The Darkest Night

by Catherine Wilson

  Vivi, ever the quick one, sees right through his game. “Sure, Aras, in case Brave’s molten veins aren’t enough.”

  My eyes flit past his shoulder, taking in the low-lit room and dark fabrics that drape the walls and hang from the single bed. Aside from the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the outer wall, and the large balcony that will no doubt speak of magnificent views of Theron by dawn, it’s the complete opposite of our cheery chamber. Too opposite, I think. As if these rooms were not made to stand alone, but together.

  Yes, my sister is right. This is most certainly not going to do. And I won’t back down. No matter what this handsome devil thinks. Not even when his eyes widen as he takes in the royal blue fabric that hugs my waist and the single, low braid that drapes over my shoulder and across my heart.

  His braid, to be exact.

  “And Ian thought this best? For us to share the chambers of some delightful couple’s suite?” I ask, forcing myself not to shiver from the heat of his lingering stare.

  If I thought Aras had become remotely undone by the recollection of an important detail from his past, I’m proved wrong when he abruptly turns on his heel, walking toward the closed balcony doors. “No,” he calls over his shoulder, catching his hands on the golden latch and greeting it with a tug. “But it didn’t take much convincing to bring him around to his senses.”

  At this, I can’t help but laugh. “And what senses might those be? That we need our Orien guard to keep us safe from the many mysterious threats that are bound to head our way?”

  “Oh, no, Penelope Brave, it’s not your safety I doubt.”

  So the truth of the matter finally breaks free. Aras isn’t here out of the goodness of his own heart, no matter what he might have said to poor Ian to convince him otherwise. No, Aras is here because he doubts my intentions. To be more precise, he doubts my ability to follow through with my father’s will.

  And he has every right to doubt it, too.

  “You needn’t worry, Aras. I’m here now, so unless I take a fancy to repelling off balconies of deathly heights, I don’t think you’ll lose me anytime soon. Honestly, I hope you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into. Now that you’re so close, I plan to plague you with my every waking need. A lot.”

  Aras’ hands release the locked latch, his face turned so the bright lanterns’ lights caress his awful grin. “Even after your wedding?” he teases, making my stomach plummet to my knees. “I don’t know Ian very well, but I’d dare say he’s not going to like that.”

  “Then I suppose he’ll have to get used to it,” I retort, trying very hard not to look away when he turns to prowl his way back toward me.

  “You’re full of all sorts of mischief, aren’t you?” he says, brows wagging with the playful tone of his voice.

  And because I’m still full with the power of my mother’s love, a radiant sun soaking in her strength and pouring it from my soul, I smile back with a surprising force of my own. For I know this Aras. The one who teases and prods until there is nothing to do but dish it right back. The one who can’t resist an innocent squabble with a girl whom his memories won’t quite let him forget.

  The Aras who I long to bring back—the Aras who I long to make my own.

  “I’d watch myself if I were you, Aras. Perhaps you should even be a bit worried. After all, Vivi and I are now privy to where you sleep.”

  A rumbling laugh leaves his throat, and I fight the urge to fall into his chest when he leans in, pushing my braid to the side as he whispers into my ear. “Keep saying things like that and I think I might actually start to like you, Penelope Brave. Perhaps in another life, we’d even be friends.”

  I smile against the warmth of his breath, content—if only for this moment—to forget his forsaken curse and all the troubles that come with it. “In another life, we were more.”

  Aras tenses as the bold words slide softly across his cheek, and I tip my chin up toward his, hoping to find the same fire in his eyes that must surely brew in my own. And though Aras’ eyes do hold a lot of heat, I’m shocked when it’s not directed at me.

  “Above knocking, are we, Prince?” he calls over my shoulder, taking a healthy step back. Cool air floods my senses, and a tiny, but firm hand reaches out to squeeze my own. After my dangerous match with Aras, it’s the only thing keeping my knees from dropping to the floor.

  Together, Vivi and I turn, a river of silks as our blue dresses swish and resettle against the floor. My eyes, though downcast, still miss nothing of the vibrant blue tunic hugged perfectly against Ian’s strong frame. Red trim runs flush with the high collar and across his broad shoulders, while a white T pressed over a shield sits proudly against his heart.

