AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Oh God, I cannot endure another battle… I cannot endure losing more people I love…
I cannot…
* * *
The throne room felt unnaturally still. Blanchette stood before the hulking chair on the third step, which separated it from the large audience chamber. The wind whipped at the walls, making the castle groan like a beast in agony.
And that wasn’t so far from the truth. She’d woken disoriented and shaken, a dark premonition settling over her like a storm cloud.
Word had spread about Demrov’s army; guards were whipping through the halls and endless rooms, battle gear in hand, as they readied themselves and their weapons for the coming assault.
Months ago, Blanchette would have flushed with relief at the news. But now only dread filled her.
She made her way up the next few steps until she stood on the seventh and final one. Beyond the castle walls, the wind moaned, whistling through the cracks. She glanced down at her red riding cloak. She closed her eyes and saw her grandmother knitting in bed, her privy’s hearth alive and flashing. Blanchette felt the tears sting her eyes, but she stayed them. Grandmother Sybil wouldn’t want her to cry anymore. Not for her. Maybe for her country, but not for her memory.
Blanchette released a shaky breath. Then she grazed her fingertips over the carved arms of the throne.
My throne.
She saw her father sitting there, looking every bit like a king. Proud. Arrogant. Dangerous. Highborn ladies and men would have filled the room. She craned her head back to look into the gallery, where lutes and ladies in their fanciest frocks lounged. Laughter and flowing ale had swelled the hall, while in the village nearby, the peasants had starved themselves into their graves.
She felt Rowan’s presence before she heard him. Her skin prickled, and the very air shifted. She turned away from her family’s throne and gazed at him. He was at the bottom of the stairs, his longsword at his side, dressed in chain mail and boiled leather. His eyes held a haunted and faraway look.
“I wrote to Isadora months ago,” she said, her voice flat despite her rattled nerves. “I begged for her help. I told her I was a prisoner in our home, held by a monster who’d stolen everything we’d held dear.” She smiled softly. Rowan sighed and made his way up the steps, his heavy boots echoing in the colossal room.
“It’s okay. Blanchette…”
“Shh,” she whispered. “I know.” She reached out her hand and laid it on his stubbly cheek. He dipped into her touch, a long breath escaping his lips and brushing her skin. He wrapped his hand around hers, then kissed the center of her palm.
“Months ago, such news would have come as a breath of relief… but everything has changed. I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Rowan. I cannot.”
He climbed the last few steps and closed the distance between them. “You shall never lose me.”
“Do… do you mean to surrender? Perhaps there can be peace. A negotiation. Something. Anything. So many innocent lives…”
She heard the desperation in her own voice and winced. A vengeful army was here for them, carried by Norland’s sea. The chance for peace was slim, the likelihood of bloodshed a grave certainty.
How much of this is my fault? Because of the letter I wrote to Isadora…
Rowan’s gaze flitted past her and planted on the throne. She watched the tension tighten his brow, and his lips sulked at the corners. “If I surrender,” he said, his voice slow and deep, swelling the room with its dark and resonant brilliance. She felt it move through her too. “If I surrender, I surrender you. Everything I’ve fought for. Everything I’ve fought against.” He stepped closer and dropped his head so his hot breaths moved against her cheeks. She caught the scent of ale. “You’ve seen what Huntley’s done. I must stop him.”
“Huntley,” she said, a wave of sudden nausea overcoming her. “My betrothed… I should have seen this.”
“Him, yes—and Edrick. I should have seen it. I’m a fool, and I’ve failed you. And I’ll be damned if I allow either of them to take you from me.”
Blanchette swallowed. She felt lightheaded. “Will it ever end? My father brought so much bloodshed… the siege… and now this. Isn’t there a better way?”
* * *
She looked small and fragile inside the immense throne room. She could get lost here, Rowan thought, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He drew toward her, like a moth to a flame, watching as her red lips parted at his approach. Her golden curls were loose and full, tumbling down her slender shoulders. He gazed down at her, and his hands came to the side of her face. She dipped into his left palm, rubbing the scar against his skin, the soft wisp of her breaths coming shallow and fast.
He swallowed hard, all his armor shedding off him. A harsh wind slapped against the castle’s stones and sent a loud bellow through the hall. And beyond that, he heard the din of a castle readying itself for the assault.
“Would you have me, Blanchette? This is all yours. It shall always be yours. Could I sit beside you? Would you fight with me for Norland—for your people?”
Her eyes fluttered open and lifted to his gaze. His insides heated at the fire in her stare. It was forward. Sensual. Loving. Her face lifted from his palm, and a smile claimed her lips. “When this is all over, I will marry you in front of the kingdom. I?—”
He covered his mouth with hers. She opened for him, and her slim arms snaked around his waist. He felt as she shifted on her heels and nearly lost her balance. He wrapped his right arm tightly around her and held her toward the refuge of his chest. He felt her breasts straining against him, her mouth moving with his, the feel of her fingers raking at his back… digging, searching, looking for something with a raw desperation he easily matched. Her hand smoothed up and down his spine, up and down, and she moaned into his mouth.
