During that time, Isla stepped over to exchange short pleasantries, welcoming him to their family and wishing him a happy marriage before leaving to join her husband and daughter. Jarrad and one of the other Mages—Grey, the Night Mage presently betrothed to the third female Warrior in the Alliance, Alma—joined him to offer their own teasingcongratulations. Evidently, Ilain’s betrothal was exciting gossip within the Alliance. What’s more, Ethenn learned thathewas now the center of great envy among the other male Warriors.
“Haadge is going to have a conniption when he finds out,” Grey remarked with a friendly laugh. “That man has been obsessed with Ilain for the last twenty-two years.”
After learning of Major Olsen’s affection for Ilain last night and now hearing about Haadge’s fixation, Ethenn was starting to question why on Terraeus the woman would selecthim.
“You filthy gutter rat.”
The moment that Fishere concluded with the Calders, Ethenn excused himself from Jarrad and Grey’s company before anyone else could approach Ilain. Though Auden remained at her side, Ethenn was grateful for his presence. He didn’t know the proper way to treat Ilain in their new relationship...if it could be called a relationship. Despite their betrothal, they weren’t exactly lovers. They couldn’t rightly be called friends either. Yes, they got along and had pleasant conversations during their travels, but Ethenn often relegated that to her niceness. Whatever “relationship” they currently had, it was more like acquaintances-turned-spouses than anything.
And that left him in a profoundly uncertain state.
Ilain and Auden turned to Ethenn upon his arrival. She smiled welcomingly, and Auden began to excuse himself. “Don’t go,” he said a bit too hastily, then added, “I won’t be long” to cover for it.
Auden stayed, though he turned his head as though to give them a moment of privacy.
“I just wanted to say goodnight,” Ethenn said.
“You’re leaving?” Ilain said, sounding surprisingly disappointed.
“Um, yes,” Ethenn replied. “We have an early morning, so...”
“Right.” Ilain clasped her hands in front of her, glancing sidelong at Auden.
Ethenn cleared his throat, unsure of what else to say.
Ilain continued to stare at him, her bright eyes unnervingly steady. She was stunning in her silky white dress. It draped loosely about her waist, though the square-cut bodice fit her snugly. The sleeves made him think of the whipped cream his aunt used to put on his cousin’s birthday pies, rippling softly to her wrists.
Under other circumstances, Ethenn might have considered telling her how beautiful she looked in that dress. Should their betrothal have been one born out of mutual love, he might have admitted how he wished to hold her close, to feel the soft fabric under his hands as he kissed her. As such was not the case, he stayed his tongue.
“Well,” he said with a forced smile, “goodnight.”
Ilain’s smirk wasn’t as confident as usual. “Goodnight, Ethenn.”
Taking his chance, Ethenn turned to leave, offering Auden a singular nod in farewell. Auden’s expression was unexpectedly confused, but Ethenn didn’t let himself ponder it as he strode from the room.
He hurried out of the assembly hall, through the courtyard, and back to the Crimson Clover. The truth was dreadfully clear. He knew he was too infatuated with Ilain, too desperate for her. It was problematic in ways he hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t feel a thing in return for him—not romantically, at least—and he’d allowed himself to be entrapped by her. What had he gotten himself into?
That ceremony... It was baffling. The intensity of it, the gravity of it—was he ready for that?
Yes, he loved Ilain. He felt all the things a man should feel for his wife. He would live and die for her. But could he Bond withher? Could he go through that terrifyingly intimate exchange of his inmost self and accept the role of...what exactly? Ruler of a country that didn’t yet exist?
Ethenn shut himself in his room, the darkness pressing into him. The cold air nipped at his face and hands, the only parts of him exposed. Though his ceremonial uniform wasn’t as elaborate as Deckard’s or Evylin’s, it was on the stuffy side. He undid the cravat, ready to be free of its choking grip. It was only the second one he’d worn in his life—the first being at Renaul’s.
Of what use were cravats to Ethenn? He was a hunter, a fighter, not suited for society’s frippery.
So how could he be what Ilain needed him to be?
Ethenn was a fool—a blind, wishful, idealistic fool. This was why he’d never said anything about his potential powers. He knew he wasn’t made for this life, so why pretend? Why act like a Warrior when all he’d ever be was a town boy with broken dreams and blood on his hands?
Ethenn tossed the cravat angrily at the open wardrobe. It hit the back wall, right where he’d aimed. Then he wrestled off his coat, throwing it in next. Everything he’d been given to wear tonight was black—the garb of a Warrior, he’d come to understand. It all felt wrong.
He couldn’t become the leader she’d want him to be.
After lighting the corner stove to heat the room, Ethenn went to the bedside. He turned on the oil lamp and sat down to pull off his boots. And then he stayed there, staring into the darkness for untold minutes, trying to puzzle out just what he was supposed to do.
Should he break off the betrothal just as it began? That’s what an honorable man would do, wasn’t it? It’s what Colonel Deckard would do. He would let her be with a man who loved herandwas the leader she desired, not some damaged brute who burned with an inner rage.
But then again, Deckard had advised Ethenn to be honest, to love Ilain with his whole soul. Could that be his redemption, loving her? And wasn’t that what Bonding was intended to be? Loving someone so much that you gave them a piece of your soul.
