by Cayla Kluver
“Narian had fallen in love with me,” I said, eyes cast downward.
I heard Steldor’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood, and looked up to see him move behind me, apparently unable to tolerate the sight of me. For an instant, I thought he was going to storm out of the office, but instead he leaned his shoulder against the wall next to a glass-fronted weapons cabinet, crossing his arms over his chest. Galen showed no reaction to my confession but monitored Steldor warily. Cannan hadn’t moved, continuing to scrutinize me despite his son’s fractious reaction. My father’s eyes were unfocused, his lips parted in shock. I could only presume he was remembering a conversation in which I had let him believe that Narian and I were just friends, and that he was feeling deceived.
Now that the truth was out, Cannan returned to the original subject. “What was Narian’s behavior like in the weeks preceding his departure?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then recalled that London and Destari had kept me from Narian during that time. They had discovered that the young man had been sneaking me out of the palace late at night—in disregard of my courtship with Steldor, without my father’s knowledge or permission and without a chaperone—and had put an end to our illicit escapades. Not wanting to reveal these details, I again looked in the Elite Guard’s direction, realizing as I did so that our conduct had begun to annoy Cannan, who had little if any patience for games.
“Circumstances are too desperate to withhold information,” the captain warned Destari, his aspect stern. “You will tell me what you know, regardless of your desire to shield Alera’s judgments from scrutiny.”
“Yes, Captain,” Destari relented, with an almost imperceptible shrug of apology for me. “London and I prevented her from having contact with Narian in the two weeks preceding his disappearance. We thought it best that she end her relationship with him. When she could not seem to do so, we took matters into our own hands.”
“So our hope that Narian does not return to Cokyri is based on his relationship with Alera,” Cannan concluded. His next question was addressed to me. “Is there anything else we should know that would help us to judge his intentions?”
I hung my head in humiliation at the pieces of my personal life that had come into the open, knowing that what I was about to say would only make the situation worse.
“He pledged that he would never harm me, and I do not think he would break his word.” My voice was meek, for I did not want to speak louder than was necessary for the captain’s ears, in the hope that Steldor would not hear.
Cannan studied me for a demoralizing moment, though I could not imagine what he was thinking. Finally, he stood and motioned toward the door.
“That is all I need from you, Your Highness. You may go.”
I came to my feet, not knowing at whom it would be safe to look. My father was frowning in undisguised disappointment, and Galen’s eyes were flicking uneasily between the King and me. Destari had targeted a spot on the wall and was refusing to look at anything else in the room. Cannan, now that he had finished with me, was studying Steldor, perhaps also thinking of his son’s volatile temperament.
The men rose as I started toward the door, observing protocol even though it was debatable whether or not I still had their respect. Just before I stepped over the threshold and into the Throne Room, I glanced at my husband, and the murderous glint in his eyes told me all I needed to know about the conclusions he had reached.
I halted outside the door to the captain’s office as it closed behind me, for I did not know where to go from there. There were two things of which I was certain: Steldor would come searching for me, and there was no way I could avoid him. Sighing, I crossed the floor to exit the Hall of Kings through the King’s Drawing Room, reluctantly heading to the royal family’s private staircase to climb to my quarters on the second floor. The time to pay for my sins had come at last.
Hours passed without Steldor coming to our rooms. I tried to fill the time by reading in the parlor but eventually moved into my bedroom to lie down, for the tension had given me a dull headache.
I now occupied the room that had been my mother’s, but I had taken the feather pillows and cream-colored spread from my childhood bedroom with me. The feel and familiarity of these items brought me some measure of comfort, even though everything else in my former quarters, other than my clothing, had been left behind. I wished I could have as easily left behind my memories of Narian. While I no longer had the balcony off my other bedroom as a daily reminder of the nights he had surreptitiously visited me, images of him continued to plague me, unbidden and cruelly tantalizing: the mesmerizing blue eyes that compelled me to share with him my most private fears; the feel of his thick, untidy hair as the sunlight split it into myriad shades of gold; the soft laugh that touched my soul; his aloof but unpretentious manner; his confident assurance that I could make my own choices. I shuddered at the thought of Steldor’s attitude toward me, for he saw me as only a woman, relegated to supervising the household, planning and executing the social events and raising the children. All he really wanted was my presence in his bed, which made me all the more unwilling to comply. Steldor’s glance made me uncomfortable, his patronizing laugh made me cringe, his condescension frequently led to my humiliation. In Narian’s arms, I had felt extraordinary happiness; in Steldor’s, I felt trapped.
Gripped by restlessness, I returned to the parlor and walked aimlessly through it, stopping at the closed door to Steldor’s bedroom. I had not yet visited his private domain—primarily because I had so far resisted his attempts to entice me into it. I put a hand to the door, curiosity urging me forward, but the wild thudding of my heart caused me to pause. I did not know what would happen if Steldor returned while I was within the very room into which he endeavored to lure me.
