“I’m sorry to hear that. You shouldn’t have to find your way alone here.”
The double meaning of his words is clear, and while a part of me wants to stand up for Kian’s absence, I can’t deny that said absence doesn’t look good for the “madly in love” story we toldhis father. Will people think he’s already grown tired of me and moved on to someone new? That he’s found some mistress to spend his time with? While I know that isn’t the case, or at least I really want to believe that isn’t the case, a persistent feeling of doubt crowds in. We agreed to have our separate dalliances; it isn’t fair to expect him to stay alone as long as I. Perhaps this Dylan could become a new friend . . .
“Let’s walk, Lord Havordshire,” I say. “We can keep a respectable distance so no one talks.”
Seeming surprised, he laughs and motions toward the path. “I’m happy to accompany you, princess.”
“Please, call me Raelyn.”
“Only if you call me Dylan.”
I nod, and we walk side-by-side. “So where are you coming from, Dylan?”
“I just got back from Sillamae,” he says smoothly. “My father is the trade minister, and we have been trying to find some alternate suppliers.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.” He frowns. “The vigilante has been wreaking havoc on our supply chain, and the king is demanding we find a way to make up the difference.”
“You don’t sound so fond of the Shadow,” I posit.
“You could say that.” He smiles, but it’s strained. “My father has put an immense amount of pressure on me with these new deals, as he is no longer able to travel and hopes that I will take over his position in the kingdom.”
“That does sound stressful. Do you also help supply the people in our towns and villages?”
He rubs his chin. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. The king is the one who doles out any leftover rations. But for the most part, the people need to fend for themselves.”
I try not to bristle. I’ve come to respect what the vigilante—the prince—does. Perhaps this Dylan is not the best acquaintance to make.
“Raelyn.” A deep, moody voice surprises me from behind. I spin around and come face-to-face with my husband—my very sweaty and angry-looking husband.
“Kian,” I say almost breathlessly, taking him in. He must have been out for a run, because there’s a fine sheen of sweat on him, making him almost glisten in the sunlight.
“Your Highness.” Dylan nods. “How nice to see you.”
“What are you doing out here, alone, with my wife?” Kian growls.
Dylan backs up a step, his hands raised in surrender. “We were just talking. She was all alone, and I was merely keeping an eye on her for you.”
“I’m sure you were,” Kian retorts, his eyes shooting daggers at Dylan.
“Well, you’re here now, Kian,” I say, trying to break up the tension. Did something happen between the two of them? I’ve never seen him act this way. Moving toward him, I lay a hand on Kian’s arm, hoping he will let it go and walk away with me. “It was lovely meeting you, Dylan.”
“Dylan,” Kian repeats, almost sarcastically.
“Lovely spending time with you, Raelyn,” Dylan replies and gives me a slight bow before turning on his heel and making a quick exit.
Kian’s arm is as stiff as a board, his muscles tense beneath my fingers. “On a first-name basis already?” he grits out.
I gently squeeze his arm. “Relax, Kian. We were just walking together. Nothing inappropriate happened, I promise.”
Not that he should care if it did.
Kian turns his glare on me, and I step back at the fury in his gaze.
“What?” I demand. “I can’t make friends here?”
“He has no interest in being your friend, I can assure you of that.”
