“Lady Elessara,” he greeted before nodding to her escort. “Captain Mendeley.”
Elessara curtsied. “Rayhan, this is Loran. He is one of Lord Fernblade’s many sons, and the King’s swordmaster.”
“Swordmaster?” Rayhan nodded, impressed. “Tell me, how familiar are you with Sarrokian sabers?”
“You mean scimitars. We do not see them often here in the north. They originate from overseas, but traders began shipping them to Sarrokye’s port about a century ago. Gypsies and pirates tend to favor them now, though I acquired a pair of my own last week.”
“Really?”
As Rayhan listened to Loran drone on, he managed to sneak a glance at the elf he would wed, and smiled. Elessara winked, impressed that could find a topic that would loosen Loran’s stiff tongue so quickly.
In that moment, Jaspur’s consciousness stirred. He knew Elessara from Rayhan’s perspective, but he could sense his cousin’s “instinctual” bias. He was smitten, and it made Jaspur cautious. He knew from his past life as a prince that this visit didn’t end the way it was leading. Something went awry, and Jaspur knew a lady could turn a brave heart into a foolish one. Perhaps the foul turn began with her?
The rogue detached himself from his cousin, his consciousness drifting around Elessara’s arm and onto her shoulder. She shivered, but thought nothing of it. Jaspur cleared his mind and willed himself into her consciousness, allowing her thoughts to become his own. Her eyes became his as Elessara scanned the room, noting the awkward body language amidst the small conversations budding around them. The king made his rounds, his charm and influence mediating each one.
Halin didn’t stray far from the king’s side, his attention bent on her and Rayhan’s every move. Although he hadn’t said anything about her accompanying the captain, she could feel his fury from across the room.
Elessara averted her gaze, ignoring him. It was something she had picked up from her mother, and it typically put Halin in his place. Her attention wandered to the one-eyed rahee standing alone near a table full of food. He raised his brows in challenge, daring her to engage him in conversation. Elessara placed a gentle hand on Rayhan’s arm and excused herself.
Engrossed in his conversation with Loran, the captain gave a half-aware nod. Elessara walked intentionally toward Pip, never once diverting her gaze.
“Lieutenant,” she greeted.
“She-elf.”
Elessara grinned just to prove he couldn’t rattle her. “You may not enjoy our company, but at least you enjoy the wine.”
Pip set his goblet down on a passing tray.
“It’s tolerable,” he replied.
“You seem bothered,” she pressed.
“I’m sorry, is that not the theme of the evening?” he caught General Redwood's gaze and narrowed his red eye.
Elessara crossed her arms. “Well, your disgruntled nature is not assisting your captain’s cause. That much is obvious.”
“Nothing I do will make any difference here.”
“You don’t believe we will follow through with the arrangement?”
He frowned, and she could tell their betrothal truly bothered him. “I believe this is a wasted effort.”
“Why?”
Pip turned Elessara around to face her father. Bowing his head in the general’s direction, he explained. “Because hatred that deep never fades.”
Elessara stepped out of his grip, perturbed by his remark. “My father is one opinion of many. He does not overrule the council.”
Pip gave a doubtful smirk. “Hatred is a contagious thing, milady. If you do not sever a diseased limb, the sickness will spread.”
Elessara watched him walk away, their conversation leaving an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She looked for Rayhan only to find him settled at a table with Loran, the king, and a few of his advisors. She shifted through the crowd toward them when a hand on her arm stopped her. She gasped and turned only to find General Redwood standing behind her, concern carved into the creases near his eyes.
“Father,” she sighed.
“What has you on edge, my child? Is it the Mendeley boy? I will have the king remove you from—”
“No, father,” she stepped away, bothered by his assumption. “I have no qualms with the captain. Quite the contrary, actually.”
General Redwood’s lips pressed together in a tight line, perturbing Elessara even further. “If he has touched you…”
Elessara cut her father’s rant short. “He has been nothing but kind and patient since he arrived, unlike ourselves. Get to know him, and you will see this Mendeley is nothing like the one before him.”