  Clearly, we were meant to be the matching pair.

  “Oh, Ian, thank goodness!” Vivi breathes, dropping my hand as she moves to welcome him with a warm hug. “If anyone can fix this, it’s you.”

  Ian’s lips tip with amusement, and he eyes me across the room, his appraising gaze like tiny sparks across my skin. My eyes dart away, anything to distract from the patches of heat that work their way up my neck and across my pale cheeks, but movement startles me from behind, and my breath catches as Aras storms past to meet our newest guest at the door.

  “Other than you being late, I can think of nothing else that needs to be fixed,” he says, catching Vivi with a telling glare.

  Ian stiffens, and Sireen, bless her sweet, innocent soul, lets out an angry huff before covering her mouth with her hand and turning to busy herself with what seems to be the sudden untidiness of our room.

  Oh, Ashen. Why must she make me love her so?

  “That’s a lie, Aras, and you know it,” Vivi fusses, pulling away from Ian with an ugly sneer. “If anyone can fix this awful dress situation, it’s him.”

  At this, three simultaneous groans fill the room, as even proper Sireen can’t hide her dismay. Naturally, Vivi would be referring to the dresses, rather than our unnerving, and not to mention devastatingly forgetful, chamber mate.

  “Come now, Viviana.” Ian says, gesturing to us with his hands. “I’ve never seen two young ladies look so breathtaking in all of my life. If anything, the true tragedy lies in the fact that we may never see a precious gift such as this again.”

  Vivi’s expression turns outright dangerous, the green of her eyes growing darker by the second. Her chin tilts to the side as her arms cross tightly against her chest, and to anyone within a few feet’s radius, it’s a sure sign to count your fortunes and back away.

  Quick.

  “Come now, Prince Ian,” Aras taunts, looking past them both and grabbing me with his cool stare. “We both know that Orien and Theron must come to a healthy agreement sometime. I’d dare say you’ll be seeing them both in another dress sooner than you think.” A wily grin flashes the dimple on his cheek, and my insides twist at the troubling words that are sure to come. “Unless Penelope Brave plans to wed in pants.”

  Heat bubbles in my chest, lighting my veins and burning my heart. His careless gaze, full of both rot and the cruelest of intentions, stalls my breath, and I clench my fists, hoping to combat the building flames. Of all the cards he could have chosen to play, he hands me this—my worst nightmare come to life.

  A marriage not fully built on love. A marriage without my handsome prince.

  “Now listen, Aras.” I start. “You have no right to—”

  “Speak of her lovely pantsuits with such blatant disregard,” Ian interrupts, sputtering my flames from within. “I think we can all agree Penelope looks ravishing in anything she chooses to grace our presence with. If she were to walk down the aisle wearing pants, I wouldn’t say no.”

  Aras shakes his head with disgust, arrogance pooling at his feet, while Vivi bounces on her toes, her forgotten anger dissipating with her glee. Her hand latches onto Ian’s arm, and he looks away, taking our searing connection with him. “Tell me that you come with a younger brother and I promise I’ll wear this blasted dress for every meal,�
� she spurts.

  Ian throws his head back with laughter, the smoothed, honeyed strands coming loose from their styled hold and sliding across his brow. “Oh, Viviana, how I wish I could,” he says, holding out his hand to beckon me to his side. “But either way, it seems Penelope and I still have much to discuss.”

  “Much to discuss, indeed.” I agree, accepting his hand, while I fight to ignore the aching call of my heart as Aras marches out the door.

  Twenty-Five

  “Oh, my dearest Brave and Vivi,” Tolan’s warm voice croons, calling us forward as we descend the final steps of the grand staircase and find ourselves standing in front of the arched, wooden doors that lead to the dining hall. “Though I do sense a hint of reluctance in your steps, please trust me when I say the lovely gowns only add a bit of sparkle to your already radiant personalities.”

  I clasp onto his awaiting hand and watch as he bows in a reverent gesture. Radiant may be a bit of a stretch. Hot. Explosive. Downright fiery is more like it. My only hope is I can make it through this dinner without anyone, particularly Aras, getting burned. My eyes dart around at the thought of him, no doubt watching from the sidelines and waiting for my graceless trip to ruin everyone’s mood, only to be oddly disappointed when they come up empty.

