The Tears of Elios

by Crista McHugh

She smiled so the dimples cut deeper into her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with the Prince?”

  “Ranealya, if this is some sort of retaliation—”

  Her quiet laughter silenced him as she closed the space between them. This was the Ranealya he knew, not the shy maiden she’d pretended to be all afternoon. “No, this was for you. When I saw how things were between you two, I realized he would have much more respect for you if he saw you were travelling with someone more attractive than my original disguise.” Her voice lowered to a purr as she pressed her body against his and traced the edge of his jaw with one slender finger. “And it worked.”

  Blood rushed straight to his crotch, and his skin burned. He grabbed her hand and lowered it as he took a step back. “He already suspects there’s something going on between us. You don’t need to encourage him.”

  “It’s better that he suspects we’re lovers than for him to know the truth.”

  “True, but…” He turned his head and saw Aemil grinning at them from the door of the great hall. When he looked back at her, she winked.

  “Don’t worry, Gregor. I’ll try to behave”

  “Please, for my sake.” He unwrapped his fingers from her hand and wandered toward the Prince. A gust of wind blew through the courtyard, draining the warmth from his chest where her body had touched his. He wished she would stop playing so many mind games with him. As he passed Aemil, he tried his best to glare at him, but the Prince’s grinned widened.

  He fell into step with Gregor. “I hope you’re not too angry with me to decline my dinner invitation.”

  His mouth watered as the rich, spicy aromas of lamb and garlic filled his nose. “I suppose I could suffer your company if it meant a full belly.”

  Aemil laughed and slapped him on the back. Everything had returned to normal between them again.

  The great hall provided a warm and cozy welcome after the chilly late winter day. The tapestries were richer than he remembered, more suitable for a king than a minor noble. The King’s crest had replaced the Brerton family coat of arms above the mantle, but otherwise, it hadn’t changed too much from his childhood. It remained a true great hall, with large wooden tables lined up in rows that would later serve as beds for the soldiers and servants. In the middle of the hall, a small table stood on a raised platform in front of the cavernous fireplace. He followed Aemil and sat in the chair held out for him by a waiting servant. Ah, it felt good to be waited on again. He reached for his wine goblet and saw that the table had been set for three.

  He looked up, glass in hand, and watched as Aemil escorted a very uncomfortable looking Ranealya to the table. “My dear, I insist you join us for dinner. Here, take the seat closest to the fire so you can keep warm.”

  Her expression was less than pleased as he guided her into the seat next to him, and Gregor hid his smile behind the goblet. She deserved this after changing her appearance.

  “Your Highness, I—” she began as she tried to stand, but Aemil shoved her back into the chair.

  “No excuses. I want the pleasure of your company tonight.”

  Her eyes widened, and she sent a panicked look in Gregor's direction.

  He almost choked on the wine as he smothered his laughter. She would get no help from him.

  “I'm not sure I'm worthy to sit at the Royal Table, Your Highness.”

  Aemil sat and poured some wine into his goblet. “Ranealya, perhaps I haven't made myself clear to you, so let me be blunt. First off, unlike my brother, I don't give a damn about this ‘Royal Highness’ pomp and ceremony, so unless we’re in front of him and the entire court, please refer to me as Aemil. Secondly, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm very curious about you. I know how much Gregor treasures his privacy—almost at the point of not speaking to anyone other than his dog for more than a year at a time. For him to invite someone new into his life is no small feat. Therefore, what was it about you that made him want to have contact with another human being again?”

  Gregor leaned back in his chair. “I thought it was obvious.”

  Aemil filled her goblet with the remainder of the wine. “I know there's more to her than her beauty that holds your attention, but I'm grateful you’ve found a reason to come out of that cave in the woods you've been hiding in for the last ten years, whatever it may be.” He held Gregor's gaze over the rim of the goblet for a moment before inhaling the bouquet of the wine and taking a drink. “Try the wine, Ranealya. It's quite good.”

