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When he closes the door behind him, I marvel at how natural it feels to be alone with him in this chamber. Such a thing could cause a scandal, another of which I’ve no desire to be involved in. And yet, I’ve slept next to him, alone, for many nights. This hardly feels as shocking as it should.

Were he not an Elderman, perhaps. But I’ve no mind to give the minor impropriety another thought.

“Did your meeting with the king not go well?” I venture. “I had hoped to speak with him today.”

Aiken says nothing. He stands so close now I can smell fresh lemon. The scent seems to be a popular one here in d’Almerita. My own soap was scented with it as well.

“Whitley is dead.”

I blink, misunderstanding surely.

“Tried, found guilty of treason, executed.”

My whole body tingles, from my shoulders down my arms and into my toes.

“A trusted source brought the news to the king just days ago.”

I try to ask him for more information, but no words come from me.

“The king bade the man and those who traveled with him to keep the news to themselves. He believes it will embolden his nephew and complicate his upcoming meeting with Silvester.”

My husband is dead.

I’m not able to process the political ramifications. Instead, I remember his poor treatment of me. His rage at my supposed affair. Of him coming to my bed, using my body to attempt to produce an heir. I think of the prison that had been my home. And my knees buckle under me.

My chest swells with relief as Aiken holds me upright. Tossing my arms around his shoulders, I allow the tears to flow freely. Gasping for air, I soak the shoulder of his robe, unable to stop. Neither does Aiken pull away, which is just as well as I’d never be able to stand on my own.

“Dead.” I do try to pull away now as guilt takes hold of me. “Dead, and I weep with happiness,” I chastise myself.

But Aiken will not allow me to wrest free. Instead, he continues to hold me until the tears begin to ebb. A cloth appears in my hands, and I wipe my face with it, pulling back just slightly.

His face, just inches from me.

“Do not feel sorrow for your relief, Hilla. He deserved to die, and your sister saw to it swiftly.”

The fact does not surprise me. He’d been caught attempting to kill innocent people to cause a war. If there was ever a treasonable offense, ’twas his. And Cettina would seek to make an example of him to the others who cry for war with Meria. Given his history, and his mistreatment of both me and his position as a border lord, of course she had him hanged.

“Will you pray for my soul, Aiken? That I should be so shameful as to rejoice at my husband’s death?”

I stare at his lips as they part. Aiken pauses, as if hesitant. But he does not pull away as I fear he might.

“I will pray for us both, Hilla,” he says as his head leans toward mine.

21

Aiken

You are an Elderman to her.

I jump back, the memory of Hilla’s lips on mine, even though it was a farce, never far from my mind. I’d been about to kiss her again in a misguided attempt to comfort her. But this time, for no other reason than I desire it.

A desire that has gotten stronger each day we are together.

“I’m sorry,” I say now. Having her in my arms, consoling her—it had almost felt the most natural thing in the world. To kiss her, soothe her tortured soul by making her forget . . . what had I been thinking? “I will get the maid to escort you.”

I turn to leave.

Hilla’s hand on my arm stops me.