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Eldon should know better. Eldondoesknow better. Even if he’s two years older than I am, we spent much of our childhood and adolescence protecting one another from our respective sires. Nothing solidifies a relationship like taking a beating for someone. No Cyrun brother ever did that for me, that’s for sure. Eldon and I have had each other’s backs from the beginning – which makes his pronouncements all the more cutting.
Except, by day three of my great sulk, deep down, I acknowledge what I’ve always known – that my usually good-natured cousin has spoken the truth. Thereareproblems and Ishouldbe doing more to correct them. But according to my Uncle Teo, change that comes too quickly will thaw the rule of law faster than the snowpack in a spring heat wave. I’m inclined to agree with the old man even if he did have a close relationship with my father.
The possibility of a revolt against me is very real.
I’m too young, some say.
Or too soft.
Or too stupid, especially after the First Deve cornered me with this fucking marriage contract.
Admittedly the men who are vocal in their opposition to me came up in the ranks under my father. They’re all older. Even before I made my coup, they resented my rise to the position of Warrior Commander. Could they beat me in one-on-one challenges? Not bloody likely. But a village-wide revolt led by them could tear this realm right down the middle. After three generations of peace, the thought of my people taking up arms against each other is incomprehensible.
A fact that re-ignites the old mental tug of war in me.Am I worthy to lead? And if I am, shouldn’t I be doing more? Why do I dither? Why can’t I find a straight-forward path, one where the cost of doing the right thing isn’t so high?
Perhaps Iamjust another version of my father.
I admit I’ve turned a blind eye on occasion to questionable circumstances that I didn’t want to deal with. In fact, Eldon is right about Rina. Though it took his rebuke to realize that my knee-jerk reaction to Carson’s death was exactly what my father’s would have been. And that fills me with shame.
Plus, on top of everything else, there’s my unreasonable behavior regarding her and the letter to contend with. As I trudge up these never-ending stairs to see the woman in question, I’m not feeling particularly hopeful that this encounter is going to go well. If I were in her place, I would send me to the bottom of a lake, weighed down by a boulder. At least I’m not empty handed since I’ve got her ring in my vest pocket. But truthfully, I’m hoping to keep the ring in reserve for future contingencies. She did already agree to read the letter for me after all . . . even if I didn’t realize it at the time.
Maybe I should give her the ring as a gesture of goodwill?
The idea has a bark of laughter launching itself from my chest to echo off the stone walls around me. I really would deserve the brands oftoo young, too soft,andtoo stupidif I did that.
The memory of Rina stabbing Cayson in the Great Hall appears unbidden in my mind, sending a jolt of lust through me. The woman is a witch, I swear. Because, over the last few days, if I wasn’t bemoaning my cousin or replaying our talk, I was trying not to think about Rina’s blood-thirsty penchant for revenge . . . or her insightful observations, or her barbed insults of my person, or her languid perusal of my body at the baths.
I’m more than halfway to my destination when I realize my memories have slid into daydreams of a very carnal nature.Shit.I give a quick scan of the rolled parchment in my hand to re-center my thoughts. The simple sketch of a mountain lion is the only thing visible without unrolling it, but I know that inside, beyond the recognizable crest of the D’heilar family, the page is filled with the baffling interconnected lines that somehow convey meaning. That immediately cools my ardor.
At the top of the stairs, I breeze by Ion with a nod, satisfied there’s now a proper guard rotation in place. But my stride stalls out when I come to her room and find there’s still no door.What the fuck?Self-recrimination rears its ugly head. While I’ve been in a childish snit, she’s been left exposed. Dammit. It’s one more thing that, as deve, I should have checked on.
Stepping into the room, I find her sitting on a fur on the window ledge, with another wrapped around her. She trains her amber eyes on me . . . resulting in a staring contest I could do without.
Her brimming reproach, either about the door or maybe my extended absence, announces that she has no intention of making this easy on me. I’m torn between cowing her into submission and continuing to gawk at her still-bruised, but beautiful face, which I notice has lost some of its gauntness since I saw her last. The tension between us becomes so uncomfortable that I’m forced to speak first. “You look much better.”
No response. Just a bland stare.
“The door should have been fixed by now,” I say, toeing at the wreckage, which has been neatly piled against the wall.
Still nothing.
This woman.
As if to dismiss me, she goes back to staring out the window.
“I took Glory out yesterday.” Her head swings back around and I almost cringe at the memory of her accusation ofmanipulator.“I don’t think she appreciates having to haul my extra weight around.”
She scans down my body like she’s taking my measure, stalling for a moment at my groin . . . and my cock twitches. Then I feel like an idiot because it’s the parchment in my hand she’s interested in, not my manhood. “N–” Her voice catches as if it hasn’t been used in a while. She tries again. “No, she wouldn’t. I’m sure you hold her back from her true speed.”
We go back to silence.
My victory at getting her to interact with me shrivels. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she says stonily.
After another bout of staring each other down, I raise the letter up in defeat. “Will you tell me what it says?”
Surprise blooms across her face as if she never expected me to actually do it. Holding out her hand, she chides me with, “I said I would.”