  My loyal Orien guard is nowhere to be found.

  “Hello, young friend!” Vivi chirps, gladly latching onto Tolan’s arm as he stands. She releases a hearty laugh when he spins her around toward the opening doors.

  The peppered hairs lining the kind man’s temples seem to sparkle in the candlelit chandeliers that hang from the approaching dining room, making him look like a wise, yet ageless spirit. I have a feeling much of my sister’s time in Theron may be spent at his side. Plotting semi-dangerous deeds, no doubt.

  Beside me, I hear the soft chuckle of Ian as he tugs lightly on my elbow and pulls me to follow along behind them, obviously anxious for the awkward introductions to begin. The one where his parents meet his future bride, who happens to have her hopes set on a very different groom. A groom, who unfortunately, doesn’t remember who she is at the moment.

  Oh, yes, let the awkwardness begin.

  “That’s Uncle Tolan, for you,” Ian whispers, his words a soft brush against my ear. “Always stealing my compliments before I can even think them.”

  My chin jerks in his direction, and he pops back as if he’s the one who’s been startled. “Stealing compliments, is he? Then I suppose it’s a good thing you seem to have a never-ending supply. I’d hate to see what you’d be like without him to keep you balanced,” I tease. “I bet no one could resist you then, secret betrothal or not.”

  He tugs me closer, leaning in until I can almost feel his lashes blink against my cheek. “Then perhaps I’ll have to do something about my uncle.”

  A stunned, yet delirious laugh leaves my throat, echoing off the high-ceilinged room and falling like heated sparks between our visions. The world stills around us, even though we both know it to be full and well. Right now, the others can wait. Stand witness to this glorious event.

  For my sweet Ian has made a joke, and it’s a mean little one at that.

  Ian’s pale cheeks bloom with pink, and his green eyes shine back at me, bright seas of emerald searching for a place to hide. My breaths come in giggling spurts, only to worsen with his clear embarrassment. Not able to take his discomfort a moment more, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a fierce hug. Ian’s cool chest tightens before relaxing against my own. I close my eyes, rising on my toes to rest my chin on his shoulder, lost in the comfort of a friend who deserves so much more.

  A friend who I can’t take, unless I can allow him to truly have me back.

  “There they are,” a kind voice floats from the awaiting room. My eyes to snap open to find two elegant gazes directed our way. The woman alone is a masterpiece to behold. Her dress sways and pools at her feet as she stands, a sheer black lace layered over a deep purple hue. Little sparkles carefully sewn into the delicate fabric cling to her figure, catching the bright light of the hanging candles and torch-lined walls as her creamy cheeks and curving, peach lips take me in. Her hair falls in soft ringlets around her face—blonder than the honeyed layers that bless the handsome man beside her, who stands proudly in a rich, blue tunic of his own. The short collar clasps tightly to his neck, lined with swirls of gold that follow a line across his broad shoulders and fall in perfect stripes down his arms.

  Perhaps I’d allow myself to be more impressed if I could remember how to breathe.

  A throat clears at my cheek, and a forced smile freezes on my face. Risking one last glance in their direction, I carefully unwrap myself from Ian’s grasp, painfully aware I may have just made his embarrassment much, much worse. “Hello,” I squeak, stepping around Ian’s stiff shoulders as if I haven’t latched onto their son in the most inappropriate of ways.

  Moving from their chairs situated at the end of a long, mahogany table, the king and queen of Theron approach with what can only be considered the friendliest of expressions. “And you must be Penelope Brave,” the king says, reaching out to clasp my hands. “Princess of Orien and the spitting image of your beautiful mother. How blessed we are to finally find you in our presence.”

  Humph. Flattery, it seems, does not fall far from the tree.

  “I must admit,” his pleased, yet controlled tone continues, the kind of voice that would make any woman want to follow him to the ends of the lands and back, “when Ian returned home with only the loveliest of words to say about you, we thought at first he had over exaggerated, but now we see he may not have spoken highly enough.”

  Curse the blasted stars above. Is it natural for an entire family to be so pleasant?

