by Day Leclaire
Even a child could figure out where this was headed. “Whichever way Celestia votes, so votes the country.” The map crumpled in her hand. “Because of our marriage, Celestia will want to remain loyal to its princess and vote for her husband—namely, you. Celestia plus Avernos equals a crown.”
“Yes.”
Tears filled her eyes at the unapologetic acknowledgement. She’d been so certain there was more involved in his decision than simple greed. How could she have been so mistaken about the man she loved? “Then the woman I overheard is right,” she stated numbly. “You married me to be king.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes,” he said again.
“You bastard.” The accusation came out in a low hiss, full of feminine fury. “How dare you?”
Angela stepped hurriedly between them. “My daughter isn’t feeling well. Please. Could you give her some time to rest? I’m sure her headache will be better in a few hours.”
Brandt inclined his head. “Yes. I’m sure it will. Unfortunately, we need to deal with this here and now, headache or no.” He glanced at Angela. “Would you excuse us, please? You and Alyssa can spend the day together tomorrow and get caught up then. Today…your daughter and I need to come to terms.”
It was clear Angela didn’t want to leave, and equally clear she couldn’t bring herself to confront him. “Yes, Your Highness,” she murmured after an extended pause. Sparing Miri a single anguished look, she exited the room.
Brandt approached, silent and determined, and Miri took a hasty step backward, not that it did any good. Taking her forcibly by the hand, he lifted her fingers and brushed them with his mouth. “None of what I’ve told you changes anything.”
“You have to be kidding,” she protested, remembering just in time to alter the sound of her voice. “It changes everything.”
“I warned you what I expected from this marriage. And the first thing I expect is to find you recovered by this evening.”
Her eyes widened. Surely he didn’t mean…Even through the dense layers of lace and tulle she could see his expression well enough to know he meant precisely that. “Oh, no.” Maybe the veil gave her the courage to be so confrontational. Under normal circumstances, she’d have watched her tongue. “That is not going to happen. No way, no how.”
He simply smiled. “I warned you before that this would be a real marriage. Nothing has changed since then.”
“Everything’s changed. You’re using me to win the throne. That’s outrageous!” She kicked her skirts out of her way as she strode across the room. “I notice you were careful to keep that detail from me before the wedding.”
“For cause.”
She paused before him, relieved that he couldn’t see her expression, that he couldn’t see the grief and anguish glittering in her eyes. “You married me for cause,” she repeated. “What cause? Explain it to me. Explain that there’s something more going on than some clever plan to steal the throne.”
Anger shredded his emotionless facade. “I’m not stealing the throne.”
“No? What do you call it?”
“Saving Verdonia from the Montgomerys.”
She flinched as though he’d slapped her. “I don’t understand.”
“And I can’t explain. Not yet. Just trust me when I say that it wouldn’t be in Verdonia’s best interest to have another Montgomery on the throne.”
“You’re doing this to ensure Prince Lander isn’t elected king?” He fell silent at the question and Miri knew from experience she wouldn’t get any more out of him. Still, she had to try. Any information she could bring back to Merrick would be useful, possibly vital. “Has he offended you in some way? Caused some sort of trouble that would have an adverse effect on Verdonia?”
He simply shook his head. “Eventually I’ll be able to justify my actions. And I promise, you’ll agree there’s cause for concern. In the meantime, we have more important issues to deal with.” He smiled, a slow curve of his lips that had melted her on more occasions than she could count. Even now, she could feel that smile working and struggled to steel herself against its pull. “Today’s our wedding day. I’d like to see if we can’t find a way to make our marriage work.”
She wanted to agree, until she remembered that he wasn’t speaking to her, but to Alyssa Sutherland. His wife, or at least the woman he thought he’d married. Miri took a deep breath. “I’m supposed to forgive what you put me through? What you’ve done to my…my mother? I’m supposed to forget about all that and turn into a happy, eager bride? You’ve lost your mind, if you think that’s going to happen.”
