Always Golden

by Gina Dickerson

  ‘Return to my castle and free my friend.’

  ‘On your own?’ Mairsile’s eyes widened to saucer-size. ‘Against trained soldiers?’

  ‘If I must.’ Oriana’s heart raced at the thought of it. ‘Once I have found out about the ring around her neck and how to remove it. I know the castle inside out, even if Hashir has his men study the layout they won’t know more than I do. Hopefully I’ll be able to sneak in and rescue her without a single soldier seeing me.’’

  ‘Good luck,’ Mairsile said as there was a knock at the bedroom door. ‘I’ll always be on your side.’

  ‘Your sister will be fine.’ Vilas drew up behind Oriana on the veranda as she watched Mairsile ride off in the direction of the forest with a soldier on another horse beside her.

  ‘I hope so, or I will hold you responsible. She’s a good girl and your army ripped our lives apart today.’

  Vilas was so close Oriana could feel the heat from his body; smell the musky scent he wore. His breath tickled the back of her neck as he spoke.

  ‘It is not my army,’ Vilas replied. ‘If I had a choice I would be—’ He stopped abruptly.

  Oriana twisted around. Silhouetted against the soft glow from inside of the house, Vilas cut an imposing figure. He had removed his armour and the soft material of his undershirt emphasised his muscular arms and shoulders. Three buttons at the neck of the top were undone and Oriana only realised she was staring when Vilas coughed.

  ‘Do you have anything to drink?’ he asked.

  Oriana bit her lip. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Vilas chuckled. ‘How can you not know if you have anything to drink? Did your father not drink?’

  Thinking of her own father, Oriana nodded. ‘Let’s take a look in the kitchen.’

  Vilas held the front door open for Oriana, indicating for her to slip underneath his arm. Oriana hesitated.

  ‘I won’t bite.’

  Oriana glanced at Vilas as he followed her to the kitchen. Conscious of his eyes upon her, she tried to distract him from the fact she did not know where anything was. ‘Your men cleaned up the blood, I see.’

  ‘They did their best.’ Vilas pulled out a chair and sat down, resting the ankle of one long leg on top of the knee of his other. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No, why? I’m quite capable of pouring a drink.’

  ‘If you can find it first,’ Vilas mused. ‘Anyone would think this isn’t really your home with the way you’re rifling through the cupboards.’

  Oriana froze. ‘And I’m expected to feel comfortable with you around, studying me, am I?’

  ‘I’m not the bad guy here.’

  ‘No, you just take orders from one.’

  Vilas sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

  Finally finding a bottle of wine, Oriana uncorked it and filled two earthenware cups. Placing one in front of Vilas, she picked up the bottle and put it on the table with her own cup before pulling out a chair for herself.

  Sipping her drink, she said, ‘Tell me why it’s complicated.’

  From across the table Vilas stared at Oriana. ‘I don’t know what it is about you but it feels as if I know you.’

  Oriana took a long drink. Certain her face had turned crimson she kept the cup close to it. ‘I’ve never seen you until you arrived here.’

  ‘You’re extraordinarily pretty for a farm girl.’

  ‘Are you implying only wealthy girls can be pretty? Because that’s classist, or something.’ Oriana slammed her mug down on the table, sloshing wine over the surface. ‘Besides, I am a woman not a girl.’

  Vilas grinned, making no attempt to hide his appreciation as he looked Oriana up and down. ‘I can see that for myself, I don’t you need you to tell me.’

  Oriana licked her lips. ‘You’re trying to change the subject. Why are you Hashir’s commander? From what you’ve said so far you don’t seem to be of the same mould as his other soldiers.’

  ‘Because I am not.’ Vilas rested his elbows on the table. ‘My father was a soldier because he chose to be. I am not a soldier by choice but by inheritance.’

  ‘I’ve heard of your father,’ Oriana said carefully. ‘He was exiled by King Germaine.’

  Vilas nodded. ‘I was a boy at the time; barely into my teens when my father was cast out.’

  Making him a little older than me, Oriana thought. ‘So you had to leave with him?’

