I lie in my narrow bed and watch as the lorst lights beyond my window slowly come back to life. The trolde night is over. Morning has come. Possibly my last morning in this world.
Brow knotted, I sit upright, push back my bedclothes with a determined shove, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. There I sit, gripping the mattress hard. Drawing long, steadying breaths.
Then, slowly, I touch my lips. As though even now I might catch Vor’s mouth and force it to connect with mine. I feel him there, so close and yet so impossibly far.
I know why he resists me. I know I’m not the best choice for him. Ilsevel would have given him the leverage he needs over my father. Without her, the alliance is not strong. But that doesn’t make it worthless, does it? Perhaps our marriage won’t bring the political advantage he sought, but surely we could make things right.
Turning my head slowly to the window once more, I watch the lorst light play on the delicate lace curtains. Mythanar awaits. Out there, beyond. This is it: my last chance. My final opportunity to convince Vor that we belong with each other, regardless of kingdoms and politics, regardless of perils and fates. We, the two of us, must choose to make a life together, no matter what dire threats loom in whatever uncertain future.
But if I fail to convince him . . . if he continues to blind himself to the truth that is so plain to me . . .
A little growl in my throat, I push out of bed and stalk across my room to the water basin. There I wash with care, trying to ignore the flutters dancing in my stomach. When I’m through, I turn to the wardrobe, sort through the gowns which were salvaged from the queen’s chambers. All these gowns were made for Ilsevel, all in the bold, vivid colors she favored. I shove that thought down as hard as I can. Today, at least, I must not think of my sister. Today, I must be focused.
In the very back of the wardrobe is a gown of dusty pink. Not a color suited to Ilsevel’s olive complexion. I pull it out, hold it up for inspection. The color is right, but the style? It’s very strange. A simple gown with thin straps over the shoulders and draping, off-shoulder sleeves. The bodice is split in a deep V that exposes far more than I am used to displaying. The skirts at least are ample and layered, and the whole thing is secured by a dainty little belt. It’s so much simpler than the gowns I’m used to, with all of their structured undergarments, their stays, their petticoats. Those required assistance both dressing and undressing. This, however, I should be able to slip on easily.
It will slip off easier still.
My cheeks heat. Closing my eyes, I fall back into memory of last night. Of my back pressed against the door, of Vor’s face hovering just over mine. His breath hot and fast against my skin. I feel his finger on my chin, feel his hand traveling lower, slipping under my shift, smoothing over my body. Such ravenous hunger he’d awakened in me, only to leave me empty, desperate.
Today will be different.
Today must be different.
With a shake of my head, I set about dressing in the lovely gown, securing the belt, arranging the sleeves. Thankfully, I find a pair of soft shoes with sturdy soles to protect my still-sore feet. At least they’re not as damaged as I’d expected them to be this morning. I’ve heard rumor that the air of Eledria speeds recovery. Maybe it’s true.
Once dressed, I set to work on my hair, brushing and brushing until it gleams. Then, turning to the polished black stone mirror, I take a step only to catch my breath. The skirt, though layered and voluminous, boasts two long slits right up the front. When I walk, they part, exposing rather a lot of leg. I hastily grab a handful of fabric and pull it back into place, staring at my startled reflection in the stone. Then, slowly, I release a tight breath and relax my hand. Let the skirt fall back, revealing my leg once more. After all, it’s no more than most of the trolde women expose on a daily basis. Perhaps Vor won’t think anything of it. Or perhaps . . . I bite back a nervous little smile as heat creeps up my neck once more.
Voices rumble outside my door. I turn on heel, layers of skirt fluttering around my feet and knees. Is it Vor? Or has he sent some messenger to cancel our outing? I swallow the lump in my throat, pull my shoulders back, and hasten to the door. The voices are low, speaking in troldish. I cannot discern one word from the next, but I can discern the tension in the atmosphere, the conflict of two souls. One soul is Hael—bright and sparking with frustration and fear. The other is Vor. I’m sure of it.
I step back several paces, grip my skirts with both hands. He’s not backing out. Surely he’s not. He wouldn’t come all the way here, to my very door, just to deliver disappointing news in person. He wouldn’t.
I’m still trying to work up the courage to open the door myself when a knock sounds. “Princess?” Hael’s voice calls from the other side. “Are you dressed?”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling, send up a swift, silent prayer to my goddess. Then, reaching out to the latch, I pull the door open. Hael stands before me, imposing in her armor, but I can scarcely take her in. My eyes are drawn irresistibly over her shoulder. To Vor.