“I wouldn’t have hurt her or you. I forced the issue because it was urgent that we marry.”
“For the good of Verdonia.”
“Yes.”
More than anything Miri wanted to drag off her veil and confront him as herself. To demand an explanation. But that wasn’t possible. There was more at stake here than assuaging her pride. She struggled to draw a decent breath, feeling smothered beneath the layers covering her. Not just smothered, but tired and hurt, too. Crossing the room, she sank into the nearest chair.
“I need some time alone.” She lifted her hands to rub her temples before realizing she couldn’t. “I really do have a headache.”
“Very well.” He indicated the door next to her chair. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room. I’ve arranged for a tray to be delivered in a few minutes, just some tea and a light snack.”
“Thank you.”
He approached, standing far too close. “And I’ve ordered a private dinner for later this evening. I’ll expect you to join me.” He touched the trailing edge of her veil. “Without this.”
He didn’t bother to wait for her response, which was just as well, since she had none to offer. The minute the door closed behind him, Miri burst into tears. It was a foolish indulgence, but one she couldn’t seem to prevent. She gave herself two full minutes to cry it out, then another minute to regain her composure, all the while forcing herself to face facts. She’d learned as much as she could from Brandt. It was time to get out of here.
A soft knock sounded at the door leading to the outer corridor and a maid peeked into the room. Seeing Miri sitting there, she slipped in, carrying a tray. “Tea and sandwiches, Your Highness. Shall I serve you?”
“No, thank you,” Miri murmured. “Just leave them, please.”
The girl had been well-trained. With a minimal amount of fuss, she arranged the contents of the tray on a nearby table, and with a quick curtsey, exited the room. The instant Miri was alone again, she ripped the veil from her head. Tangled streams of hair tumbled free of the pins, the sight of those sunny blond curls threatening more tears. The color was a painful reminder that the man she loved had chosen someone else, someone who looked as different from her as night from day.
She would have sworn her time with Brandt on Mazoné had been serious, that he was incapable of the type of cold-blooded acts he’d committed over the past several weeks. Her jaw firmed. But now she knew the truth. Brandt had married to be king. He’d married to prevent her brother from gaining the throne. Standing here weeping over might-have-beens was both pointless, as well as foolish. She needed to leave. Now.
Crossing to the walk-in closet on the far side of the room, she yanked open the doors. She found the selection less than impressive. Alyssa hadn’t come to Verdonia with much of a wardrobe. Either she’d planned to replace it when she’d arrived, or she hadn’t planned to stay long. Miri’s mouth tightened. Until Brandt had changed her mind.
Flipping through the choices she selected a plain navy skirt and ivory shell. Not quite the sort of finery a guest would have worn to a wedding, but it should pass muster for getting her out of here as Miri Montgomery. She slipped the clothing from the hangers and draped them over the chair before reaching for her zipper. It was then that she remembered her gown didn’t have a zipper. Not a zipper or buttons, or any other easy way out of her clothing.
She’d forgotten she�
��d been sewn into the darn thing, as tradition dictated, the workmanship too skillful to even rip her way free. Someone would need to help. Either that or she’d have to find a pair of scissors or a knife and cut her way out. Her gaze drifted toward the table where her meal waited, the gleam of silver catching her eye. Hurrying over, she examined the utensils. Sure enough, there was a knife, but a blunt one lacking even the hint of a serrated edge, intended for nothing more onerous than buttering bread.
It was the last straw. Sinking into the chair, she buried her face in her hands. More than anything, she wanted to go back to how it had been before her stepfather had died, to those amazing carefree weeks when her day revolved around falling in love with Brandt. Most of all, she wanted to return to that last perfect day they’d shared on Mazoné. To go back and relive those final happy moments over and over again.
“How far is this place?” she panted.
“Not far,” Brandt replied. “We just need to follow this river up into the mountain a short way.”