  “I don't drink.”

  “Well, tonight you do,” he said, taking another swallow. “Don't make me have to issue a royal command.”

  Gregor tried to remain stone-faced when she looked at him again for assistance, and he pressed his lips together to suppress his amusement. She couldn’t flash her fangs or resort to her usual feral behavior now. She reached for her glass and took a tentative sip.

  “That wasn't so bad, was it? So, where are you from?”

  “Here and there,” she replied instantly.

  “And how old are you?”

  “Old enough.”

  “How long have you been assisting Gregor?”

  “For a while.”

  Aemil frowned at her vague answers, and Ranealya smiled a little too sweetly as she took a longer sip of the wine. She’d been anticipating his questions and had already formed answers to them. So this was how she was going to act after being forced to endure their company for dinner. “And how do you like your lamb?”

  “Rare,” she said, flashing her white teeth.

  Gregor tensed as he had a flashback of her carrying the rabbits with their broken necks. He worried that she might entertain Aemil with the same tale, especially when he thought he glimpsed the longer than normal canines in her wolfish grin. Aemil was taken aback by her answer, as well, and Gregor decided it was time to intervene. “Aemil, how's your mother?”

  Aemil's attention snapped to him. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “But you know that far better than I do.” A soon as he spoke the words, he knew he made a mistake. Unfortunately, Aemil realized it, too. Gregor shook his head. He didn’t want Ranealya to know the truth, but Aemil wasn’t so accommodating.

  “Aunt Therris is as well as she ever was.”

  Gregor hoped Ranealya hadn’t heard Aemil's reply.

  “Aunt?” she asked, her eyes traveling back and forth between them to see who would answer her first.

  The corners of Aemil's mouth curled into a grin. “What? Didn't he tell you that we’re cousins?”

  Gregor closed his eyes and prayed to the Goddess that this was all a dream, but Mariliel wasn’t listening this evening. When he opened his eyes, a mixture of confusion and accusation distorted Ranealya’s face.

  “Is this true, Gregor?” A subtle tremor shook her voice.

  Yes, she was reacting just the way he thought she would.

  “Yes, Ranealya, our mothers are sisters,” he said before he drained his goblet.

  He didn’t need to look at her to know she was upset. He heard her inhale sharply through her teeth. Her fingers dug into her palms. He knew she was trying hard to remain calm in the presence of the Prince. If they had been at his cottage, she would have already lost her temper. But thankfully, she remembered her promise to behave and took a shaky breath in and out before asking, “And why didn't you tell me?”

  “Yes, why didn't you tell her about your royal heritage sooner? One would think you were ashamed to be related to me.”

  Gregor smiled wryly at his cousin. “You couldn't be closer to the truth. Who would want to be related to the Royal Family?”

  Aemil broke the tension with a laugh. “Don't be offended, Ranealya. As I mentioned before, Gregor is a very private person. He has his reasons—”

  “—which we will not go into.”

  Aemil looked a bit surprised but nodded in understanding. “As I was saying before my cousin so rudely interrupted me, he has his reasons why he doesn't want people to know t
hat his mother is the sister of the former Queen, his father was the Duke of Akershire, and his cousin is none other than King Anilayus himself.”

  Gregor wanted nothing more than to disappear at that very moment, but not only had he forgotten the spell that would camouflage him with his surroundings, the servants used the break in the conversation to serve the roasted leg of lamb that he had been smelling ever since he entered the great hall. He was too hungry to leave the succulent meat behind. He tried to change the topic. “Dinner looks delicious.”

  Ranealya chugged the contents of her glass and stiffened as she swallowed. She closed her eyes, ignoring the steaming meat in front of her. “Your father was the Duke of Akershire?” She opened her eyes and waited for his answer.

  Gregor chose to enjoy the first bite of the lamb before answering her, so Aemil took it upon himself to do it for him. “Yes, and Gregor was supposed to have been the Duke of Akershire himself, being the oldest son.” He took another bottle of wine from one of the servants and refilled their glasses. “Here, have some more wine. It will make the truth easier to digest.”