He is like a dream come to life. His sleeveless tunic is made of silky maroon-hued fabric, belted at the waist, and elegantly embroidered at the collar and cuffs in the now-familiar pattern of the knotted dragon that I see everywhere in this world. It’s loosely laced, open across the clavicle and upper chest, revealing strong, muscular definition to my admiring gaze. A metal brassard grips his upper arm, emphasizing the powerful swell of his bicep. A thin silver band across his forehead holds his white hair back from his high, smooth brow.
For a moment, I cannot think. I’m no longer aware of Hael standing between us. It’s just me and him. Alone in all this world. His eyes flick from my face, travel down my body, taking in the pink gown. He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t stare or ogle. And yet, in that momentary glimpse, a sudden surge of desire escapes from behind his careful barriers, heating my gods-gifted perceptions.
His gaze returns to mine, locks hard. And I smile. I know where his mind just went. And he knows that I know.
Perhaps the smile was a bad idea, however, for he firmly takes those feelings and shoves them back. His face a mask, he offers me a short bow. “Good lusterling, Princess.”
I nod. “And to you, my King.”
“You look . . .” He stops. Blinks. Stands there with his mouth still open and his gaze firmly refusing to travel over my body once more. All the while Hael watches, disapproval simmering.
I duck my chin, spread my hands over the folds of skirt at my hips. “I wasn’t certain how to dress for our outing. I hope this will be appropriate for whatever you have planned.” I peek at him from under my lashes in time to see the dark centers of his eyes dilate.
He adjusts his stance, grips his hands behind his back. “So long as you are comfortable.”
Comfortable is probably not the first word I would use to describe this gown. “I am. Thank you.”
“I thought perhaps you should like to see the great Temple of Orgoth. It is one of the oldest established sites in Mythanar and considered a place of interest. People travel from across the Under Realm to worship there.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“After that perhaps a sojourn into Market Rise for a chance to see trolde culture. Then I thought we might end at the Overlook. It offers a view of the city as a whole and is well worth seeing.”
He’s nervous. It emerges through his barriers in little bursts. But his nerves give me courage. This time together means more to him than he wants to admit. “I’m ready for anything,” I say.
His eyes flash to mine again. Gods, is this how it’s to be between us from now on? Will every word, every look, every gesture be layered with double meaning which neither of us dares admit?
Hael coughs, dragging our unwilling attention back to her. “My King,” she says, touching a hand to the center of her breastplate, “I feel I must join you.”
No!
“No!” Vor’s response is as sharp as my own silent protest. He recovers himself and continues in a milder tone, “That will not be necessary, Captain. Thank you.”
The skin around her eyes tightens. “It is my duty to guard the princess.”
“A duty which I will assume for the next few hours.” Vor blinks coolly at her. “Come now, you’ve not rested since our return from Hoknath. Take a few hours for yourself. Bathe. Eat. Sleep if you can. I shall have the princess back in her chambers by mid-lusterling.” Hael eyes him from under her stern brow. When she opens her mouth to speak further protest, however, Vor cuts her off by neatly sidestepping her and offering me his arm. “If you are quite ready?”
“Yes.” The word bursts from my lips in a little gasp. I rest my fingertips on his bare forearm and cast a last glance back at my scowling bodyguard just before Vor leads me down the passage. Hael still looks as though someone has given her a sour brew to swallow.
“Has something happened to distress Captain Hael?” I ask in a low voice as we enter the stairwell. My heart is beating fast. Now that I am alone with Vor, those moments between us last night keep playing across my mental vision. Standing caged between his strong arms. His eyes hovering just above mine, his breath hot against my lips. My hands pressed against his bare, heaving chest, his thumb skating along the curve of my breast. I shake my head, force my focus back to the present.
Vor casts me a sidelong glance. “Did you . . . sense our altercation?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to spy. I rarely control what my gift detects.”
Vor chuckles softly. The sound sends a whole flock of butterflies swarming in my stomach. “To answer your question, yes. Hael and I are currently in disagreement. Over a number of things.”
“Such as taking me into the city this morning?”
He chuckles. “Yes. Probably. Hael has not overtly protested, but I doubt she cares for this particular scheme.”
“I’m sorry to cause trouble.” I smile softly. “What else has the good captain bristling?”
Vor is silent for a moment. Have I pried into private matters? I consider taking the question back, but then he heaves a sigh. “It’s Yok.”
“Yok? Her brother, the young guardsman?”
“Yes. I’ve sent him on what may prove a dangerous mission. Hael doesn’t think he’s ready. So far, he’s struggled as a member of my guard. He was wounded by Licornyn Riders on our journey to Beldroth and sent home. Then he nearly allowed you and Lady Lyria to be eaten by cave devils while under his care.”
“That was hardly the poor boy’s fault! Lyria can be . . . persuasive. And as for last night, truly, I am sorry if my actions have compromised your opinion of him. He seems a loyal and steadfast soul. I know he desires to please you.”