I crossed the parlor once more and slowly sat down on the sofa, the reality of my life falling like a heavy weight upon my shoulders. Of the rooms Steldor and I occupied, I was afraid to enter his bedroom and was always jittery when he and I found ourselves together in the parlor. The only room in which I felt safe was my bedroom, and even there I fretted that Steldor would pursue me.
As the afternoon waned, hunger got the best of me, and I left to join my family for the evening meal in our private dining room. My father was there, although in a much less jovial frame of mind than usual. Throughout the stilted dinner conversation, he barely made eye contact with me, and I felt awash in shame. Just when we were concluding the meal, Steldor appeared in the doorway, his stony gaze immediately finding me.
“Join us,” my mother said with a hesitant smile. “I will have the servants refill the platters.”
“No, thank you,” Steldor responded without taking his eyes off me. “I have just come for Alera.”
“Of course,” my mother said lightly, although I knew from her expression that she could feel the enmity radiating from the King.
I stood, then walked past my husband into the corridor, my stomach churning. Steldor walked behind me, not speaking, as we proceeded to our quarters. I entered the parlor first but was barely over the threshold when he caught my arm, spinning me around to face him and slamming the door behind us.
“I think I have a right to know how far your relationship with Narian went,” he said to me, his voice calm despite the crazed glint in his eyes.
“What do you mean?” I cautiously asked, even though I understood what he wanted to know.
“I mean,” he snarled, “did I marry a whore?”
I stared at him, mortified, then without thought slapped him hard across the face. My hand stung from the force of my blow, and I stumbled back from him, my body suddenly cold as fear of how he might respond settled over me like a pall.
He rubbed his cheek, astonishment playing upon his features, then he grabbed my arm above the elbow.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
With no escape, and knowing that continued effort on my part to evade him would only anger him fu
rther, I gave as vague an answer as I dared.
“We…kissed. That was all.”
“You kissed?” He placed one hand upon my back, pulling me against him, then ran his other hand roughly up and down my body. “Or did you caress?”
“Unlike some, Narian was always a perfect gentleman,” I said caustically, pushing hard against his muscular chest. “Now let me go!”
Still he held me in place, and I knew how futile my attempts to thwart him would be if he ignored my plea. Emboldened by the peril of my position, I tried once more to shame him into releasing me.
“Narian did not press me for anything I was not willing to give!”
“Then the question becomes, what were you willing to give?”
Once again, shock reverberated through me at his insinuation. Just as I felt certain that he would harm me, no longer caring whether I came willingly to his bed, he thrust me from him. As fear left me, indignation swelled, and words burst from my mouth.
“You have certainly kissed women other than me.”
“Of course I have,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “But I did not pursue any of them after we began courting.”
His glower returned, and he again advanced on me, and I realized how foolish I had been to engage him further. I backed away until I collided with the wall.
“The problem with you, Alera,” he said, leaning toward me, one hand against the wall on each side of me, “is that you have been keeping the wrong man at bay.”
Unable to bear his accusatory eyes, I turned my head away. After a moment that felt like a lifetime, he pushed himself upright, then stalked to the parlor door, where he turned to me one last time.
“You will never be with Narian. You are, and always will be, mine.”
He disappeared into the corridor, leaving me trembling and so weak that I felt I would faint. I stumbled to the sofa and sank upon it, sobbing. I thought of how Narian had once defended me from Steldor’s ungentlemanly conduct; he would never have stood by while Steldor treated me in such a manner. It was painful to think of Narian under any circumstances but doubly so in light of my husband’s behavior.
I rose to my feet, not wanting to remain in this room alone. I left my quarters and stumbled down the length of the corridor, bowing my head to hide my swollen eyes from the guards and servants I met. I stopped outside my sister’s door and knocked, trying not to look at her bodyguard, Halias, and barely able to keep my tears in check.
Miranna appeared in the doorway and, at sight of me, drew me in and closed the door behind me, then wrapped me in her comforting embrace. With an arm around my shoulders, she guided me to the sofa, and we huddled together as my eyes overflowed.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
“He was so angry, Mira,” I choked, and I began to tremble.
“Steldor?”
I nodded, sitting upright. “He called me a…a whore.”
I struggled to say the word, not understanding how he could have used it, yet knowing that my confessions in Cannan’s office must have led him to this belief.
“What?” breathed Miranna, her eyes large and round.
At the thought that everyone else at the meeting might have reached the same conclusion, I hurried to tell Miranna the entire story, beginning with the interrogation I had undergone in the captain’s office.
“Miranna, what must everyone think of me? Cannan, Galen, Destari? And Father, he hardly acknowledged me during dinner. Perhaps they, too, think I’m a…” I broke off and buried my face in my hands. “I am so ashamed.”
“But Steldor didn’t mean it, Alera. He couldn’t really think that. It’s just—well, we know he has a temper. He’ll calm down, and then everything will be all right.” Her tone was soothing, and she brushed my hair over my shoulders. “And don’t worry about everyone else—not one among them would think that way, I know it.”