  ‘My father was all I had,’ Vilas explained. ‘My mother died in childbirth.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Vilas shrugged. ‘My father took us to King Acapf. By rights we should have both been killed considering my father’s former allegiance to King Germaine but my father brought an offer to the table Acapf could not refuse.’

  ‘Which was?’

  Vilas took a drink. ‘I should not be telling you this.’

  ‘You can trust me.’ Oriana looked Vilas straight in the eye.

  ‘You won’t believe me anyway.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘My father told Acapf how Germaine’s wife’s hair held magical powers.’

  Oriana felt the blood drain from her face.

  ‘See?’ Vilas said, laughing. ‘I knew you would think it was a far-fetched story. A queen with magical hair!’

  ‘Magical, how?’

  ‘It acts like a shield but is stronger than any shield ever made by hand.’

  ‘Is that why Acapf stormed the castle, because of this fantastical tale of magical hair?’

  Vilas nodded.

  Oriana frowned. ‘But why did Acapf wait so long? I mean if he knew about this rumour why wait until this day to attack?’

  Vilas shrugged. ‘My father said something about the princess having to be of a certain age before she too would inherit the same ability. Two for the cost of one.’

  Okay, so that was why she had not noticed until today, she had to be the age she was now for the ability to take hold. That’s why they had stormed the castle today, on her birthday.

  ‘And does Hashir want the princess just for her hair?’

  Vilas reached for the bottle of wine and topped up both his and Oriana’s cups. ‘Yes and no. He wants to marry her.’

  Having taken a sip of wine, Oriana spat out the mouthful and laughed. ‘He wants her to marry him after he killed her parents?’

  ‘How do you know King Germaine and the queen are dead?’ Vilas’ hand, cup lifted half to his lips, froze. ‘How do you know they weren’t imprisoned?’

  Oriana’s hand shook; she folded her hands in her lap to hide the tremor. ‘Everyone is talking about it...,’ she gabbled, quickly thinking up a lie. ‘A couple of traders passed by a while before you arrived and said how they were turned away from the castle by soldiers. They were told to go back tomorrow, once everything was in order.’

  Vilas lifted his cup to his mouth and drank. He blinked at Oriana over the rim.

  Oriana squirmed in her seat. The intensity of Vilas’ gaze made her insides do something peculiar.

  ‘Are you sure we’ve never met, previously I mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘You look so familiar.’

  ‘I must have that kind of face.’ Oriana forced a smile. ‘You still haven’t finished telling me why you are part of Hashir’s army. I understand why your father was, but why you? You said you aren’t a soldier by choice.’

  ‘My father made an oath to Acapf that he would lead his army into Germaine’s castle upon Princess Oriana’s twenty-first birthday so Acapf could take the throne for himself. Once the castle was his, my father was to introduce the princess to Hashir.’

  ‘But why does he want to keep the princess alive, why not just kill her and have it over with?’

  Vilas finished his wine in one mouthful. ‘So Hashir and she can have children, of course, with magical, golden hair which could be harnessed into weapons.’

  Oriana poured more wine into Vilas’ cup. ‘He wants to breed her like a...a horse!’

  ‘Sort of,’ Vilas
admitted. ‘But Hashir wants the princess to want him. He could take her, if he wished, but he is not cruel. He wants what everyone wants, love.’

  Oriana felt sick. ‘I could never love him, not after all he has done!’

  Vilas’ grip on his cup tightened, Oriana noticed how the skin strained over his knuckles. ‘Pardon?’ he asked.

  ‘I mean...if I were the princess...I could never love him.’ Oriana held her breath.

  Fool. She mentally kicked herself. She needed to control her emotions.

  ‘I suppose that’s true,’ said Vilas, seeming to accept Oriana’s response. ‘That is where I come in.’

  ‘Why, what is your speciality?’

  ‘I excel in tracking people.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘And in persuading them to do as I wish.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m considered to be incredibly charming.’ Vilas smiled and looked at Oriana. ‘Some call it my gift. It’s as if I don’t even have to try sometimes.’