She turned sharply on her heels and made for the table where the captain laughed with the others. Taking a seat beside Rayhan, she joined the group just as servants set several plates before them. Jaspur detached himself, his soul drawn to his cousin’s spirit as he considered Pip’s warning.
“Lady Elessara,” the captain smiled. “Impeccable timing. I was just telling Loran how our table lacked a certain beauty.”
Jaspur was thankful he didn’t have a set of eyes for fear they would roll out of his head at Rayhan’s sickening charm. He melded comfortably back into his cousin’s mind, his spirit syncing with the captain’s consciousness.
“Indeed,” Loran raised his glass. “I was starting to have flashbacks to life in the barracks.”
Elessara did well to hide her amusement, for the captain had clearly begun to dance upon the line of sobriety, as did Loran and the king. She thanked the servant who filled her own glass and listened in on their conversation.
King Mekkai spoke next. “Was there any talk of a Lady Mendeley in the works back home, Captain?”
Rayhan chuckled and shook his head. “No, Your Majesty.”
“No prospects before your visit here?” the king compelled.
Elessara watched Rayhan closely to see how he would carry himself.
The captain set his glass down and took a moment to gather his wits. “I am young in my people’s eyes, and younger still in yours. I had not put much thought into choosing a mate until recently.”
“Oh?”
The whole table looked upon him now, and Elessara wondered if Rayhan would ever get used to being the center of attention. “A few years ago, I fancied the thought of marrying for love and resented the fact that my birthright could negate that desire. As the king’s nephew, I understood my fate would likely reside in an arranged marriage intended to benefit my uncle’s kingdom.”
King Mekkai’s expression shifted under the torchlight. Loran, too, said nothing, for he sensed they had drifted from jovial conversation to delicate politics His Majesty had specifically instructed them to avoid.
“Then,” the captain paused to make sure he had the king’s full attention, “King Donovan called me into the throne room. Word had come to him—probably from my father—about my notions of marrying upon the whims of my heart. He dismissed his advisors and asked me to define for him the meaning of love.”
“What did you say?” Elessara inquired.
King Mekkai curled his fist over his lips as the captain recalled the conversation.
“I fumbled over some silly explanation involving warm feelings, half of which I’d taken from a bard’s song. He stopped me midway through my blather to correct me.” Rayhan lifted his chin and leaned back in his chair, his arms draped over the rests. “He said love is not light and fleeting like emotions. If it were, it would not have the strength to build and break alliances.”
“If not an emotion, then what is it?” Loran took a keen interest in the captain’s story. The corner of Elessara’s lips tugged in pride, and rightfully so, for not even an hour ago Fernblade’s son had resented the thought of even speaking to Rayhan.
“Love is a commitment built upon sacrifice, honor, and respect. It weaves an intimate trust between two mates who choose to be loyal to one another. Feelings come and go with time, but the promise they make is like that of a soldier to his king
.” He tapped the table with his finger. “That is why true love is unbreakable. The promise they make becomes the foundation from which dedication, affection, and devotion is built.”
Elessara’s hand slid upon the captain’s knee, drawing his attention. King Mekkai watched them for several moments, and the table fell quiet as His Majesty contemplated Rayhan’s words. He turned to Loran. “I would like to speak to the captain alone for a moment.”
Fernblade’s son stood and bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
King Mekkai waited until the young lord was out of earshot before he returned his attention to the Rayhan and Elessara. “I assume you know where this is going, Captain Mendeley?”
Beneath the tablecloth, Rayhan’s hand found the delicate fingers on his knee and squeezed them. “I do, Your Majesty.”
“Whose heart chose this path first? Hers or yours?”
Elessara and Rayhan shared a glance, their answers in sync with one another. “Both.”
Mekkai shook his head. “I admit, I had expected this to be a difficult union. The commitment and willingness you both express brings me great joy. You two are a beacon for our future. If you can swear yourselves to one another and love each other, it will paint an example for us all.”