“But I deceived him. He didn’t know until now that I had a relationship with Narian. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” I met her earnest blue eyes, knowing she would not grasp the full meaning of my words. She did not know that I was refusing to let Steldor bed me, that I had led him to believe I was not yet ready to have a physical relationship, when the true reason for my reluctance was that my heart belonged to someone else. I doubted that Steldor would ever get past my betrayal.
“I suppose you did, and Narian’s been a sore subject ever since he got the better of Steldor at the tournament last year.” Distractedly twirling a strand of strawberry blond hair around the fingers of her left hand, she added, “But I’m sure if you apologize, he will come around. After all, Narian is gone. Steldor can’t feel threatened by him anymore.”
“He frightens me,” I admitted, and she again put her arms around me.
“But he didn’t strike you, Alera—even though he was furious, he didn’t hit you. I don’t think you need to be afraid of him—you saw him at his worst and he didn’t lay a hand on you.”
I found some solace in her words, for Miranna was right. He had not struck me, although most men probably would have, especially considering that I had struck him.
I stayed with her for as long as I dared, not wanting to return to my quarters but knowing that I must. When fatigue threatened to immobilize me, I made my way to my rooms, praying I would not encounter Steldor. I didn’t think I could withstand another assault, whether verbal or physical. I was relieved to see that his weapons were not hanging on the pegs in the wall next to the fireplace. Though I wondered where he was and when he would be back, in the end all I wanted was to cherish whatever time I had alone.
CHAPTER 3
ROYAL PAINS
I AWOKE THE NEXT DAY FEELING ANXIOUS AND restless, with a strong desire to escape the confines of the palace and the city. The activities of my morning, which consisted of a series of mundane meetings with my household staff, did not improve my mood. The afternoon was even less promising, and I was considering whether I should cancel the remainder of my appointments when my thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my drawing room door. I frowned, certain I had no other business until after lunch. Nonetheless, I bade my visitor enter. To my surprise, Cannan opened the door and came to stand before my desk. I sprang to my feet, and he inclined his head in a respectful yet understated greeting. Unable to meet his gaze, I began to fuss with the papers that were strewn on the wood before me, the disgrace of the previous day haunting me.
“Are you all right, Alera?” Cannan inquired, frank as ever, his dark eyes never leaving my reddening face.
I nodded, struggling to compose myself.
“We should sit,” he said, motioning toward the stately, yet decidedly feminine furniture that sat bathed in sunlight on the far side of the room. Cannan stepped aside to permit me around my desk, and I glanced out the bay window into the East Courtyard, certain that the flowers and trees were urging me to escape. As that was not an option, I perched on a rose velvet armchair, dreading whatever the captain had come to say.
He sat on a cream brocade sofa, his dark features and serious demeanor causing me to wonder if I would once again be under interrogation. That thought was quickly followed by the slightly hopeful one that if he had wanted to rebuke me, he would have summoned me to his office, rather than coming to mine.
As the seconds passed, I searched for something appropriate to say. Did he want me to express remorse for my crimes? Did he expect me to defend myself? Was he here on my father’s behalf? Try as I might, I could think of no reason other than the disastrous meeting that would explain his presence in my drawing room.
It was Cannan who finally opened the conversation.
“I know yesterday was a trying day for you,” he said, and I thought I detected a note of sympathy behind his words. Despite this, I fidgeted with the folds of my gown.
“You are no doubt concerned about the reactions of those who attended the meeting. You need not be.”
I was dumbfounded by this assertion, for though he had not yet expressed
disapproval or accusation, I had been expecting criticism of some sort.
“I don’t understand,” I managed, certain my ears had tricked me.
“You are the Queen, Alera. The only person to whom you answer is the King.”
Still unable to discern his meaning, my thoughts flew unbidden to my father, who had not spoken to me since the meeting. Regret rose as I recalled the disappointment in his eyes.
“But my father…” I ventured, unable to exorcise that last, wretched thought.
“Listen to me,” Cannan more firmly stated. “You no longer answer to your father. You are the Queen, and that puts you beyond reproach from anyone other than Steldor. Your father is now one of your subjects, and he owes you the same respect as do all Hytanican citizens.” He waited for his words to penetrate my brain before continuing. “Everyone has regrets, from peasants to nobility to military officers to kings. You are not exempt simply by virtue of birthright. Hold your head high—there is no need for shame.”
Time elapsed in silence. Cannan’s advice made sense—however strange it was to think that my status was above my father’s—and yet I remained troubled. I had confessed some of my worries to Miranna, but she was not well equipped to advise me, for she did not know Steldor well. Cannan, on the other hand, would be able to offer insight into his son’s disposition. The captain watched me patiently, as if knowing there was something else I wished to discuss, and I decided to risk his displeasure by raising the subject.
“Last night, Steldor was so livid that I don’t even know how to describe it,” I put forth, not wanting to divulge the specifics of my clash with his son. “It felt like…hatred. The intensity of it was frightening.”
Cannan nodded, showing no curiosity about what had transpired, providing yet another reason for me to feel beholden to him.
