by Anne Wheeler
“You’re lying. How bad does it hurt?” She shivered harder as he approached her, and he hated himself for it. Whether it was the fall down the granite boulders or from when he’d thrown her to the floor didn’t matter. He’d done this. Not the blood he saw around the hem of her pants, but he’d hurt her, in every other way.
“Not badly.” She bit her bottom lip. “It’s my wrist. And my ankle. I think I twisted it when I fell down the rocks, but just tell me where I can find a medical kit, and I’ll take care of it.”
“No. That’s not going to happen.”
He wound an arm around behind her back, then, meeting no resistance, slid the other under her knees. Something strange sparked in her expression, and she stiffened at the contact at first but relaxed into him as he lifted her. By the stars, but holding her felt good, even though she was trembling and half frozen. He wanted to stand here, just like this, even with the rain, but the way her lips were turning purple meant he needed to get her inside.
If only the trip to his room wasn’t so brief. With the greatest reluctance, he laid her on the floor and propped her against one of the chairs, then stuck a pillow behind her head and a few more under her ankle. While Ryllis stared at him, wide-eyed, he retreated to the bathroom to find the medical kit.
“You shouldn’t be doing this for me,” she said.
“Why ever not?”
Kresten set the kit next to her and switched on the fireplace. Fixing her ankle wouldn’t matter if she froze to death right in front of him. The glowing embers sparked immediately, and he twisted back toward her. She was staring at him, and judging by the way she turned her face, she had been for some time.
“Because—”
“I knew you wouldn’t have a good answer for that,” he interrupted as he knelt beside her. With all the gentleness he could muster, he lifted the hem of her pants leg. Her ankle was swollen at least twice the size of the other, and a long gash ran down the side of her leg.
And he’d hurt her further, out of nothing more than anger and fear. The influence of the vodka was gone now, leaving him sick.
“Your Highness—”
“Kresten.”
“That would be inappropriate.” Ryllis flushed. “You are my enemy. I am your prisoner.”
“Enemy? I doubt your enemy would be healing your sprained ankle in front of his bedroom fireplace.”
Her cheeks grew redder. “A prince, then. And I am still your slave.”
Realm’s sake, he needed her. He dropped his focus to the cut, lest she recognize the look in his eyes. Shadow Force ought to be grateful for his service. Most of them had no idea the kind of sacrifice required when someone like Ryllis was right in front of them.
“A prince serves his people,” he murmured as he wiped the blood away. “All of them.”
“You forget I am Cerethian.”
“And you forget my father also rules Cereth.”
Ryllis struggled a bit more upright and looked out the window. The storm had to be right over the lodge now, and the torrents of rain outside darkened the room, making her eyes almost black.
“I have never forgotten that, Your Highness,” she said softly.
“I wish you weren’t here, either,” he said, attaching the leads of the pad around her ankle. How long would he have to bear her pain? “Do you know that? I wish you were home on Cereth, growing wine or researching fertilizer or whatever it is a horticulturist does. I wish you’d gotten that work permit, and I wish—”
He’d almost said it.
I wish your father hadn’t turned you in.
“I wish you were happy, too,” he said, stumbling over the truth. “I would do anything to make you happy.”
He hadn’t known how true that last was until he spoke the longing. The little sparks of happiness he’d seen were a taste of something he—and she—could never have.
“Send me home.”
“Ryllis.” He switched on the box and moved next to her. She was still shivering, and her clothes were still soaked, so he pulled the blanket from the nearest armchair around her. “Let me see the wrist.”
She offered her hand with tentative grace, and his body threatened to rebel against proprieties when he brushed his fingers against her soft skin. Ryllis looked toward the rain, but he could tell from the flush that wouldn’t go away that it wasn’t because he was hurting her.
“I want to send you home. I wish I could. But the Council—even if I did, you’d end up right back here. And not with me. Worse, certainly. Thinking of you in that situation makes me sick.”
He dropped his gaze to her hand again. Her wrist was only bruised where she’d landed on it. Reluctantly, he released her, and she immediately brushed her cheeks with her palm.
“It does?” she whispered.
He nodded.
She shivered again.
“You need to get into some dry clothes.” He checked the timer on her ankle, grateful to the excuse to look away. “I’m sorry—I should have let you change first. Another half hour, though.”
“I’ll be fine.” Ryllis gave him a half-hearted smile. “I once got frostbite checking some vines for rot before they were harvested late. Turns out I just don’t do cold well.”
“Yeah? Why didn’t you tell me that before I dragged you outside to watch the flurries?”
She smiled, and Kresten readjusted the blanket around her and edged just a bit closer. Why was he so afraid? He might be involuntarily chaste for the most part, but after four years of idyllic marriage, he was hardly inexperienced. And by all rights and laws of the Vilarian Star Realm, if it hadn’t been for his bothersome oath, he would be allowed to do what he wanted with her.
He knew the answer to his self-control, of course.
“Ryllis?” he asked.
She looked up at him, questioning.
“I can’t watch you like this anymore. You’re making me cold. Come here.”