  “Is it because I hugged him in front of everyone?” I stumble. “I tend to do unfortunate things like that. I’m only now beginning to grasp the consequences of such behaviors. You’ll have to forgive me.”

  “Oh, Brave.” His mother speaks for the first time, a happy spark lighting her eyes. “Forget the stuffy confines of the Orien court—the hug only further confirmed our suspicions that your heart beats true for the good of those around you. Actually, we weren’t even speaking of the hug at all. We were speaking of the way you make our son smile.”

  This time, it’s my turn for the heat to lick its away across my pasty cheeks.

  “Come now, you two,” Ian finally speaks, coming to my rescue as if he knows I want to find Vivi and sprint from the room. “You’ve only met, and you’ve already succeeded in embarrassing us both. I distinctly recall asking you to keep a liberal distance so Penelope could settle in,” he teases. “Pouncing on her with such bold words before she can even learn your names is the surest way of any to run her off.”

  I bite my lip, politely shaking my head with refusal, though my toes tingle with flight. As a guest in their palace, I have the distinct feeling I should be the one calling out their names in greeting. If my manic father truly wanted me to succeed in breaking into this kingdom and burning it to ruin, he should have at least prepared me to play the part.

  Ian’s father looks proudly at his son, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “Always full of wit and wisdom, young Ian. I suppose it’d be rather annoying if we didn’t raise you so.”

  Both men fall into a chorus of laughter, bellowing out the deepest and truest of notes to a song that even the coldest heart couldn’t help but love. Ian’s mother slides past her husband, pausing to scold them with a playful glare. Then she takes my hand in her own. “I’m Rosaline, and my cheeky husband here is known as Liam.”

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” I say. Up close, I can now make out the willowy green of her gaze, a nod to Ian’s bloodline through and through. “I can’t tell you what it means to my sister and me that you’ve kept our mother safe. We owe you much more than we could possibly return.”

  “Nonsense,” she responds, shaking her head for good measure. Beside me, Vivi lets go of Tolan’s arm, shuffling
ahead with her hand stuck out in a hesitant greeting. Rosaline cups Vivi’s fingers in her own, pulling her forward and surprising her with a hug. “Ingrid is one of our own. You girls are our own. We in Theron must always stick together, no matter the price.”

  Her words cause a ripple of unease to sweep across my chest, and I fight a worried frown. Does Rosaline speak of my father’s past transgressions, or does she speak of the upcoming treaty that threatens to give away my hand?

  As if sensing my inner debate, her gaze finds me over Vivi’s shoulder, a look of remorse clouding her vision. “But who am I to let tomorrow rule today? There will be plenty time for those more important discussions later. For now, we shall live for tonight.” She releases Vivi with a final squeeze, sending her stiff form back to my side before turning to lightly grab her husband by the arm. “Isn’t that right, Liam? Dinner is bound to waste away if we don’t take our seat.”

  Liam’s brows rise with a teasing flare. “And what a shame that would be,” he agrees, taking her hand and leading her toward their beckoning seats.

  A hand reaches for my arm, and I flinch, embarrassed to be caught staring after the king and queen of Theron as if they’ve stolen the very lungs I use to breathe. “That went as I suspected it might,” Ian whispers by our side.

  “It did?” Vivi and I both chirp, eyeing him with a wrinkled nose to match.

  Ian balks, as if made uneasy by our scarily similar traits, and motions ahead toward the grand table patiently waiting in our midst. My eyes skirt away, and I clutch onto Vivi’s hand, willing us forward in the only way I know how to do.

  Force.

  The rich wood is layered with fancy trays and epic proportions of food that steam, bubble, and make my mouth want to water by sight alone. I hadn’t noticed the delicious smells before, possibly caught off guard by the king and queen, who are just as annoyingly sweet as their son. But now, they overwhelm me, devouring my senses until it’s all I can do but not fall upon the table and wallow in their heavenly scents. For weeks, I’ve been forced to withstand the sparse and unsatisfying meals that poor Sireen could bribe off the kitchen staff’s good graces. And goodness knows my time spent in the woods left a lot for my taste buds to desire. Now I’ll be forced to endure an excruciatingly polite meal in which I refuse to give into my unbecoming desires.