Scrambling behind him, Miri paused at the next outcropping of rocks to gaze at the heavy foliage that tumbled down the mountainside in an unbroken cascade of green. The river flowed beside the path they took, chattering over heavy black boulders on its passage to the ocean. Ferns and lianas overflowed the banks, while huge flower blossoms peeked at them with faces containing a variety of shades more spectacular than a rainbow. A flock of parakeets burst from the brush on one side and streamed in a flash of yellow, blue and green through a gateway of orange heliconia that bordered the far side of the stream.
“Move it, Montgomery. You can’t be out of breath already.”
The path drifted deeper into the jungle from where she stood, away from the river. Wiping the perspiration from her face, she hiked up the last forty feet. But when she’d reached the spot she’d last seen Brandt, he was nowhere to be found. “Hey, where’d you go?”
“Through here.”
His voice came from the direction of the river, well off the path. Shoving past endless ferns and palm fronds, she stepped into a clearing and stopped dead. Wordless, she simply stared. To her left, a fifty-foot cliff towered above them, the river pouring off it in a silver sheet to form a wide circular pool at their feet. A narrow channel to her right sent the river continuing on its way downstream. Flowers and foliage grew in and around the tumble of rocks, forming a brilliant explosion of color.
But most glorious of all were the butterflies. Hundreds of them floated in the misty air, like flower petals swirling on an endless updraft. She’d never seen such a riot of color before, luminous jewels of every hue given flight on iridescent wings.
Brandt grinned at her amazement. “What are you waiting for? Strip, woman.” He lifted an eyebrow at her hesitation. “You are wearing a bathing suit under your clothes, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Too bad.”
Miri choked on a laugh, but her amusement didn’t last long, fading beneath an intense longing she couldn’t disguise. Not from herself, nor from Brandt. She wanted him, had wanted him almost as long as she could remember. Her gaze locked with his and without a word she kicked off her shoes and slipped off her shorts and tee, allowing them to puddle at her feet. He followed suit.
Then, he took her hand in his, holding it for an impossibly long moment. It was a large, strong hand with powerfully corded ligaments and tendons that were far more suited to a laborer than a pencil pusher. He held her with tempered strength, the moment stretching before he helped her into the pool.
The next hour passed like a dream, the two of them playing and splashing in the water together. Laughter rang across the glade. Finally, exhausted, they levered themselves up onto a flat rock close to the waterfall. A soft spray misted them, cool and refreshing beneath the hot Caribbean sun. Miri sat cross-legged on the rock, combing her fingers through her hair.
To her surprise, Brandt’s hands joined hers, working with her to free the tangles. “I wish…I wish I could stay in this moment forever.” She tilted her head to watch the colorful dance above them. “The butterflies. The waterfall. The flowers and pool and—” Her voice dropped. “And you.”
“I’ve discovered nothing lasts forever, no matter how much I might want it otherwise.”
“That sounds like something your grandfather would have said.”
Brandt shrugged. “Not surprising considering he raised me.”
“As I recall, he had a saying for every occasion, especially when I’d get into trouble.” She shifted in place at the memory. “He made me so nervous the first time I met him.”
“Finally. Someone who intimidates you.”
“Cut me some slack. I was all of seven. My mom had just married King Stefan and I was feeling very much out of my element. Then I literally ran into this tall, gruff man at one of Verdonia’s royal functions, a man who looked even more like a king than my stepfather. How would you feel?”
Brandt lifted an eyebrow. “I assume you weren’t intimidated for long.”
“Heavens no. Not once I got past his tough exterior to the marshmallow center.” She smiled fondly. “Your grandfather was very kind to me. Gracious. Charming. Encouraging. He treated me like a real princess. And his homilies, though painful at times, stuck.”
“What was the first homily he taught you?”
“That’s easy.” For some reason she felt the sting of tears. “A Verdonian is born from the heart, not from the land.”