Rayhan folded his hands on the table with a serious countenance. “Elessara’s company has been a welcomed reprieve from the hardships of my assignment, Your Majesty. She has shown great courage and trust in her efforts to make this betrothal between our kingdoms work. I am honored to give her my name and the inheritance that comes with it.”
The king lifted his glass to them. “Then you have made my decision for me, Captain. I will confirm the betrothal in tomorrow’s council meeting.”
The king stood and walked away. Elessara shifted in her seat to face her future husband, a triumphant smile on her lips. “To peace.”
“To peace.” He lifted his glass to hers, then to his mouth. It was a moment of déjà vu. Flirtatious glances shared between crimson silk and crimson wine brought recollections of Tennakawa’s visions to mind. Elessara sensed it, too. A look passed between them that sent a shiver of recognition through Rayhan.
She leaned over his shoulder, her breath tickling the sensitive edge of his ear. “Come, dear Captain. Let us show this room what an alliance between elves and rahee can look like.”
For Rayhan, the rest of the night became a blur of small talk and mutually feigned interest. When they finally made their formal exit, Elessara left with him, yawning enough for the both of them. The halls of Whitewood were pleasantly empty when they found Rayhan’s door late that night.
“Well, this is your stop,” the skirts on Elessara’s dress fluttered and spun as she turned to face the captain.
Rayhan stood straight, his arms behind his back in his typical formal posture. He bowed, albeit slowly, the wine influencing his balance. “Pleasant dreams, my lady.”
Elessara offered her palm and the captain gave it a light kiss, his eyes never leaving Lady Elessara.
Nadel let his gaze wander down the halls, silently wishing he were anywhere but in the middle of their awkward flirting. “Say goodnight, Lady Elessara,” he advised.
“Goodnight Captain Mendeley,” she curtsied, then turned and departed for her own chamber.
Nadel sighed as Rayhan watch her go. “Into your room, Captain Mendeley,” he opened the door and motioned him inside.
Rayhan thanked him and walked through the small sitting room into his bed chamber. He closed the door and began to unbutton his tunic, the image of Elessara’s sashaying skirts replaying in his mind.
She was beautiful. That he couldn’t deny. Rayhan freed his thick brown hair from its tie and shrugged off the silk layers of his ensemble. Pulling his wool undershirt over his head, he hung it all back in the armoire before approaching the water basin.
He splashed his face with the cool water, then used the clean towel beside the basin’s lip to wipe the sweat of a stressful night from his chest and shoulders. Wrapping the towel around his neck, he stepped out onto the cool balcony, his eyes trailing to the bright, starry sky.
Resting his hands on the rail, he arched his back and inhaled the night air. It was perfect weather for a late night ride, but such things would have to wait until he returned home. He breathed a heavy sigh over the thought of Nevaharday’s grand castle. It was easy to take it for granted when you spent your days cooped up inside its walls, but Whitewood’s contrast made him appreciate home.
Rayhan thought about his large room and the open window whose view stretched over the front courtyard. One day very soon, he would be enjoying that view with a wife on his arm. The thought had unnerved him on his ride to Whitewood, but now...
A tapping noise interrupted the captain’s thoughts. His ears twitched and he turned around, his steps cautious as he followed the sound back inside his chamber.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was a soft, hollow knock, like a child’s knuckles on a wooden door. Rayhan crept with silent steps, his hand wrapping around the knife on his bedside table as he followed the sound into the wash room.
Tap, tap, tap.
He inched sideways into the room, his ears tilting right as he pinpointed the sound from the servant’s door. Falling into a ready crouch, Rayhan lifted his blade.
“If someone is there, I suggest you speak up,” he said in a quiet but commanding voice.
“And risk getting caught?”
Rayhan let out a breath and shook his head. Sheathing his knife inside his belt, he opened the door. “Elessara?”