  ‘That’s rather arrogant of you.’

  ‘I’m just telling it as it is. I can’t help it if women always want to do things for me.’

  Oriana snorted. ‘Well, the women you’ve encountered must all have either been blind drunk or desperate.’

  ‘Why, because of my burnt face?’

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘What did you mean? That all of the women I’ve encountered are simpering fools?’ Vilas raised his good eyebrow. ‘That’s not very sisterly of you.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that either.’

  ‘I can assure you the women I met were neither desperate nor fools, and definitely not drunkards.’

  ‘Yet you claim to have charmed them...like snakes? I don’t believe you!’

  Vilas’ tone was patient. ‘Not like snakes, no. I simply mean it is not my fault if every woman I encounter always offers me something before I’ve even asked for anything.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Maybe I have lost it.’ Vilas smiled, raising his hand to his face. ‘With this.’ He winced as he touched his cheek.

  His eyes locked onto Oriana’s and she stiffened, imagining she could feel his hold wrapping around her. Her mouth went dry, her heart quickened. She licked her lips. Vilas’ gaze slid from her eyes to her mouth and back again. He blinked slowly and licked his own lips, looking again at hers.

  What was wrong with her? This was a man sent to find her, to take her to Hashir so she could be his.

  He was the enemy.

  She should be repulsed by him, repelled by his allegiance. The fact his father was Anearr should be enough to make her want to run away as fast as she could but, for some strange reason she was finding him...charming indeed. Damn it!

  ‘Or at least I was considered charming.’ Vilas said, breaking the spell. ‘Before I was burnt.’

  Oriana took a breath to steady her nerves. ‘Right then I didn’t even notice your burns.’

  Vilas waggled a finger. ‘There is no need to pander to my vanity. I am well aware how damaged I now am.’ He took the bottle of wine and, rising, carried it with him as he looked out of the window. Peering into the night, he drank straight from the bottle.

  Oriana’s feet carried her to Vilas’ side before it even registered she was moving. ‘Shall I see if I can find something to soothe your burns?’

  She wanted to kick herself. Moments ago she had scoffed at the idea of Vilas’ charming abilities, now here she was offering him something before he had asked for it.

  Vilas turned to face Oriana. ‘I don’t think anything will help me now.’

  ‘Let me try.’ Reaching up, Oriana tentatively touched Vilas’ face. The undamaged skin was faintly bristly against her fingertips; he would soon be in need of a shave.

  Vilas grabbed Oriana’s hand, pressing her fingers against each other. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked gruffly. ‘Pretending I have indeed charmed you? There’s no need. I am in no doubt I was ever actually charming, I was blessed with a pleasing face women took a fancy to.’

  ‘I’m not pretending about anything. I was offering to help you.’ Oriana lifted her chin, unexpected hurt tightening her chest. ‘But you’re right, you’re not charming at all...you’re rude!’

  Vilas’ grip lessened, he stared at Oriana for a long moment before releasing her. ‘Very well.’ He held the wine bottle out to Oriana. ‘You had better take this away. I am afraid I will lose control of my senses.’

  ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’

  ‘Not a bad thing.’ Vilas’ eyes hooded over. ‘But it’s not something I am looking for.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Vilas grabbed Oriana’s elbow, and pulled her to him, crushing the wine bottle between them. His breath was warm, and sweetened by the fruitiness of the alcohol. ‘I came looking for a princess but I didn’t expect to find you.’

  Oriana did not dare move; in fact she did not even want to. ‘And?’

  ‘I’m supposed to be finding a beauty for the king, not one for myself.’

  Oriana smiled slowly. ‘And why do you assume I want to be anyone’s let alone yours?’

  Vilas pulled away, leaving Oriana oddly cold. ‘You may hide behind your words, Maerie, but your eyes tell me so much more.’

  Oriana opened her mouth to ask who Maerie was before she remembered.

  To him she could never be Oriana.

  She could never be herself.

  To Vilas she had to be Maerie.

  She watched silently as he stared again into the night. He looked frozen and unapproachable yet she could envision he could be friendlier...yes, charming. She had seen glimpses of it since he’d arrived and she was glad she was not the princess to him.

