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ThemomentSerenesteppedonto the cobbled streets of Zoroya, she breathed a little easier. She hadn’t been to Zennor in far too long. It was her mother’s homeland, and her uncle’s kingdom. Even though her heart belonged to Devendra, Zennor was in her blood.
The trip from Duvan had taken ten days on thePhoenix, and they’d just said their farewells to Captain Seveh.They would stay at an inn tonight, and in the morning they’d begin their trek to Kedaah, the capital city of Zennor.
She couldn’t wait to meet with her uncle, King Zaire. There was much to discuss.
On their way from the harbor, they spotted a stable. Wilf had disappeared inside to purchase horses, leaving Serene and Cardon to wait on the street.
Mist curled up from the cobblestones, which were slick from a brief downpour that had hammered the port city only half an hour ago. The rains in Zennor were unpredictable this time of year; sporadic, heavy, and frequent. Looking at the churning gray clouds above them, Serene expected another spill of rain before nightfall. Premature darkness was already creeping in over the city, thanks to the thick clouds.
Serene glanced over at Cardon, trying to ignore the flutter in her belly that seemed to always rise whenever she stood close to him. He wasn’t touching her, but he might as well have been. The warmth from his body heated her side, even though there was a little space between them. He was on guard, searching the busy street for any threat.
At thirty years old, Cardon had a maturity she admired and a goodness that had always called to her. He had a few gray hairs at his temples—which he blamed on her, of all things—and the strong line of his jaw almost begged for her touch. The thin scar on his cheek curved slightly, adding a ruggedness to his otherwise perfect soldier-like appearance. He was only missing the uniform, since they’d agreed to travel in anonymity.
In truth, she could probably travel as herself and be perfectly safe. Zennor was a relatively safe kingdom anyway, and no one here wanted her dead. Here, she was known as Princess Aren’s daughter. The kingdom still mourned their beloved princess, even years after her death.
Three years ago, Serene had come to Zennor to mourn her mother. Her heart had been aching for Cardon as well, who had emphatically rejected her confession of love. She’d arrived at her uncle’s home with too much grief to carry, and a widow’s braid that she still wore hidden in her hair.
Serene resettled her cloak over her shoulders, and her arm brushed Cardon’s.
He instantly shifted to avoid any further accidental touches.
She bit her lower lip, hating the strained awkwardness that had been between them since leaving Duvan. To be fair, things had been difficult for a while—especially after that night on the beach, when they’d both confessed their feelings for each other. She still dreamed about the kisses they’d shared.
She probably always would.
She wanted to tell him about her conversation with Desfan, but their intention to find a way out of their arranged marriage was a delicate thing. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, only to see them shattered. She didn’t want to torture Cardon with maybes and wishes. Until things were secure, they would continue as before—a princess and her bodyguard. Friends. Nothing more.
It had been easier in Duvan. Remembering their roles while in the palace surrounded by their obligations was one thing, but traveling in anonymity through Zennor was quite another.
Wilf emerged from the stable and strode over to them. “They’ll have three horses ready for us at dawn.”
“Excellent,” Cardon said, stooping to lift the packs he’d set aside earlier. “We should make our way to the inn Captain Seveh mentioned. We can procure rooms and turn in early so we can leave at first light.”
“I’d like to go to a tavern,” Serene said.
Cardon and Wilf twisted to look at her. Wilf seemed confused. Cardon looked almost wary.
Fates, he knew her too well.
“Why?” Cardon asked.
Serene lifted one shoulder, trying to appear naturally spontaneous. “I would like to catch up on news in Zennor, and there’s no better place for that. Imara shared that things have been strained due to deteriorating relations with the clans, and I want to see if that’s still the case.”
Before the monarchy existed, there were only rival clans in Zennor. The tribes fought battles for generations before one man had managed to unite most of them. Not all of the clans had wanted a monarchy, so some had continued their nomadic lifestyle. Over the years, those clans often felt slighted by the monarchy, or disliked not having a stronger voice in how Zennor, as a whole, was run. King Zaire had tried to remedy this in the past, with mixed results. Thus, Imara’s betrothal to Eilan Skyer, the leader of the Kabu Tribe—the largest and strongest of them all.
If Serene was going to have a chance at convincing her uncle to break Imara’s engagement, she needed to better understand the current situation. She also needed to determine how Zennor’s people felt about Mortise, if she had a chance of brokering a peace between them. It was an alliance she needed to succeed, not just because it might help end her engagement to Desfan, but also because war with Ryden was inevitable. Eyrinthia needed to unite against Ryden, or the bloodshed would be worse. If Mortise, Zennor, and Devendra could firmly unite, perhaps they could stop a war with Ryden entirely. Surely Henri Kaelin wasn’t so foolish as to think he could combat the combined forces of three kingdoms?
Of course, Serene had another reason for wanting to go to a tavern. A specific one, at that.
Cardon frowned. “We can mingle with people at the inn’s common room. Won’t that suffice?”
She shook her head. “We need to find a place that’s guaranteed to be filled with locals, not other travelers. With lots of people and drinks flowing, we’re bound to hear more than at an inn.”
Cardon looked at Wilf, who shrugged. “I see no harm in it,” the large man said.
Serene smiled. “It’s decided, then.” She snatched up her pack before Cardon could grab it. “We’re to look the part of simple travelers, Cardon,” she reminded him, shouldering her bag. “I should carry my own things.”
His mouth tightened—from the use of his name or her insistence on carrying her own bag, she wasn’t sure. They’d decided not to use any titles while they traveled. So, instead ofSir Brinhurst, she’d been calling himCardonever since they boarded thePhoenix. He still hadn’t adjusted to her casual use of his name; each time she said it, he reacted. And every time, she felt a thrill.
