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“Perhaps. We’ll speak of it when we reach Niize.” His tone becomes stern and resolute. I recognize it now. Corvan won’t be swayed on this. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that he’s the ruler and master of everything within these borders. “Now, do you wish to walk a little before we make the journey proper?”
“Is this it? We’re not going to have an armed escort, or horses, or woodsmen to accompany us? It’s just you and I?” I stare at him in disbelief. He’s armed now, having stopped by his office to retrieve his weapons on the way out. A wicked-looking dagger hangs from a sheath attached to his belt. There’s a broadsword, too; long and wide and quietly threatening. The hilt is wrapped with leather bindings and well worn, as is the leather scabbard.
It’s a tool of war; frequently used.
With his weapons and dark glasses and his shorn hair—which has quickly grown long-ish and tousled—he looks rakish and terribly dangerous.
“Finley.” His voice turns quiet and cold. “There isn’t anything or anyone amongst my people that could afford you better protection than I alone. And an escort would just slow us down.”
Oh.I can hardly believe my own audacity. What possessed me when I invited this man into my bed?
Ever since I left Ruen and entered this wild, wintry land, I’ve felt strangely free.
Sometimes, I forget that I’m completely powerless here. I sigh and look toward the forest. “Let’s walk a little.”
“Delighted, my lady.” Corvan flashes me a charming fangy smile. He bows slightly and offers me his arm.
I slip my arm through his and we walk away from the hulking stone monolith that is Tyron Castle. We traverse a stone road until we reach the edge of a dense wood. Some of the trees are skeletal, having shed their canopy entirely, but there are evergreens too, treating us to glimpses of green from beneath their snowy blankets.
The woods bring an incredible sense of peace. I feel safer here than I ever have before, even though the memory of night-time monsters lingers in the back of my mind. And once again, I get a sense that the soaring trees are watching us; that they’re ancient and wise in ways we could never fathom.
They don’t feel hostile. There’s a benevolence about them that fills me with peace.
Even when my companion is inexplicable; a magical creature that unashamedly craves the taste of my blood.
In the calm embrace of the woods, I’m filled with a false sense of security.
I turn to him. “Is it true that you were first in line to take the throne?”
A shadow crosses Corvan’s face. For a moment, I fear I’ve strayed into forbidden territory, but then he lets out a soft sigh of resignation. “I was bred for that role, Finley. All my training was for the sole purpose of becoming emperor. My father wanted to shape me in his image; to ensure I carry on his legacy when he dies.”
“And what is that, exactly… his legacy?”
“Strength. Military supremacy. Power at all costs.” Corvan looks up to the skies above, the dappled light floating across his pale features. “He made sure that I grew up living, breathing, and sleeping all things military, because he seemed to think that I needed a certain toughness in order to hold the throne. Before the Northern War, I simply accepted it as my fate. But that campaign was a foolhardy one. Father overstepped his bounds and nearly led the empire into ruins. Most people have no idea how close we came to disaster. And it backfired spectacularly, didn’t it?”
His expression is difficult to read. I can’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but I can hear the rawness in his voice.
“Because you transformed, or because you changed your mind?”
He stops and looks down at me. “Both. You see, Finley, the mountains contain magic, and father has suppressed magic because he fears it. All his life, he’s desperately tried to understand it so he can control it. It’s the one thing he sees as the most direct threat to his power. But the Khaturian tribes we fought… they wield magic. Their magic practices have been passed down through generations. He underestimated them because the Rahavan Court has this misguided idea that the Khaturians are uncivilized barbarians. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth, as my men and I found out—the hard way. It was a war of attrition, Finley. I willneverput my people through that again.”
His voice grows distant. His presence feels cold. It’s as if he’s hundreds of leagues away.
The wind whispers through the trees. I’m imagining things; in my mind, I hear a word.
Danger.
I unlink my arm from his and put my fingers to his cheek, gently caressing his warm, smooth skin. He looks like a statue, but he’s warm, not cold.
It’s an instinctive gesture. I can almost feel his pain; icy and sharp, laced with cold fury.
“So, you’ve been cursed with the very magic your father tried to suppress,” I say softly, suddenly enveloped by a great sadness. “And yet, because of his laws against magic, you can’t find the knowledge you seek—about what you are.”
“Itisa great irony, isn’t it?”
How can he smile bittersweetly like this when he’s lost so much?
And yet… Tyron has become so strong under his watch.
