by Kyra Gregory
Surprise awash all of their faces at the sight of him sitting there instead of their Queen, with no one other than his wife at his side on the throne beside him, Thane and his father on the other, they were all transported to a time when their loyalties were in doubt and their Queen was gone.
Amidst the surprise was the fear. It almost brought him comfort to know he could instil that within them and know that they might just reconsider their betrayal in the future. No doubt if given chance to speak, they would all offer their apologies for their actions, make promises of fealty to him and say it was all a mistake and that they’d been coerced.
But he wasn’t about to give them that moment to speak. Be it to his face or behind his back, they’d said more than enough—and he had heard them.
“My place on the throne came a great deal sooner than we all expected,” he said as the doors closed behind them. “I think what surprised us all was not just the timing but the manner in which it happened—it was a shock for us all.”
On that, they could all agree.
“I’d hoped that I would have more time to prove myself to you all before the throne came to me,” he said. “I’d hoped I would’ve had the time to put your minds at ease and to show you that I never had anything other than your best interests in my mind.”
The subtleties of the turn in conversation had them all shifting. They didn’t dare speak but their mouths fell open, almost as though they wished to utter their shock to the person next to them.
“But I didn’t—time wasn’t on my side and it wasn’t on yours either,” he said. Tugging at the front of his coat, making himself comfortable, he resisted sitting forward. His vision blurred as his heart conceded to his mind, taking over from where he’d left off. “Believe it or not, we had a lot in common—we were both fuelled by the need for stability for our loved ones. I have my family to thank for that understanding—my mother and father who raised my sister and I with love, the friends who stood by my side, my loving, dutiful wife, and the gift of three children.” He hung his head at the thought of them—the family he tried so hard to hold onto in his mother’s absence. “I know why you did what you did. You acted in a way that you thought would guarantee security for your businesses and your loved ones—and I did the same.”
Looking to Malia, remembering the reason he did it all for, and regretting absolutely none of it, he smiled.
Tearing his attention away from her, he returned it to the crowd before him. “Those that joined the Alliance Council did so in an effort to maintain the livelihoods of those around them. Of that, they’re guilty of never having thought to approach me before letting their fears drive their actions.”
The mention of guilt struck the hearts of many of them. It was in that moment, meeting the gazes of the men that had been confirmed to be traitors by Manus Baran, he could see right into the heart of them. The fear riddled in their gazes as their eyes darted around the room, told him everything he needed to know.
“I’m guilty of the same,” he said, offering them a smile in an effort to put them at ease. “I allowed my own fears to drive my actions, without thought to consult with those that could very likely have stood beside me if I asked them to.”
The admission of his own guilt winded them all and, finally, they tore their eyes away from him and looked to each other.
“Understanding from where the actions came, I will look beyond the betrayal this time,” he said. The shock on all of their faces was about to drive him mad, and prolonging his explanation for his actions was somewhat of a bother. “With both sides guilty of the exact same offence, it would hardly seem fair to punish the traitors purely because my position gives me the power to do so.”
Relief flooded the room, from the innocent and the traitors alike. When many nobles feared being mistaken for those responsible for the Alliance Council’s treachery, a blanket pardon for all offences filled the guilty and the innocent alike with ease.
“However,” he said, clearing his throat, cutting through the whispers, “mistakes are forgivable—not learning from them isn’t.” With a darkened stare to rival his mother’s, softened with a subtle tinge of lingering sympathy and regret, he was sure to meet all of their gazes. “I will be sure to learn from mine—of that you can be certain—but a failure to learn from yours won’t be received with the same mercy in the future.”
The grave look on his features sunk in and semblances of the fear returned to them. Relieved as they were that he had forgiven them, they knew he wouldn’t be taken for a fool.
When the fear had sunk in far enough, he cracked a smile and leaned forward in his seat. “Speak to me so that we might find common ground and work towards a future that would make all of our loved ones safe,” he said. “I believe that isn’t too tall of an order to ask.”
Looking to one another, breathing in their relief and allowing themselves to break into smiles, they nodded in agreement. Of everything they’d ever been asked, this would be easy.
He smirked, filling with a joy of his own. Casting a glance in Malia’s direction, watching her return his smile, he finally felt at peace.
The moment of silence, held entirely for himself, lingered a second too long, and he returned his attention to the crowds. “Good,” he said. With the thought in mind, never intended to be said, he couldn’t help the words that escaped his lips. “I hope, some day, I can be the King you deserve.” He hoped that King would be the one he wanted to be. He hoped to be a good King.
Chapter 26
ROLLING ONTO HER FRONT, away from the hot, sticky portion of their bed, Malia shivered against the chill that ran down her spine. With a clear smile, Riffin pressed kisses along her back, his fingers skimming over the curve of her spine. She peeked over her shoulder and, feeling her eyes on him, he looked up.