Elessara stepped inside, a clever smile across her lips. “One does not grow up inside a castle without discovering a few of its secrets.” She crossed the small distance between them. Her eyes studied his bare chest in a way that made the captain blush. He turned to grab a shirt when Elessara seized his arm.
“Rayhan, we need to talk,” she led him to the edge of his neatly made bed and sat down. “What is the story behind your lieutenant?”
The captain took a seat on Elessara’s right, her words catching him off guard. “What do you want to know?”
Her slate-gray eyes fell into a more serious countenance. “I spoke with him earlier tonight, and I found his words to be quite troubling.”
Rayhan leaned back on his arms. “My lady, everything out of Pippit’s mouth is troubling. I’m afraid you will have to be more specific.”
“Well, he seemed quite certain that our efforts toward peace would fail, and he had no reservations in sharing that opinion with me tonight.”
Rayhan shook his head. “Pip's fear that our efforts are in vain is no secret to me. I think it is safe to assume most of Whitewood shares his sentiments. I shared them too when I first arrived here, but you have since changed my mind. There’s nothing to fear. Not from me, nor from Pip. He is bawdy and brash, and he disagrees with most of Nevaharday’s politics. But when it comes down to his loyalty, he has always stood beside me.” He tipped Elessara’s chin so that their eyes met. “And my place is beside you.”
Elessara combed the captain’s wavy forelock over his ear so she could look upon the rahee that would soon become her husband. “Alright.”
Rayhan tilted his head. “Alright?”
She smiled. “I trust you.”
Those words meant a lot to Rayhan. Trust had been dealt sparingly to him since he entered Whitewood’s gates. For a woman whose family had been scarred by his father’s deeds to have such faith in him...
Swept with emotion, Rayhan cupped her cheek, his lips greeting hers with a desire that made Elessara’s fingers curl in his hair.
It was the first time he had kissed her since their vision at the lake. Elessara felt her stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t expected. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she dared to slide into his lap.
A soft moan crossed Rayhan’s lips as her leg slid across his thigh. His hand drifted down her waist. Elessara placed a hand over his, halting its caress. “Captain…”
&nbs
p; “My lady,” he pulled away, his voice husky. His eyes, dark brown and deep with compassion, searched her gaze. “Have I offended you?” He started to pull his hand away, but Elessara locked her fingers over his.
“Our vision at the lake showed an elven wedding.”
Rayhan licked his bottom lip. “Aye, it did.”
Elessara settled into his lap and Rayhan shivered as a growing desire he tried to quell rolled through him.
“What about your people’s traditions?” she asked.
Rayhan’s mouth found her neck as she tossed his knife onto the floor and loosened the belt on his waist. “Our tradition...” he whispered, “is a private ceremony.”
She slid the belt from its loops and it, too, found its way to the floor. “Will you show me?”
With a strength that made Elessara’s stomach skip with excitement, he lifted her up and turned around, laying the elf gently across the bed. Silk and linen could not conceal the press of his body as it fell in line with hers. Her eyes met Rayhan’s sorrel gaze where a mutual decision was made. Underneath the blankets, Rayhan staked his claim, thus giving Elessara his name.
“Say it,” he whispered as their passion neared its end.
“Say what?”
“Your name.”
Elessara closed her eyes and murmured in his ear. “Elessara Mendeley.”
Rayhan’s lips found their way back to hers, for in her voice he could tell that his surname no longer stung, but filled his mate’s heart with pride.
The captain saw it in her eyes when he pulled away, and so did Jaspur, who, with his cousin, swore the fate of those two houses could change the course of history.
Yet when the rogue’s gift tore him from the vision back to his self-awareness, the swell of hope faded. A sickness took its place and twisted his stomach. Rolling out of his blanket, Jaspur stumbled away from his camp to vomit.
He had lived to see it all turn. Betrothals burned with bridges, lieutenants became traitors, and everyone died in the crimson swell of hatred and betrayal.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 64
