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“Maybe so… but to the people of Norland, she is still their princess—their heir. Especially if you refuse a coronation. They favor her. God help them, but they do. I’ve talked to men and women. She’s a stronger symbol than the Black Wolf.”
They crossed a stone bridge and stopped in the middle. Rowan sighed and glanced at the soldiers sparring in the bailey and the lush wood beyond the castle. He locked gazes with a guardsman manning the watchtower. Rowan nodded, then looked back out at the dense trees.
Smoke is probably in there now, hunting for prey.
Suddenly, Rowan felt the weight of the castle above and around him. He felt each stone pressing down, smothering his heart and mind beneath the burden. How he wished he could vanish into the wood as easily as Smoke. To lose his way, run from all this horror, and live away from the bloodshed…
He glanced up at the battlements and dark turrets of the castle, knowing the ghosts of Winslowe Castle would follow him anywhere he went.
There is no escape.
“What am I supposed to do with the rest of my days?” he whispered to Edrick. “Sit on a throne and listen to the misgivings and schemes of a thousand men? I thought this… this victory might bring me solace.”
“Both of us have lived as soldiers, and we shall die as soldiers. Arrange a war council. Let them sit in your stead. Your destiny, Rowan, is not to be king, not to waste away the hours scheming and hearing trifle misgivings. You are a conqueror. We’ve captured Norland?—”
“Liberated Norland, you mean.”
“Yes, we’ve liberated Norland and made her ours. We shall garrison here,” Edrick said, waving to the horizon. “It’s a superior spot for our councils and scouting the coastal villages and ports.”
“And what of the girl?”
Edrick shook his head. “We have two options as I understand it,” he said calmly. “We can either execute her, or you can wed and bed her. You either claim your place through fear or through an alliance. Keeping her alive is dangerous, Rowan.” A warning sharpened his voice.
Rowan shook his head, his gaze riveted on the nearby village. Black smoke spewed from a chimney, and the church steeple jutted into an overcast sky. He could make out the townsfolk as they went about their business.
“No, Edrick. I shall not execute her. I will not bring more brutality to a kingdom that’s only known winter and bloodshed.”
There must be another way.
Six
Blanchette lay on the feather mattress and stared at the ceiling. She examined the cracks and crevices interweaving in the ancient stonework. A spider scurried across the ceiling’s length, disappearing into an indentation. How she wished she could vanish with such ease… but hiding from this horror would get her nowhere. It’d be a betrayal to her family.
Groaning, she adjusted her sore leg. She lifted two fingers to her face and tracked the raised scar. It’d already healed quite cleanly.
Would her heart ever do the same?
She sat up and averted her gaze to the pinkening horizon. The rain and wind sounded thin and wild, gasping with a sharp northern winter on its breath. She glanced at her hands, which were gripping her bedsheet, and noticed they were trembling. She studied her palms and the fine lines spanning them. She hardly recognized her own hands. And that terrified her.
She was a prisoner in every sense of the word and felt stupidly afraid. The drugging effects of battle fever had now worn off, and the ashes had settled, leaving a stark reality in their wake.
And an acute loneliness.
She felt that most of all.
I am all alone now…
A hard knock disrupted her thoughts. She turned to the door, her heart racing from the sudden bang. The knock came again, followed by Sir Edrick’s slick and booming voice. “I have need of you.” She cringed and cursed as she swept on her red cloak.
She clasped the garment, needing to shield herself from Edrick in any capacity she could. Then she yanked open the door, her skin already prickling from the prospect of speaking to him. He stood in his customary stance—feet planted wider than his hips, one hand preemptively on his sword’s pommel. His eyes glinted with a dislike that rivaled her own.
“What do you want?” she asked in a clipped tone while she stood a little straighter and matched his stance. In her mind’s eye, she heard Elise’s cries and pleas.
My dear friend.
She felt the weight of her arms as they shared that last goodbye.
Edrick merely remained in stony silence. At last, he stepped aside.