“This is the happiest you’ve looked for some time,” she said. His fingers against her slick back sent another shiver through her, much to his delight. She rolled over onto her back, drawing the sheets over her chest.
Maintaining the smile on his face, though markedly more reserved, he placed his hand over hers. “Why do you look like you can’t join me in feeling that?” he asked.
The answer was simple enough. While the world seemed to have lifted from his shoulders with having had the final say in dealing with the nobles, having quashed most of the rebellion in Ludorum, she clung to the secret that could change it all. She never wanted to be the reason he returned to the nervous state that had become the norm for them.
“I want you to hold onto this for a little while longer,” she said. Kissing the back of his fingers, she drew him close enough to return him to her side.
Leaning over her, propping himself up on his elbow, he entwined his fingers with hers. “Short of some catastrophe, I cannot see myself losing this feeling,” he said.
But it was a catastrophe. Rather than announced by a messenger, a threat of sorts from a distant noble, the catastrophe lay within their very walls.
“And, even if I did,” he added, softly, “knowing you don’t feel this with me will change everything.” His features softened further, his lips brushed the back of her knuckles and he steadied himself for whatever it was that kept her from feeling the same peace and elation he did. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he said.
Confident as he appeared in the thought of being able to accept whatever she had to say, she still hesitated. The words lingered on the tip of her tongue but, even bearing the weight of the secret, nothing within her wished to share it. She didn’t want to see the joy stripped from Riffin’s stare. She didn’t want to lose that grin she had found so much love in witnessing. She didn’t want to see him anger—not at her for keeping the secret, not at Thane for never uttering a word, or towards those that put them in through this in the first place. They’d started a clean slate, with so much of their future left to be written.
But Thane’s clean slate was cracked. That mattered to more than just him. It mattered to all of them. He
was a part of their lives and what he endured meant everything to all of them, evident in the way the entire family came together to care for him in his moment of need.
“Thane isn’t well,” she said. Those words were too soft. They didn’t quite reveal the extent of it, and she knew she couldn’t protect him from this any longer. “He’s dying.”
Riffin remained still, unmoving as he continued to lean over her. His gaze dropped to where his fingers held hers, brushing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.
It was like looking at Deros all over again, only different somehow.
Basking in the silence, her brows furrowed together and she squeezed his fingers with hers, a mix of pulling him from his thoughts and provide him with comfort. “I cannot tell if you’re in shock or if you’re taking this exceptionally well,” she whispered.
A smile tugged at the corner’s of his lips for a fraction of a second. “I know,” he replied.
She lifted her head from her pillow, puzzled. “You know?” she asked.
Kissing the back of her fingers one last time, he rolled over, leaving her to imitate his former position as she leaned over him instead. “I thought as much,” he said, waving his hand. “Lady Vimont looked surprised when I said Thane survived the attempt on his life,” he said. “Somehow, she seemed rather pleased with herself.”
She propped her chin up on her hand, taking in every inch of his features as he wrestled with the news. Because he knew, the news didn’t come as nearly as much of a surprise. Nonetheless, it confirmed the blow he knew he’d have to endure soon.
“How long have you known?” he asked, glancing her way.
“Since the day of your return,” she whispered. Having taken it better than she expected, she rested her head on his shoulder and told him everything. She told him of her discovery of him in the garden, of what his intentions had been, and why he hadn’t been told.
“Does Neyva know?” Riffin asked.
She shook her head, lips pursed together. “Your father has made an effort to convince him to tell her,” she said. “But he’s allowing him to do so in his own time.”
Riffin took a deep breath, running his hand down Malia’s back. “Neyva will take it hard,” he said.
She lifted her head again, propping it up against the back of her hand. “And you?” she asked.
Glancing her way, the tears in his eyes were unmistakable. “I will have to deal with it when the time comes,” he said. Running his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, he arched his back and shuffled until he was comfortable. “Until then, the best I can do is give him the life he wants,” he said. “He doesn’t seem to want the fuss, in which case I won’t give it to him.”
She placed her head back down and nestled into his shoulder, basking in the sensation of the tips of his fingers gliding with a feather-like touch against the curve of her shoulder. He would put in the effort, of that she was sure, but it wouldn’t be easy.
“I hope it’s not too late for him,” he whispered.
“Too late?” she asked. She didn’t want to believe in ‘too late.’
“Too late for him to be happy,” he said.
She inched closer, warming up to him. “It’s never too late for that,” she said.
Chapter 27
LEANING FORWARD, SWIRLING THE contents of his cup in his hands, Thane scrubbed at his tired eyes. The temptation to sleep pried at him, sinking its claws within him and tearing at his flesh in an effort to seize him from the waking world. He had no guarantee the thoughts that plagued his mind in the day would grant him peace in sleep, but staying awake meant that, at the very least, he had a fighting chance to make it happen.
With duties to perform and people to converse with, those that didn’t know his secret, taking his mind away from it was almost doable. Almost.
