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Tarley’s eyes flew to the man she’d thought of as Ollie until a few hours ago. The man she’d allowed between her thighs. Her cheeks heated.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “True.”
“Are you opposed to marrying Miss Fareview on the objections she’d voiced in conjunction with your own?”
“I’m willing to forgo any of my objections on the basis that doing so will align our two kingdoms. This is what my father sent me to do, and it must be done. If that means I marry–” He paused, his gaze sweeping Tarley from head to toe and making her feel both hot and cold simultaneously. “If it means I must marry, so be it.”
The queen looked at Tarley. “The prince will have you.”
“I don’t want him to have me–” Tarley snapped then pressed her lips together. Raising her chin, she said, “I have no intention of marrying.”
The queen chuckled. “You have fire, Miss Fareview. A good quality in a queen, I think. A good quality in many areas.” She glanced at Lachlan. “I want this union, so it will be done. It is a story the people will love—a commoner saves the prince of Jast, and they fall in love—it’s the stuff of fairy tales, and Kaloma needs a fairy tale. Kaloma needs hope, Miss Fareview, and I believe you can be that hope. We’ll see it done tomorrow,” she said. “Now, I’m tired. Leave me.”
“Tomorrow?” both Tarley and Lachlan said.
“No. Absolutely not,” Lachlan added. “I need to get word to my king. There could be ramifications–”
The queen’s brows rose. “Fine.” She closed her eyes. “Let’s throw a party—a country dance. A fortnight. We’ll make the announcement then.”
“And how do you suggest I get a message to my kingdom?”
“Use a falcon. Sevens should have a falconer, but code the message,” she said and yawned, waving them away. “I’m excessively tired.”
Tarley dipped into a curtsey, refusing to look at Lachlan, and walked from the room. As soon as the door closed, she hurried through the corridor, past her mother and family readying for home. Her mother tried to stop her with a question.
“I can’t talk–” Tarley said and hurried away, toward her space above the stables. She needed to be alone. She needed to think.
The woods.
She could run away, hide, and she wouldn’t have to marry him. He wouldn’t have to marry her. She’d be saving them both.
She raced up the steps at the back of the stables, moving through the doorway of her small room, lit the lantern. Then her eyesight wavered, and dizziness forced her to grab hold of the mattress. Her surroundings receded, giving way to the woods, in the brambles, the blackberry bushes near the river. She turned to find Dr. Rufus too close, backing her into the brambles.
Tarley blinked, and found herself in her room once more, her stomach unsettled. She took several deep breaths, taking in the hint of pain lingering like the aftermath of a headache. Standing upright, she took several more breaths, unsure what the vision meant. Was it a prediction, or more like Brinna’s, a waking dream matching her reality with unconscious thoughts?
Grabbing her pack and adding in a few extra things for cold weather, she blew out the lantern, dropping the room into dark, and moved to the door. She couldn’t survive the winter in the woods, but Lachlan would be gone in a few weeks.
When she opened the door, Lachlan stood blocking the way. He leaned forward, his hands on either side of the doorframe, his eyes dropping to her bag. “Going somewhere?”
“Away.”
He straightened, pushed away from the doorframe, and walked in as Tarley retreated. “With what appears to be your belongings? That looks more like you’re thinking about committing treason.”
“You don’t want to marry me,” she said, deflecting.
He laughed, but it wasn’t joyful. “You still think someone in my position is ever able to consider what they want?”
“I’m not in your position.”
“You are now.”
Unsure how to respond, she stepped back as he stepped forward, closing the door quietly behind him, his large frame blocking any lingering light.
She couldn’t see his face, but she heard him sigh.
She lifted her chin. “Let me go.”
“Let me guess…” he said, his voice deeper, rough, with a note of… disappointment? That didn’t seem right. “You’re running. To the woods.”