She couldn’t, of course, not without dislodging the pillows under her ankle, so he scooted closer to her, lifted the blanket, then rewrapped it around them both. Ryllis went rigid, like when he’d first picked her up outside.
“I’m warming you up,” he said. “Nothing more.”
“You could have found another few blankets to do that,” she said, reproach tinging the suggestion.
“Is that what you want? Another few blankets?”
Please say no.
Ryllis opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked out the window, like it was a way to escape, then stared at the fire.
“No,” she said, so quietly he could barely hear her. “I don’t want another blanket. But this—”
“Is just warmth. That’s all.” But how he wanted more. So much more.
“Really?” she asked, focusing on him. “That’s all?”
It was disappointment he heard, despite her earlier protest. Not innocence, despite her wide-eyed look, and not coyness. Even without reading her mind, after knowing her for as long as he had, he knew. Kresten pushed himself back toward her, and this time she didn’t move, didn’t stiffen, didn’t pull away. Just stared. He wrapped his near arm around her, drawing her against him the best he could without moving her leg, then let his other hang loosely across her.
Ryllis’s head settled against his shoulder and he held his breath, afraid he’d break the spell she’d put him under if he moved. Slowly, as he became chilled from the frost of her body, she stilled.
“You were right,” she said after a few minutes of watching the fire. “This is better than a blanket.”
He risked moving his free hand to stroke her cheek and gave a short laugh. “Believe it or not, me being right does happen every so often. And I do love hearing someone else say it.”
A noticeable shiver ran through her at his touch.
“I thought you weren’t cold anymore.” Kresten traced a few gentle circles on her skin, just to watch her tremble. How could such a movement affect him like this? It was intoxicating, in a delightful manner the vo
dka hadn’t been able to match. “I think you lied to me.”
Ryllis looked up at him from behind the longest lashes he’d ever seen. “Whatever could have given you that idea, Your Highness?”
It was all he could do to keep his jaw from falling open in shock. She hadn’t looked at him with the fear he was all too used to, she hadn’t sniped at him about Cereth or the Star Realm, she hadn’t reverted to the flat expression that always killed him. She had flirted.
He pulled back and gave her a look of mock horror to cover his desire. “Lying to a prince of Vilaria is considered just as uncouth as laughing at him, you know. I could throw you in the dungeon for that.” He furrowed his brow. “If I had one.”
Ryllis burst out laughing.
By the stars.
He didn’t know what kind of reaction he’d been expecting from her, but it hadn’t been this. His heart swelled at the sound of her happiness, all sunshine and birdsong and joy. He wanted to kiss her. On her ears, on her lips, on her neck, on her collarbone, on her—
You are going to make yourself insane.
He settled for the only proper thing he could do. “Your laughter is beautiful,” he said. “I hope you let me hear it again soon.”
Her smile fell. “You’re not the first to say so.”
“And?” She’d said there hadn’t been anyone on Cereth, but perhaps she’d lied. Maybe he’d taken her away from him, too.
Ryllis squeezed her eyes closed.
“Ryllis, what—”
“I’ve betrayed them,” she said, hunching over as far as she could manage with her leg in front of her. “I can’t do that.”
“By—”
He didn’t finish the question. It was all too clear. Merely being happy, if even for the briefest of moments, must be devastating for her. The snarling and fear and revulsion—those were comfortable. They meant she saw him as the enemy, and as long as he was such, she had a chance at changing her circumstances. Accepting them? Letting herself admit there might be a life waiting for her off Cereth? Laughing was the first step toward that, and, he knew, that was the last thing she wanted.
“You’re allowed to be happy.”
Ryllis shook her head, furiously.
“It doesn’t mean you don’t miss home, or that you want to be here. It just means you found something worth living for, even if it’s nothing more than a joke. And I promise you there will be more jokes, more happiness, more things to live for.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to believe that,” she whispered.
His promise had fallen flat, he could tell. He would work on that happiness, later, when she wasn’t half frozen and upset.
“I’m going to have Lina make you some tea.” He sighed at the thought of moving away from her. “Don’t get up. I’ll come back and move you to the bed when the machine is done. And then you’re going to rest, no arguments about it.”
“No.” Ryllis pressed against him. “Please don’t go. This is—” She looked away and chewed on her lip before continuing. “I think this might be one of those things. Please stay. I’d rather have you than tea.”
Her invitation—unexpectantly audacious and oh so welcome—was all he needed. Carefully, keeping her leg straight, he turned her to her side and laid her head in his lap. Her eyes flickered closed when he settled his palm on her head, and as he stroked his thumb across her temple, thrilling at her warmth, he realized just how much trouble he was in.
Chapter Nine
Kresten placed the chip in his wrist against the decoder on his computer and keyed in his authorization code. The computer came to life, running through the list of messages unread since the last time he’d bothered to check.
It had been almost two lunar cycles since Ryllis had arrived, almost two lunar cycles since he’d pretended to do a modicum of work. Oh, sure, he questioned her here and there, but he never pushed very hard. She’d know something was amiss if he did, and then what would be the point? She spoke more to him every day, and that was a step in the right direction—even if her discussion was about such innocuous things as the harvest timing in Therus, her father’s fear of not being elected during the next governor cycle, or the fact she still had nightmares about how she couldn’t move her body while they’d jumped. Kresten had done his best to combat those nightmares, certain he felt them himself some nights.
