didn’t know how to reply, so she bowed her head and turned away.
Her brother said nothing more.
Guards came and went as shifts rotated, and the lack of windows by which to see the sky made the wait feel longer. For hours, they sat, until at last, the atmosphere in the prison shifted.
Romaric straightened. “What—Elia, is that—”
She pushed herself up and leaned forward to peer out through the bars and her insides gave an uneasy flop. Cass stood with a cluster of guards, speaking with them in low tones. A handful of them bowed and scattered. She shuffled backwards. Why did it have to be him?
His injury had been tended, for he moved without betraying discomfort, though the uniform he now wore hid any bandaging that might wrap him. It was a finer version of what the guards she’d seen had worn, marking him as some sort of officer. He stalked toward their cell, adjusting the cuff of one sleeve, his face an unchanging mask.
“You should be resting,” she said softly as he stopped beside the door.
He ignored the comment. “The gate guards say you bear a letter for King Valdessic.”
Her hand went to her pocket involuntarily. Did he mean to take it now?
“Nice to see you again, too,” Romaric said dryly. “Seems like you missed a few things in our introduction.”
“No one told you?” Elia asked.
Her brother only scowled.
Cass barely paid him a glance before his eyes returned to her. “You will appear before King Valdessic and answer his questions. Your brother will be returned to Kentoria tomorrow morning.”
Her hand drifted to her chest, where it curled to a fist above her heart. “Is he not coming with me now?”
“Step outside.” Cass opened the cell.
She turned to Romaric, but he shook his head and motioned for her to go. A hint of worry touched his eyes, but he kept it from the rest of his mien.
Elia swallowed and stepped into the hall. Cass locked the door behind her and took her arm to escort her to the door.
“Need a hand, my lord?” one of the guards at the mouth of the prison asked.
“Shut it,” Cass growled back.
The man put down his head and stayed put, while a few of his fellows chuckled.
She mustered a grim smile. It was good to see which parts of him were genuine. Gruff as he was, his hand on her arm was gentle.
He led her up the stairs and down the same long corridor she’d been taken through earlier, though instead of scaling the next stairway to return to the upper floors, he guided her to the depths of the keep and what she assumed would be the king’s hall. When they reached the doors, he stopped.
Elia stood, patient and obedient, though she couldn’t help but look at his shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked, so softly that only he would hear. They were alone, but she had no doubt there would be guards on the other side of the door.
“My people are not stingy with medication,” he replied. His features could have been made of stone, but she caught the faintest glimmer of feeling in his dark eyes.
She latched onto that spark, holding his gaze, praying she could keep it there. “That’s not what I meant.”
A long, weighted silence dragged past before he spoke again. “Why?”
Elia raised her brows, begging an explanation.
His fingers flexed against her arm, as if she might try to run away. “Why watch me?” The thinnest, faintest shred of hurt bled into the words.
How could she explain? How could she hope to make him believe her? “I asked them to send me.” It was the simplest answer, and one that put a lump in her throat. “To let you go free. To send me, so I could prove you meant Kentoria no harm. So I… so I could be with you. Just a little longer.”
His brows drew together and he shut his eyes, twisting the knife in her fractured heart a little harder. Before she could stop herself, she reached to cradle his jaw in her hand. He leaned into her touch, ever so slightly, but his countenance returned to such cold indifference so swiftly that she wasn’t sure that touch meant anything at all.
Cass pushed open the doors and led her inside.
The throne room here was not so different from that in Samara’s palace. The same lush reds and lavish golds decorated the space, though unlike Samara’s palace, there was only one throne. King Valdessic sat in it, slouched and looking agitated, his elbow on the throne’s arm and his cheek propped on his fist.
Cass led her up a narrow carpeted walkway and knelt, pulling Elia with him. She bowed a little deeper on her own.
“A Kentorian spy?” Valdessic asked. His voice grated; he was older than Elia had expected, given that he was Eccenthe’s elder brother. Eccenthe had been fresh, vibrant, and beautiful. The man before her bore more gray than black in his hair, and spots of age showed on his hands. There had to be twenty years between the two. Perhaps that was part of what made Eccenthe’s death all the more tragic. Compared to the rest of her family, she’d been a baby.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cass replied. He kept his head down.