Vor grunts. We’ve reached the bottom of the stairwell, and he holds the door open for me to step through into a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. Thick pile carpet of green and blue depicting fantastical images of heroes, crystals, and, of course, dragons, extends down the center floor like a long river. Vor offers his arm again and leads me onto that carpet, proceeding right down the center under elaborate chandeliers of lorst crystals.
“I don’t doubt Yok’s true heart,” he says, picking up our conversation. “That’s why I’ve allowed the boy to go on this mission. But it is difficult. It’s always difficult, sending young ones out, knowing these early missions will either be the making or the breaking of them.”
His worry is palpable despite every effort to keep it suppressed. Part of me wants to take this opportunity, with my fingers resting lightly on his forearm, to send calm into his soul. But he will feel it and know that I’ve just used my powers on him. I don’t want that. I don’t want him to think I am in any way manipulating his emotions. Whatever happens between us today, it must be entirely by choice. No tricks. No magic. Just the two of us.
We’ve scarcely progressed ten paces down the hall before a door opens on our right. Five troldefolk emerge: first an imposing helmed guard, then three ladies with demure headdresses. Last of all is a much taller, broader woman in a magnificent headdress that seems to be decorated with stone-sharpened blades. She is white as bone and boasts a jaw so hard and square, it looks as though it could take a blow from a spiked mace without flinching.
The woman stops, her arms folded deep inside the sleeves of a heavily embroidered red robe. Her eyes narrow when she sees us, her gaze fixing hard on me. A flare of pure fury hits my gods-gift before it’s locked down behind her hard trolde walls.
“Grakol-dura, Shura Parh,” Vor says. I recognize the greeting from my lessons with Hael. He goes on to say something that sounds like a question.
The woman continues to stare at me, her pale eyes like twin daggers. It takes all my courage not to duck my head and look away. Finally, her lip curls back. She turns to Vor, speaks a series of short, sharp words I do not understand. Vor smiles. He pulls his arm away from me. For a moment, I’m bereft. Though I still stand beside him, I feel alone and exposed.
Then Vor’s hand comes to rest on the small of my back. Gently, he pulls me toward him. Warmth floods my senses. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter how anyone else looks at me, doesn’t matter that I am the only one of my kind in this whole hostile world. Vor is with me, his strength beside me, his power evident in even the smallest of gestures. In that one touch, he sends a bolt of courage straight to my heart. I cannot repress the smile that bursts across my lips.
The woman draws back, her eyes flashing. She snarls another short word before turning in a whirl of robes and stalking down the passage. Her maids and guard trail behind her, casting wary glances back at me as they retreat. “Who was that?” I ask.
“My minister of war,” Vor responds.
Something in his tone makes me shiver, despite the warm touch of his palm. “She doesn’t care for me much, does she?”
Vor lifts an eyebrow. “Did your gods-gift tell you that?”
I snort. “In this instance, a gods-gift was entirely superfluous, I assure you.”
His smile is quick, there and gone again, like a flash of sunlight through thick-rolling clouds. “When alliance talks began between Mythanar and Gavaria, my council was evenly split as to whether or not we should pursue it. Lady Parh was on the opposing side.”
A great deal of unspoken meaning lingers behind his words. He’s trying to keep his feelings at bay. It doesn’t matter, for Lady Parh herself made her position clear. I have no doubt she was among those crying out for my head following my disastrous wedding night.
I swallow and look down at my feet. Vor was probably right—I would be safer in my rooms. Hiding until the time is right for my return home. But no. I firm my jaw, lift my gaze to Vor’s once more. I won’t be cowed. “Well, I’m sure your minister would not deny me the pleasure of a single day’s sight-seeing in your beautiful city.” I smile quietly and take Vor’s arm once more. “Shall we continue?”
We meet others in the palace corridors as we make our way. When I made my request last night, I’d not stopped to think what being seen with me in public might do to Vor’s reputation. But he moves with confidence, nodding and murmuring troldish greetings to everyone we pass, then inclining his head to murmur their names in my ear. “That was Umog Hur,” he tells me, “a priestess, well connected by blood and definitely one to watch out for,” or “that was Lady Yahg, granddame of the Urbul Family, a notorious tyrant.” These and others, all of whom give us a wide berth and shoot curious stares my way. I keep my head up, my face serene, even as I maintain a firm grip on my crystal pendant.
We come at last to the large front entrance. Vor leads me out to the courtyard, where, to my surprise, two morleth wait, held by young grooms. One of them is Vor’s mount, big and spined and terrifying. The other, a little smaller and daintier than her counterpart, stomps one cloven hoof, sending sparks shooting across the cobbles.
I stop short. Vor looks down at me, his mouth tipped in a half-smile. “You remember Knar, I trust?”
