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The reminder stuns me a little as I stay perched on the windowsill in the combat room. Twelve years in this part of the dark realm, twelve years of marriage to a removed prince, and twelve years of motherhood.
And yet, I haven’t changed.
I’m much the same as I once was. I’m still …sad.
Maybe I will be forever. Maybe that sadness will carry within my heart-space until I’m gone from this world and back in the other, warmer one where Death’s touch is a relief.
The clatter of a sword rattles me, yanking me out of my thoughts.
I blink, flicking my gaze to Flower as she lands hard on her back, her sword skittering away from her. Cliff looms over her and, though he’s merely training her, my stomach twists and I have the sudden urge to gouge out his eyes.
That’s part of the reason I insist on being here for her training—to satisfy the urges that come with motherhood.
I push up from the ledge and stalk over to them.
Cliff’s gaze flickers to me for a beat before he takes a step back.
I crouch down beside my daughter. She swats my outstretching hands away with a murmured ‘I’m fine’, but still, I clutch onto her arms and help her up.
“Maybe that’s enough for now,” I tell her.
She argues with the twist on her face and the pout that she’s mastered from me (according to Daein).
“Mother,” she snaps, shrugging away from me, “the tournament is in a couple of weeks. I need to practice. If it stresses you so, then do not watch my training.”
Out the corner of my eye, Cliff gives a slight nod.
My mouth falls into a flat line.
“She is right, wife.” Daein’s familiar, cold voice comes from the double doors behind me. “Walk with me instead.”
Setting my jaw, I sense the order when the turn of his voice hardens to stone. This is no offer.
With a sigh, I let my hands fall away from Flower, seeing the uncertainty flicker across her face—she thinks she has hurt me, and she carries regret for it. I ease her with a smile, a forced one, but still.
I wander over to Daein who waits at the doors, leaning against the wooden frame. His boots are crossed at the ankles, his riding gear clinging to his muscles like a second skin, moulded to his strong shape, and the collar of leather top does much to conceal his markings from me. Shame, since I’ve come to be quite fond of those inky marks that cover his body.
Daein pushes from the frame to greet me with a ghosted kiss over the lips. I return it with a pleased hum, letting my fingers entwine with his ungloved ones.
“How was your ride?” I ask as he steers me out of the combat room. Faintly, I hear the sword scrape over the hardwood floor as Flower gets back to her training.
“Dull.” Daein’s voice is clipped. “Elden and I still have little to speak about to one another. Time, it seems, will not heal the wounds we share.”
I throw him a side eye as he guides me down the rear of the castle, and I suspect we are headed to the lake.
“He tried to kill me,” I mutter. “And your daughter.”
“He was unsuccessful,” Daein comments.
“So? Intentions are important, just as actions are.” I scowl at him as we walk under the vine-covered arch to the gardens. “There are some things you can’t forgive—that’s why these rides of yours don’t soothe your relationship. You’re still angry with him.”
For a moment, he is silent. I hear only his boots pad on the dirt path down the way to the lake. He pauses when we reach the crystal clear water, taking in the scenery, the mist of the mountains far ahead, the cloudy, icy mist that reminds me so much of his eyes at times.
“He is my brother,” he says finally, then shifts to sit on the grassy shore. His hand stays firm on mine and, with a tug, he guides me down beside him. “I must attempt to repair our relationship.”
I shrug, watching the mountains ahead.
“Has Ensley confided in you about the boy she likes?” I ask him after a while. I don’t look at him, but I see his face turn to me out the corner of my eye. His silence is my answer—no. “He’s a litalf prince,” I tell him. “A Halfling.”
