“Jerek, of course,” he said, referring to the palace blade master. “But let’s not pretend you’ll let him. You’ll teach her yourself.”
“If she wants to learn, Jerek can handle it. Why would I interfere?” Turning on my heel, I strode toward the exit, already dreading what I knew was coming.
“Because you can’t seem to pass up an opportunity to touch her,” Greaves said, his laugh following me like a taunt.
My teeth clenched, and I grabbed the handle, yanking it open before stepping into the hall, not bothering to wait for him.
The thick carpet muffled my footsteps as I stormed down the corridor, irritation flaring hotter with every step. His words stung because they were true.
Whenever she was near me, I had to fight the urge to touch her. When something was said, I wanted to look at her and gauge her interest, figure out what her mind was thinking behind those dark eyes. When a joke was told, I found myself turning to see if she found it amusing. It was maddening, this pull she had on me. And I hated how easily Greaves saw through it.
I kept my composure, masking the distraction she caused, but it was a tenuous hold. My interest in her was a dangerous indulgence. She was off-limits.
Anyone could claim it stemmed from my years of celibacy since Tallon’s birth, but it went deeper than that. I encountered beautiful women before—stunning, graceful, magnetic—yet none of them were Nienna.
She saw the world through a lens few others shared. Duty didn’t frighten her; it shaped her. Despite her hatred for Tallon, she would marry him—an act driven not by choice, but by necessity, to save her people. The weight of that sacrifice was evident in her eyes, yet she carried it with a quiet strength.
More than a mere figurehead, she was the lifeblood of her land, a living symbol of Veridis. Her passion surged when she demanded what she desired, even if it defied the rules. Still, beneath that fire, there was a tenderness—she cared enough to ask about my faith, her curiosity genuine, as though each question was a bridge between our worlds.
My blood sang at the way she looked at me when I told her about my god. And when she asked about the painting of the Celebration of Life? Elohios himself was testing my restraint. I knew in my bones if she were queen, she would take that role and embrace it.
I clenched my fists as I walked.
Those weren’t safe thoughts.
The corridors of the Manor in the Mountains mirrored the grandeur of the palace, yet they carried a warmth the royal halls never could. I knew every turn and alcove as if they were etched into my memory. During the war, when rare moments of peace arose, Sol offered refuge. It lacked Eldeiade’s venomous existence, and in many ways, it was more like home than Reem itself.
A sanctuary. A safe haven.
Nienna’s presence here felt natural, as if this place had been waiting for her. After everything she’d endured, she deserved somewhere that offered both freedom and security. The manor’s defenses were nearly impenetrable—though not for the Kuh’lir.
On several occasions, we’d found the goats roaming the manor. How they slipped past the barriers remained a mystery. Since Clay denied sneaking them inside, windows seemed the most likely culprit.
The savory scent of roasted meat, spiced pastries, and herbs pulled me toward the staff kitchen. The room’s warmth embraced me as I entered, the crackle of a smoldering hearth mingling with the soft hum of activity. It was a cozy space,designed for function yet inviting with its worn oak table and the glow of brass lanterns.
“My king!” Will, the old cook, called out, his booming voice echoing over the clang of ladles against pots. His rotund frame shifted as he turned to bow, the aroma of gravy wafting from the platter he carried.
Clay sat nearby, a thick book spread open before him, his focus buried in diagrams. “Gayle’s fetching the princess,” he murmured, flipping a page.
I glanced at the table, noting an odd number of chairs. “You’re one short.”
“Bernard.” Will’s hands slowed as his face darkened with sorrow. “He didn’t make it through the winter. Caught the yellow fever, he did, and couldn’t shake it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—what of his family?”
Clay flipped a page and adjusted the lantern to peer at the book. “We’re seeing to their needs. His wife receives his pay, and his sons are apprenticed. One’s married now, with a child on the way.”
“You honor them,” I said, settling into a chair. Clay’s dedication to his community was admirable, the kind of stewardship others could learn from. He didn’t merely care in words—he ensured their well-being.
“My people are good to me,” he replied, though his attention had already drifted back to the pages.
“Master Claydon’sol is mighty good to us,” Will praised, setting out the food. “We would be blessed if his daughter returned to the manor and continued his kindness.”
Clay slid a ribbon into his book, meeting my gaze. “About that–”
The door swung open, and a trio of figures entered. Gayle led them, her movements brisk, while Poppy trailed behind. But it was the woman in the middle that stole the breath from my lungs.
Nienna.