  Gregor wanted Ranealya to cast one of her angry glares on Aemil, but her eyes, filled with betrayal, never left him. He never wanted her to know all about his family.

  She reached for her glass and took another gulp of wine. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to have been’ Duke?” She turned to Aemil now for answers, which annoyed Gregor.

  “He renounced his title as Duke and gave it to his brother.”

  “You’ve said enough.” Gregor set his goblet down the table with a thud. His stomach burned, and he knew it wasn’t entirely from the wine.

  “I'm surprised you haven't at least told her that. After all, she's been with you for a while.”

  “Perhaps, but there are things I would've preferred she found out about later.”

  “She deserves to know this. Wouldn't you rather her learn the truth from us or find out on her own from someone else?”

  Gregor chewed and watched her cut her lamb into equally sized pieces. He frowned. It wasn’t like her to be so careful, especially with her food.

  She looked up through her thick lashes at him. “Why did you give it up?”

  He looked at Aemil, expecting him to continue to divulge all his secrets, but the Prince remained quiet for once. The attention of his dinner companions focused on him, waiting for his response. He stared at his plate. The food didn’t look so appetizing now. “I came to the conclusion I was not meant to be ruler of anything, much less a duchy.”

  “Nonsense. I think you would have made a fine duke.”

  “No, Aemil, I like my books and my privacy far too much to attend to the needs of the people.”

  “I think you underestimate yourself.”

  “No.” He stared at Aemil. “I’ve learned enough to know that sometimes the oldest son does not make the best ruler. Sometimes a younger son would do more good for the people.”

  The Prince clutched the edges of the table, and his face grew serious. “Gregor, you know better than to say such things,” he whispered.

  Both men stared at each other as an uncomfortable silence filled the table. Around them, the soldiers laughed at their tables. In a corner, a piper played a merry tune accompanied by a drum and a lute. No one other than Ranealya seemed aware of the tension at the royal table.

  When he was satisfied that the conversation on his personal history was over, he smiled. “Don't worry. Our secrets are safe with Ranealya.”

  They both looked at her as she finished her second glass of wine. For someone who didn’t drink, she was going through the wine a little too quickly.

  “How are your kids?” Gregor stuffed another piece of lamb in mouth as though food could erase the previous tension.

  Aemil visibly relaxed, loosening his grip on the table. “You probably haven't heard that we had another son last fall. And he's quite a little spitfire, too.”

  They continued eating while Aemil bragged about all three of his brood. Aemil was proud of his children, the way a father should be.

  Gregor felt a twinge of envy that he had none of his own. He glanced at Ranealya. She was leaning forward, her chin resting in her palm, her fingers concealing her smile. Her goblet had been refilled, and she sipped the wine, even though she had finished her meal.

  As he watched her, he began to think about what kind of mother she would be and looked away. I shouldn’t think such things. This is Ranealya, after all. She would probably eat her young if they dared to disobey her. Yet he’d seen a glimpse into the gentle side of her nature, and he wondered if it would become more apparent once her maternal instincts took over.

  He turned back at her and saw she was watching him. From across the table, he heard Aemil say, “And you may not know this, but Gregor has a fairly nice singing voice, too.”

  Her grin widened, producing the dimples once again. “I never would have guessed that.” She looked at him as if she were discovering him all over again, and he was pleased to note that she seemed to like what she was learning.

  His cheeks grew warm. “Aemil gives me too much credit. He has a nice voice himself.”

  “Yes, for a howling dog.” Aemil emptied another bottle into their glasses.

  Gregor had lost count of how many bottles of wine had been poured. His thoughts were becoming fuzzy, and he worried he was becoming a bit too comfortable around Ranealya.

  “Do you sing?”