He leaves me at the base of the steps to stride across to the morleth. He pats its scaled neck. The monster snaps at him, sharp teeth just grazing his skin. Vor smacks his muzzle like it’s all in play, and the beast rolls its balefire eyes.
I can’t move. All my courage seems to have melted away at the sight of that second morleth and its saddle. When Vor turns to me, I’m standing where he left me, gripping my crystal and trying to remember how to breathe.
“Don’t be frightened,” he says, his brow pinched with concern. “Here, come. Let me introduce you.” Before I can protest, he takes my hand and leads me right up to the smaller monster. “This is Mur,” he says and strokes its broad, flat cheek, taking care to avoid the barbed spines protruding around the eye socket. “Here, let her sniff you. I swear, she’s gentle as a mothcat.”
“Really?” I grimace. “So, she’s inclined to spring out of nowhere and dig her claws into any exposed flesh?” But I extend my hand and don’t yank it back again when the morleth stretches out her long nose to sniff. She snorts and jerks her head. Smoke coils from her flared nostrils. I retreat two paces only to find Vor’s hand once more firmly planted in support at my back. “I think I’ve upset her.”
“Not at all.” Vor chuckles again, sending another swarm of butterflies careening up through my heart. “Mur is just greedy. She thought you were offering one of these.” He fishes a chunk of what looks like charcoal out of his trouser pocket and hands it to me. “Go on,” he says. “Hold it out. Keep your palm very flat so Mur doesn’t accidentally nibble one of your fingers.”
With those teeth, she’d probably take my finger right off. Determined not to wince and close my eyes, I do as I’m told, offering the treat to the beast. Much to my relief, Mur uses her long, nimble lips to swipe the black lump from my palm and chomps with noisy satisfaction.
“There.” Vor steps away from me. My back feels cold where his hand had been, and I can’t help a dart of resentment when he strokes the beast’s nose. “You’ll be the best of friends before you know it.”
I eye the monster and her black, scaly, spined, vaguely horse-shaped body. “She’s . . . magnificent,” I manage to say.
“I can assist you into the saddle.”
“What?” I turn to Vor, search for some sign of teasing in his face. “You mean for me to ride into the city?”
“You do ride, don’t you?”
“Yes, but . . . but horses.”
“Mur is much like a horse, I assure you. She’s been gentled from a young age, and I picked her out specially for . . .”
For Ilsevel. He stops himself from saying my sister’s name, from bringing her into this space between us. It doesn’t matter. She’s there all the same. The truth is, Ilsevel would be far better suited to this particular adventure. She loved a challenge almost as much as she loved riding. She would have been delighted with this gift of a monster steed.
“I am not much of a horsewoman,” I admit, dropping my gaze.
“Ah.” Vor is silent a moment, suddenly uncertain. “It’s too far to walk where we are going. I had thought perhaps you would prefer a saddle over a litter.”
He’s not wrong. I vividly remember my arrival in Mythanar, being carried through the streets in that awful, lurching, curtained contraption. Not an experience I care to repeat. But the idea of mounting that morleth is terrifying.
“I would prefer to ride, yes,” I say, and look him boldly in the eye. “But with you. As we’ve done before.”
Vor goes very still. “That might . . .” He stops, turns away, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “That might send the wrong message.”
“A morleth carrying me away in a cloud of smoke and screams is likely to cause more trouble than the sight of the two of us riding together.”
A smile quirks his mouth. He’s considering it. I hold my breath. I want this time together so badly. To be close to him. To rest against his chest, to feel his arms around me. If this is to be our last few hours together, I’d much rather not spend them clinging to a saddle for dear life.
Abruptly, Vor turns and barks orders in troldish to a groom. “What’s happening?” I ask.
He looks down at me, eyes shining. “I’m having Knar’s saddle replaced with one more comfortable for double riding.”
My heart soars so high, it nearly escapes my chest. Soon enough, the fresh saddle is brought, this one with a top pommel for me to grip with my knees, allowing me to perch side-saddle in front of Vor. Once it’s heaved onto Knar’s broad back, Vor lifts me up in his arms. I laugh a little breathlessly as he settles me in place.
A sudden surge of feeling from him shocks me, however. I look down to discover that my slitted skirt has opened all the way to the thigh. Hastily, I pull folds of soft pink fabric over my exposed leg. When I glance at Vor again, he’s not looking at me, but seems intent upon checking the saddle girth. I smile, a small, secret smile. The next few hours are going to be . . . interesting.
Vor mounts, wraps his arms around me, and takes the reins. A feeling of rightness settles over me. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like, riding like this, nestled in front of him. I lean back against his chest and let a sigh escape my lips.
“Are you ready, Princess?” Vor asks, his lips close to my ear.
I close my eyes. “Yes.”
He urges his beast into motion, and we set off on our last adventure together.