  Just flashes of his charm were disconcerting her, goodness if he turned it full throttle she may never know what hit her.

  ‘Are you going to stand there staring at my back all night?’

  Vilas’ words shook Oriana. His voice was heavy with an emotion she could not fathom. Still, it was enough to make her realise she was thinking like a simpering fool. Vilas would only be as interested in her—as Maerie the farmer’s daughter—for as long as he had been interested in all of those other women he spoke of.

  She, Oriana, would not be just another notch on his charm-chart and if he found out who she really was, he would not even so much as touch a strand of her hair.

  Chapter Six

  Vilas

  Vilas carried two chairs from the kitchen onto the veranda. The night had grown warmer and clouds had finally drifted away from the moon, allowing its gentle beams to cast the land silver. It was still raining but the wind had eased meaning the veranda was sheltered. Placing the chairs close to each other, he took the chair furthest from the door and sat down, propping his booted feet up on the balustrade surrounding the edge of the veranda. He could hear movement inside and he half smiled.

  She was a good looking woman, he thought, Maerie.

  He frowned. Why did she feel so, what was the word? Familiar? Maybe it was like she had said; she had that sort of face. There was no denying she was attractive, although she didn’t look like the women he normally desired. He grinned, who was he kidding? It wasn’t as if he had a type. Red-heads, brunettes, blondes, slender women, curvaceous women, tall, short...he had experienced the delights of many.

  The raw side of his face itched.

  But of course all of the women had been before the accident. Maybe that was why he was finding Maerie so attractive; she was the first woman he had met since the fire. If he could charm her maybe he would have a half decent chance of charming the princess into doing his bidding.

  ‘Commander,’ a soldier interrupted, approaching the house from the direction of the barn to the left. ‘The men are hungry. We have set up a perimeter watch around the edge of the forest. There’s no way the princess is getting out of those woods without us seeing her.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Vilas replied. ‘I assume there is food stored in one
of the outbuildings, make sure the men are all fed.’

  ‘Thank you, Commander.’ The soldier turned away.

  ‘Wait,’ Vilas said. ‘In the morning ensure whatever food is consumed tonight is replaced. We are not here to take advantage.’

  The soldier nodded his understanding and wandered off to search the outbuildings, signalling to two other men on his way.

  Vilas swung his feet down and paced to the open, front door. He paused, leaning against the doorframe, listening to the sound of singing, watching Maerie descend the stairs. The wrap around her hair had slipped down and wavy tendrils of long, pale brown hair hung over her slender shoulders. She had pushed the long sleeves of her tunic up to the elbows, exposing lightly freckled forearms. In her arms she carried a gently steaming bowl of something—what it was he could not yet tell but its aroma; fresh and faintly minty wafted towards him. He did not know the song she was singing but he knew she was not singing in English.

  ‘Oh!’ She stopped suddenly, noticing Vilas in the doorway. Water sloshed from the bowl and splattered her boots.

  Vilas jumped forwards, taking the bowl from her arms. His fingers brushed her bare forearms making him wonder how she kept her skin so soft.

  What was wrong with him? He could usually do this in his sleep!

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, lowering her gaze and peering up at him through her eyelashes.

  Vilas had to force himself to move. ‘What is in this?’ he asked, trying to turn his attention away from her. He busied himself with taking the bowl to the veranda, placing it on the boards at the foot of his chair.

  ‘I found an aloe plant in the sitting room; it’s supposed to help alleviate pain.’

  Vilas crinkled his nose. ‘Is it just aloe?’

  ‘No, I also put in a little vanilla, honey, and milk. It is probably not what you are used to but it should help soothe you.’

  ‘Do I just bathe my face in it?’

  ‘I’ll fetch you a bandage.’

  Vilas admired the view as Maerie walked away, noticing for the first time she was wearing riding trousers and not a skirt, which would be the usual attire, even for a farmer’s daughter. ‘Do you always wear trousers?’ he asked when she returned with a wad of material in her hand.