  She laughed and swayed in her chair. “It's been so long since I sang that I have forgotten most of the songs I knew.” She cast a sideways glance at Gregor. “Perhaps, if Gregor will sing, then maybe I will, too.”

  “Don't hold your breath,” he replied. “I gave up embarrassing myself in public a long time ago.”

  “Speaking of which, there was this time, when we were boys—”

  “Enough, Aemil!”

  She giggled, ending abruptly with a hiccup. “Don't worry. I'm sure we'll all have plenty of time to tell stories later.” Her eyelids drooped as she held her breath. “I think it's time for me to go to bed.”

  Gregor knew she’d drunk too much wine, but he didn’t expect her to swoon as soon as she stood. He managed to catch her before she stumbled off the platform. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. At first, she looked confused, but then something in her expression changed that caused his heart to flop. She smiled at him with those soft, full lips, and he felt the irresistible urge to kiss her. And judging by the way she was looking at him, she wouldn’t stop him if he did.

  But the moment was ruined when Aemil cleared his throat. “Anything wrong?”

  She giggled and untangled her fingers from his hair. “I, um, slipped.” She took a step, but this time, he made sure he was there to support her.

  “Do you need me to walk with you?”

  Even in the dim firelight, her cheeks appeared red. “Oh, no, that's quite unnecessary,” she stammered as she pushed him away. “I—” She paused and turned. “Where am I sleeping tonight?”

  Aemil’s grin filled with mischief. “The second door on the left.”

  “Second door on the left,” she repeated. “I can remember that. Goodnight, Your Highness, Gregor.” Her eyes lingered on him before she turned and walked up the stairs to the second floor of the great hall.

  He watched her until she disappeared around the corner at the top, wishing he could follow her.

  “You know, you haven't moved since she left your arms,” Aemil taunted.

  Gregor snapped out of his daze and turned to him.

  “You're only fooling yourself by thinking there's nothing between you two. I saw the way you were looking at each other just now, and so did everyone else in the hall. If I hadn't interrupted you—”

  “Fine, you're right, but it's more complicated than you think.”

  “What is so difficult about it? She's a girl, you're a boy. You’re obviously attracted to each other, and that was before she learned you were my cousi
n. What else is there?”

  Gregor’s bones felt as though they were filled with lead. “I wish it was that simple. Please, no more, Aemil. I'm too tired to argue with you. Which room is mine?”

  “Second door on the left.”

  Gregor took a few steps to the stairs before he understood Aemil's directions. Then the blood drained from his face. “Second door on the left? But isn't that—?”

  Aemil patted him on the back. “If there wasn't anything between the two of you before tonight, there's no excuse now. She's had a little wine, you're in the same room…” He wagged his eyebrows. “Enjoy the evening and thank me in the morning.”

  “If you weren’t my cousin…” Gregor clenched his hands into fists. The embarrassment over his cousin taking it upon himself to play matchmaker stung like a swarm of hornets. He was perfectly capable of managing his relationship with Ranealya on his own. “Surely there must be another open room?”

  “Nope, there's only three rooms here: yours, mine, and Captain Furr’s. Be thankful that I gave you and Ranealya the largest room.”

  “Perhaps Captain Furr should give up his room.”

  “I'd have some very unhappy men if their captain was sleeping in the same room with them. Of course, you could join the commoners and sleep down here.”

  “I'd rather not.” There was no space for privacy there. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be close to her, if only to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble. But he took his time going up the stairs and reconsidered the sleeping arrangements when his hand closed around the doorknob, wondering if he had the willpower to handle this.

  Ranealya jumped out in front of him as soon as he entered the room, startling him and causing him to slam the door shut. “Oh, it's you,” she said as she walked away.

  He waited until his heart stopped pounding. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  Her eyes lingered on the door. “Not exactly.” She peeled off the green dress, leaving the linen shift under it on and crawled into the lone bed in the center of the room. The thin material left little to the imagination as the firelight illuminated the curvy silhouette underneath it. “What are you doing here, besides staring at me?”