Something could always be said or done to take his mind back to it. Seeing a map would remind him of all the places he’d been, and of all the places he might never venture towards again. Departing from the dining hall in the evening reminded him of everyone he might never see again. Every word that passed his lips had him wondering if those would be the last words spoken to that person.
The temptation to make the most of the time he had, of telling those he loved them, of cherishing them and holding onto them, would only instil more worry in them, or tie him to them in ways that would make his passing so much more unbearable for all of them.
His black coat threaded with gold sat draped on the chair beside the couch was a reminder of the duties he performed for the family he loved. He wondered if he’d be able to serve them until the end, or if he might be better off stripping himself of all responsibility of it, lest he fail with his growing weakness.
“Will you be coming to bed?”
He glanced in the direction of Neyva’s bedchambers—their bedchambers—and took a swig of the contents of his cup. A reply came to mind but his drink drowned it before he could speak it.
Tiptoeing over, she pried the cup gently from between his fingers and placed it on the table. She wasn’t nearly as forceful as she once was. She didn’t need to raise her voice or chase him down to ask him questions. Be it the dead of night, or a greater understanding of his mind, she acted gentler than that.
Her warm hands sled into the palms of his own, wrapping around his as she pulled him to his feet. He could barely stand to look at her, certain that they’d been in this exact position a number of times before. He wished he was capable of being more than just this—of being more than a burden to those he loved.
Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged at the shirt on his back. “Please come to bed,” she whispered.
Fears he had in the past resurfaced. If he just did it all again, everything that should have happened the first time would happen now.
Without a word, he drew the hem of his linen shirt from his trousers and lifted it over his head. The marks there, new and far more prominent than before, remained a stark contrast to his skin, capable of being seen in dim golden glow of the candle-lit room.
“I already told you that I don’t mind,” she said, whispering as though she feared waking the rest of the palace. She turned away, giving his hand a light tug as she intended to beckon him to bed.
He re-gained her attention when he remained rooted to the spot. “You don’t understand,” he stammered.
Her shoulders fell and she returned, closing the space between them once again. “No,” she said, adamantly, “it’s you who doesn’t understand.”
Thrown by the hint of bite in her words, the fire in her eyes that burned as brightly as a flame, his thoughts of a confession escaped him. She wouldn’t hear a word from him, eager to speak her own.
“When you locked me out of your chambers and a door stood between the two of us, all I could think is how I wish we had more time.”
She seized both his hands in hers, squeezing them tight, the nails of her thumbs digging into the back of his palms. The pain, slight as it was, reminded him he was alive. Breathless at the sight of her determination, the fire in her eyes never extinguished by the glistening of her tears, he grounded himself in the moment.
“This is it—the time I wanted,” she said. Forsaking his hands and taking his face in hers, she smiled, “Be it for a day, a week, a month, or a year—I intend for us to have this time together.” Her lips suddenly wobbled, pursed together for a second in her efforts to stifle their quivering. “I won’t let you squander the time we’ve been given, thinking about the time we wish we had.”
She was right.
She dropped her hands from his face and he drew her in, holding her close. Her damp cheek pressed into his skin, feeling the thundering of his heart against it, she embraced him back, clinging to him as he so desperately did to her. “Please come to bed,” she whispered, a greater tremor in her voice. She kissed him, squeezing tighter. “I don’t think I can stand for much longer.”
Pressing his lips against the top of her hea
d, she needn’t say more. Without another word, he picked her off the ground, pulling her into his chest. “Careful,” she whispered.
Being careful hadn’t done him much good, he thought as he carried her to their bedchambers. Taking chances, going against everything he’d been taught—that had forced him to truly live. With love in his heart and passion in his veins, the genuine happiness that had alluded him for most of his life seemed like a possibility, even if his time was short.
Lying in their bed, curled up in one another’s warmth, the cold wind that fluttered in wouldn’t deter them. Instead, they would hold each other closer, and bask in the warmth they each provided the other.
Chapter 28
CLEARING HIS THROAT, WALKING hand in hand with Malia down the long corridors, the front doors to the Capital courtyard opened. The glaring sun shone in—the light at the end of their tunnel.
Prince Pietros lingered beside his carriage, conversing with a guard that packed chests of belongings onto it. Once stood tall, the rebellion and his brother’s chastisement made him seem smaller, not frail but tired. Arms folded against his chest, his back hunched ever so slightly, he barely found it within himself to look Lionessan delegates in the eye as he spoke to them, no doubt deemed to be unworthy of it by his brother.
“Are you sure you won’t be staying?” Riffin asked, approaching.
Pietros followed the sound of his voice, squinting against the sunlight but never quite looking at him, “It wouldn’t be right,” he said.
When Meryl and her children exited the palace behind them, clutching their hands tightly within their own as they descended the steps, Malia left Riffin to say her goodbyes.
Riffin licked his lips, debating his offer before going ahead with it. “Should your brother continue to be a problem, you would always be welcome here,” he said.