Elia shook hers. “No, Your Majesty. I am a messenger, sent by King Gaius Rothalan of Kentoria. I carry a letter of great importance.” Though she supposed its importance was somewhat diminished by Banne’s death.
“Is through a third story window on the heels of an assassin the usual method of messengry in Kentoria?” he asked humorlessly.
Her nose crinkled. Messengry was not a word, as far as she knew, but correcting the king’s grammar would hardly foster endearment. “No,” she said slowly, “but the assassin was the subject of the letter, so I feared my delivery may be too late.”
Valdessic turned his attention away from her as she spoke. “Stand up, Cassian. No one expects you to be in here groveling before me.”
He rose as soon as he was ordered, though Elia caught his small flinch as he stood. Unsure what to do, she remained kneeling on the floor.
The king sniffed. “Give me the letter.”
Her hands shook, but she pulled it from her pocket and held it up. Cass took it from her fingers and stepped forward to pass it to the king. Then he moved aside, his hands clasped behind his back.
Valdessic inspected the wax seal for a moment before he popped it off the envelope and removed the folded paper. He shook out the two pages and held them close to read.
For a long time, no one said anything. Not her, or Cass, or any of the guards about the throne room.
“Is this true, Cassian?” the king asked when his eyes reached the foot of the first page.
“I am unsure, Your Majesty,” Cass replied. “I don’t know what the letter says.”
“The assassin woman you struck down was responsible for my sister’s death?”
Cass opened his mouth, then hesitated. He nodded first. “I believe so.”
“It was not the Rothalan assassin?”
“I do not believe that was the case.”
Valdessic made a deep sound of displeasure and turned the page. As he read, his brows traveled upward, and Elia desperately wished she could see what Gaius had written. He stared at the letter for so long that she had to fight the urge to squirm.
At last, Valdessic folded the papers again and regarded Elia with a hard eye. “And now we decide what to do with you.”
She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was stare back, her lips twitching with all the words she couldn’t find. His gaze grew colder and sharper, until fear laced itself around her heart and squeezed.
“Your Majesty,” Cass said, so abruptly that she twitched.
Valdessic glanced his way and a weight Elia hadn’t realized had fallen on her slipped away.
“If the letter she carries bears truth, then let me support it. I killed the intruder upstairs. The woman before you is embarrassingly incapable of combat, but she risked herself to prevent the assassin’s escape, buying me enough time to strike down Eccenthe’s assassin in spite of my physical state.” It was the most eloquent thing Cass had ever said.
Even the king raised his brows. “You speak in her defense?”
“I speak the truth, Your Majesty.”
Valdessic watched her out of the corner of his eye for a time, then sighed. “So be it. You, girl, will return to Kentoria. Tell your king I said yes.”
Elia sat back on her heels. Relief struck her, as cold and sudden as a snowball to the face, but the order caught up with her a second later. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Yes to what?” Cass asked with a frown.
The king turned in his throne and held the letter at arm’s length.
Cass took it, scanning the first page without reaction. When he reached the second, the only word Elia could think of to suit his expression was befuddlement. “A wedding invitation?”
“And a request to discuss the possibility of a new alliance,” Valdessic said. “You know the turmoil Eccenthe’s death brought. If this new king can prove it was not his assassin who killed her, such a move could do much to restore peace.”
Elia flattened a hand against her chest, hoping the gesture looked as sincere as it felt. “King Gaius is not what the rumors claim. I assure you, Kentoria wants peace as much as you do, Your Majesty.”
“Then give him my answer,” Valdessic said with a flick of his fingers. “Remove her. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Cass bowed, then bent to take Elia by the elbow and help her to her feet. She curtsied one last time before he turned her and hurried her toward the door. As she walked, it felt as if weight and shadows slipped away and were left behind—all but one.
The moment they set foot outside the throne room, Cass shut the door.
Elia turned with a thousand apologies on the tip of her tongue and opened her mouth to share them. Instead, Cass seized her face in his hands and kissed her so fiercely, she almost forgot her own name.
She wrapped her arms around him out of reflex and rose on tip-toe to meet him halfway, the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard making her arms rise in goosebumps in spite of her magic ring.