That was nonsense, of course. The only nightmares he experienced were his own.
He’d cut off her hair for the sixth time last night, and at last there had been only a few tears from her, though the bottle of spiced vodka he kept in his desk had been considerably less full afterward. How else was he supposed to deal with the look of anguish she’d favored him with before retreating to bed? Perhaps she could be trusted to do it herself in the future, because he was, apparently, too weak to handle upsetting her.
Kresten shook off the thought of her tears and turned his attention to the comms. Three lunar cycles of leave after an interstellar mission of any length was policy, and though he was only two-thirds of the way through his time, the real world never stopped because one officer was on leave. No one in Shadow Force took the allotted amount.
His eyes landed on one message—not marked urgent, because that wasn’t how Major Dahl did things—but for his boss to contact him on leave, it had to be important. He almost dreaded opening it.
Lieutenant Westermark,
I trust you had a good trip back. Colonel Löfgren is looking for a report. I know you’re busy, but give him some kind of status, okay? I’m tired of fending off questions.
Major Ivar Dahl
Tapping his fingers on the desk, Kresten closed that one. It could have been much worse. It could have also been better. He’d known Dahl long enough to know that the breezy, casual tone of the message was anything but. Löfgren, he knew, was simply curious; Dahl was wondering just what was going on with Ryllis—and he would never let that question go.
The next message caught his eye as he was debating how to tell Colonel Löfgren he had absolutely no update whatsoever. It had been, sent, it appeared, while he’d been reading Dahl’s.
Kresten,
I hear you’re back on Vilaria, even if you ran right off to the mountains and couldn’t be bothered to come say hello to your cherished family. I also hear you have a new slave. This I have to see. Tomorrow, say? I still like Cerethian sweet wine, so I hope you remembered me.
Vidar
Kresten wanted to reach for his own bottle of vodka that very second. Disaster. This was a disaster. His second eldest brother and his network of family spies had found out about Ryllis somehow—likely the food orders, so different from his usual meals, had raised questions. Or maybe Lina had talked, though it wasn’t as though anyone ever contacted Vidar on purpose. Well, however it’d happened, his quiet solitude and slow mission was about to shattered by the member of the imperial family who cared the most about tradition and laws and putting outworlders in their place. Ryllis would have a panic attack when he told her.
He found her in the garden, an old jacket around her shoulders and a trowel in her hand. Iria had fought her assistance when he’d first learned the gardens had been turned over to her, at least for the summer, but even the old gardener had finally admitted her worth when he’d last stopped by to check on things—none of his employees he sent to various locations in the hillside were interested in hearing his stories for the thousandth time, while Ryllis, he told Kresten, listened with rapt attention while she dug.
This afternoon she was alone, though, and Kresten gave a short cough so he didn’t startle her. She hesitated for a moment and brushed her hand across her eyes, then turned and smiled faintly at him. Her skin was pale, too much for someone who spent as much time outside as she did. It was clear she’d had a bad night.
He should have expected it. He could forbid her from crying in front of him when he cut her hair, but he wasn’t so cold-hearted as to ban it entirely. From the way she looked, she’d made the most of he
r isolation afterward.
“The dove-worts haven’t been growing like they should,” she said by way of greeting. “I dug one up to see what was going on and half the roots were frozen, so I’m going to move some of the youngest ones to the greenhouse until it warms up a bit more. I transplanted them a bit too early, I suppose. Iria says it’s silly, that they need to acclimate to the weather in order to survive, but I want to see them flourish. So what if they need a little help to do it?”
Kresten couldn’t help but smile, more at how she didn’t seem to realize what she’d said than at how the garden looked better than it ever did so early in the season.
“Then the greenhouse is where they need to go. We all can use a little help sometimes. Though”—he glanced around—“you’ve worked a miracle here already. It’s beautiful.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Iria had started an assortment of bulbs in the small greenhouse over the past winter, but Ryllis had planted them. She must have an eye for this sort of thing, because with apparently little effort, she’d recreated an untamed mountain meadow right here behind his lodge. Sunshine glinted off heavy cones of pines, and the scent of early honeysuckle drifted on the breeze. He wanted to park himself here under the blossoming trees and never leave.
Ryllis turned even paler at his compliment. “Yes. Perhaps I can convince Iria of that.” She frowned at him. “But something’s wrong.”
“It’s not you. At all.” He couldn’t decide if her recent aptitude at reading his expressions was an advantage or not. “But we need to talk, unfortunately.”
She brushed the dirt from her hands, still frowning. He sank on to one of the lounge cushions and she sat next to him, almost shaking, the questions in her eyes. Too late, he remembered what we need to talk would mean to someone in her situation. Would she think she’d displeased him? That he meant to send her away?
Curse Vidar for making me to do this.
“One of my brothers is visiting tomorrow,” he said.
Her breath hitched. “Oh.”