“Ah.” Brandt’s voice turned gentle. “You must have been feeling out of place.”
“Very much so. I’d just been told in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t a ‘real’ princess. And more than anything I wanted to belong to the country I’d adopted as my own.”
“He made quite an impression on you.”
“Oh, he did. A lasting one. As did you.” She narrowed her gaze on Brandt’s face. “Now that I think about it, you two look a lot alike. He was gruff and craggy and those eyes—”
“Piercing.”
“Again. Like yours.” She cupped her chin, leaning her elbow on her knee. “Thank goodness he was there for you. It must have been difficult, losing your parents at such a young age.”
“I don’t have any real memories of them. They were killed when I was a baby.” So calm. So accepting. “But I always had my grandfather. He taught me everything I needed to know.”
“Let me guess. Honor. Duty. Responsibility. And…” She screwed up her face in thought. “And sacrifice. Am I close?”
“On the money. Though I might have said ‘choice’ rather than sacrifice, though it adds up to the same thing. The choices we’re expected to make are for the good of the country rather than for our own betterment.”
“And when the two are at odds?” she asked, curious.
“No contest,” he answered promptly. “Verdonia wins every time.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “You’re so pragmatic.”
He accepted the observation with a shrug and a slow smile. “And you’re so…not.”
She loved that smile. In fact, she’d worked hard over the past two weeks to win as many from him as she could. Considering how rare they were, she regarded them as more precious than gold. He continued to gaze at her for an endless moment. Something in those deep, dark eyes sent a shiver of awareness darting through her.
How old had she been when she’d first fallen in love with this man? Eleven? Twelve? Granted, it had been puppy love. But even then she’d been drawn to him, had been aware of him on some intuitive level. She’d almost forgotten those unbidden feelings, the sense that she’d finally found someone who fit her when she so clearly didn’t fit in with the Montgomerys.
Tossing her damp hair over her shoulders, she shifted so she could watch Brandt’s expression while they talked. Nothing would make his face a thing of beauty. It was too hard, too austere, with eyes so grave and intent that most people had trouble meeting his gaze. Their intensity had never bothered Miri. She’d always be
en fascinated by them, and on some odd level, reassured. They were trustworthy eyes, eyes that didn’t lie, no matter how tough the question or unpleasant the truth.
Right now, she wanted to hear the unvarnished truth. “I’m wondering what happens when we go home. Between us, I mean.”
If her question threw him, he didn’t show it. “What do you want to happen?”
“I want to continue the way we are now,” she answered promptly, before correcting herself. “No. I take that back. I want more.”
“More.” He regarded her impassively for a long moment and then she saw a slow burn gathering in the ebony depths of his gaze, a burn that gave her hope. “Define more.”
“Tell me something first. Is this just a fling we’re having, or what?”
He settled back on his elbows, his features schooled to patience. “I don’t think our relationship qualifies as a fling, no.”
“Because we aren’t sleeping together.”
She scored another smile, this one wider than before. “You are blunt, aren’t you?”
“It helps if you consider me refreshing. That’s how my family describes me. Refreshingly honest.” She linked her fingers together. “And you haven’t answered my question. Are we having a fling?”
No equivocation. No hesitation. Just a simple “No.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Would you like to?”
He continued to lounge on the rock, resembling nothing more than a great sinewy panther. But underneath that casual manner, she could sense his gathering tension, as though he were ready to react to the least provocation. “What are you doing, Miri?”
“Don’t you know? Can’t you tell?” She was poking a big, dangerous cat with a stick. Brilliant.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, confirming her suspicions.
Not that his warning had much affect on her tongue. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of that fire,” she informed him. “I sense it’s there. Well hidden, but there someplace.”
He moved with a speed and deadly intent that caught her by surprise. One second he lounged casually beside her, and the next he’d scooped her into his arms and flipped her onto her back. He leaned over her, his shoulders so wide they blocked out the sun.