“I thought you followed me,” he whispered. “I thought they sent you to watch me, that everything was a lie.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Cass.” She caressed his face, fingertips lingering on the soft, exposed skin of his cheek.
He snorted. “That’s an argument we’ll save for later.”
A woman cleared her throat and his head snapped up so fast, Elia thought he might hurt himself. She put a hand up to catch him and cradle the back of his head, but he pulled away before her palm made contact and dropped to one knee. It was only then that Elia looked to see who had approached, and when she saw the crown that graced the woman’s dark hair, she knelt, too.
The queen gave a long, dramatic sigh. “Stop that, Cassian. That can’t be good for your shoulder.” She stepped forward to seize his arm and drag him back to his feet. He was reluctant to rise, but she persisted until he did. “You know I hate it when you bow to me, besides. Are you going to escort her, then?”
Elia raised her head, but did not dare stand. The woman before her was beautiful, olive-skinned and dark haired, with hazel eyes that snapped with good humor. Watching her make Cass stand straight and then adjusting his collar gave her a strange discomfort.
“You heard that?” He removed her hands, gently but insistently, the contact unusually familiar.
The queen sniffed. “Of course. I hear everything that goes on in my palace.”
Elia couldn’t help but ask. “Your palace, Your Majesty?”
“Oh, my husband is the head of the kingdom, make no mistake.” Her eyes sparkled and her smile grew sly. “But you’ll find the queen is often the neck. Are you going to introduce me, Cassian? You’re being dreadfully rude.”
His jaw flexed a moment and Elia thought she spotted a touch of color in his face. Was he embarrassed?
“My name is Elia,” she offered before he found the will to speak. Slowly, as if testing the waters, she shifted to get her feet under her. Was she expected to stand, or stay kneeling?
“A beautiful name,” the queen replied, her smile broadening with genuine warmth. “I am Alessia, Queen of Nylmeres, wife of King Valdessic, and—”
“Alessia!” Elia exclaimed.
The queen’s face brightened. “Oh, he’s mentioned me, has he? That’s unusual.” The look she gave Cass was nothing shy of impish.
He responded with a long-suffering stare of his own as he offered his hand to Elia. “My sister.”
“Yes, I remember.” She took his hand, but did not rely on him to rise, lest she hurt him. Her other hand went to his wounded shoulder out of instinct. “But in telling me about her, you seem to have neglected one important thing.”
Alessia giggled, the sound sweet and melodic. “Yes, he tends to do that. One would almost think he was embarrassed, as if it’s possible to be embarrassed by being related to royalty. Here I would have thought it more embarrassing to be caught kissing a girl that was only just pulled from the dungeon.” Her brows rose, indicating she was kidding.
Elia ducked her head and blushed.
Cass only scowled.
“Yet it seems even kisses can’t put him in good humor.” Alessia sighed most dramatically, but her mirth did not abate. “Is it two weddings we’ll attend this spring, then?”
“What?” Elia almost gasped.
The queen nodded at her. “I see he’s already given you a ring.”
“Lessi!” Cass snapped.
“What?” She replied, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if you can lie to me, I recognize your handiwork. You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, exasperated.
Elia could have laughed at his consternation.
Alessia planted her hands on her hips. “Then you wish to marry her, don’t you?”
That, Elia hadn’t expected. She spun to face him, ready with some sort of apology or protest on his behalf. Instead, she found him staring at her. Their eyes locked, and for the first time, she saw his heart on his sleeve. Something tender, wounded, yet bolstered with gossamer strands of hope.
“Yes,” he said, that single word almost choking him.
Her hands curled in the gathers of her skirt. “After everything?” She almost dared not ask, but she couldn’t hold in the words. “After all I’ve done?”
“Yes,” he repeated, softer, sliding his hands into her hair.
She couldn’t help the tears that welled to the edge of her eyelashes.
“Well, it might be a little early for that, now that I think of it.” Alessia gave a thoughtful tap of her finger against her chin. “But if that were an offer on the table, do you suppose that’s something you’d be interested in pursuing?”
Elia shifted closer, the power of the magic-imbued ring he’d given her nothing compared to the warmth of his body against her. “Yes,” she whispered as she leaned into him. “I would.”
He tipped her chin up with his forefinger and thumb and gave her the first of a lifetime of tender, loving kisses.
