“What’s your name?” Jalcina stopped the woman’s hands. Then she pushed her hair away from her face, trying to make herself stop shaking.
“I’m Romkita.” It sounded like she said Rome-kit-ah. “Personal servant to his Majesty, the King of the Burning Island. He has said I’m to take care of you.” The woman kissed her hands, before reaching up to run her fingernails around Jalcina’s face. Then she simply went back to undoing the lacing holding her dress in place.
“Please.” The frightened princess pushed her servant’s hands to a stop. “I must leave.”
“You cannot.” Rom glanced up her with slightly worried eyes. “He has been waiting for you.” Why were these people’s manners so different? The coldness from them earlier, this servant, the man in the hallway, it was all gone. As if it had never been. “Princess,” Rom called her before cupping her chin. “You should rest.”
“I,” the words stopped in her throat. This was not where she was supposed to be. Now Jalcina only wished to run. Heading into the passes, to the mountains, to her Father who was undoubtedly waiting for her to return. The tips of Rom’s fingers stopped her from even trying for more words.
“You will rest and tomorrow, you will know more.” The task of undressing was quick and a light silk shift was laid over her shoulders. The bedroom was as dark as the front room though there were now lighter shades of red hanging among the dark velvets. Just as Romkita had said, the bed was built low, barely the height of her ankles, strewn with pillows, and covered in two throws. Each of the throws depicted the rising dragon of the Burning Island, their serpentine bodies and massive wings dominating. “Come, rest now.” Rom helped her to kneel on the bed and then lie back. “Morning will come and it will be better.”
The quiet placations of Romkita were the last thing she remembered hearing.
Jalcina awoke to the sensation of someone covering her eyes with their hands, a swift wind blowing through her hair, and a body pressed against her back.
“My Ega,” a male voice said to her. “My Ega, are you ready to see?” Such a light teasing sound to that voice. And she heard her response.
“Of course, you make me wait so long.” She brought her own hands up to touch the ones over her eyes. “Are we there?”
“Yes, we are here and now…” He moved his hands away. “Look.”
Below them the world stretched as if some hand had placed it in such a fashion so the light made the trees a shade of gold and green too beautiful to be natural. So many beautiful trees, unlike the world they came from where it was all sand, stone, and heaviness.
“This is the world you strive for?” Deep wonder colored her tone as she shifted to gaze into his face. Concerned ruby colored eyes met hers. “It’s so different.”
“Yes, my love.” He kissed her face and then her lips. “This is the world I would bend to my will.” Over and over, he drew fingers through her long hair, caressing her soul through each strand. “You will be with me?”
Her concern softened into an adoring smile and she leaned up to kiss him again. “I will be with you.” She traced the emblem on his armor. The same emblem on her own. “As I always have.” Chest to chest, she rubbed her head against his exposed neck.
The sheets were twisted around her legs when she woke.
“You dreamed.” He was standing in the doorway, only his eyes visible in the dark, only a robe covering his body. “Do you remember now?” So soft, not the voice one would expect from a battle hardened general. For just a moment, there was something akin to pleading in his voice.
His eyes, the eyes in her dream, they alone remained. Red around black, so hard, yet so soft. Watching at him, she curled herself up a little further, arms going around her knees. Then she shook her head, the soft mass of her hair whispering in the darkness. Her stomach was in knots. Had he come now to do as the woman had said, to do whatever it was husbands did married women did not speak of in the same room with those who were not wed? She twisted her face from his, feeling a creeping warmth in her cheeks as she remembered the rumored things she had heard, snippets of conversation of what went on, and how it was supposed to feel. Her Aunts had spoken of it behind hands; color in their faces when they realized she was listening. Then they would shoo her away telling her it was no conversation for a chaste woman. Yet she had been curious, just as many a young woman was, though not curious enough to experiment. Eyes had been cast in her direction, only she had never given in to them. Her Father’s presence had certainly helped with that, strong, solid, and imposing like the mountain in which they lived. Would he were here now, if he had been then she would not be sitting in the dark with a strange man standing over her; fearful of what his intentions might be.
I will come for you before dawn, Princess. Her memory of the words made them seem to be spoken again right then. It had been a promise then, now it was a reality. He stood in the doorway, arms over his chest, silent as she hid the flush. Eyes still averted, she resisted her curiosity at the sound of him moving until he had knelt down at the edge of the platform and reached out to caress her ankle with one hand.
“You still do not remember,” her murmured to her, just tinges of frustration in his words. “I am cursed,” he breathed.
“Cursed?” Her question made him aware he had spoken aloud and Vad’Alvarn withdrew his touch. Kneeling at the edge of the bed with both hands before him on the cushion, he seemed to study her for such a long time before he said anything.
“Yes, cursed.” Then he got up, his motions fluid and practiced. Such easy speed she recoiled, expecting him to strike her perhaps for questioning. No, he just took up the position of watching once again, seemingly fascinated by her though the room was dark and it must have been nearly impossible for him to see. “You would escape me if you could.” A statement straight from her private thoughts coming from his mouth.
Flushing again, she had to agree. Whatever resolve she had to play the game based on what she was given had been eroded by the constant feeling of fear inhabiting her skin since she had stumbled her way up the steps from the room of midnight cast in stone. The sound of him moving away made her raise her face. Now he stood with his back to her, leaning against the doorframe. A flash of feeling as if his stance was one she was familiar with, though she had not known him for more than a few hours. Yet there was an urge to get up and go to him. To slip up behind him and bury her face in the small canyon created by his spine and the muscles of his back, reaching around to encircle him with her arms and breathe words of quiet reassurance to him. Tell him his course was the correct one. Jalcina drew her legs into her chest so hard she gasped, the pain driving away the recollection. The dark spots in her vision kept her from seeing how he stiffened, his back going rod straight for a moment in response to her pain.
“Tell me your name.” She did not hear him when he first spoke, his voice too quiet. “Your name?” he snapped.
“Jalcina.” The word itself seemed to sputter out from between lips held together by fear.
“Your Father is a proud man.” Was he making fun of her family? It was hard to tell if it was a compliment or not. “Surely there is more.”
“Yes.” His behavior forced her to regain her composure. Forcing her to regain the sense of self the time in his company, in captivity, was washing away. “Jalcina Dinea Lidiza of Sartol.” The waver in her voice disappearing. The repetition of her full name working as a magic spell to unbind her from her fear.
“Much better.” He still had his back to her. Now Jalcina studied his robe. The robe was unadorned, hardly the kind of robe one would attribute to a king. Nearly as if he were rejecting his place, the place he made a point of shoving in her face when he introduced himself fully. “Jalcina.” He committed her name to memory in sound. As he shifted his head, she watched the serpentine mass of his hair move, brushing along the collar of his robe and further down. He wore it after the fashion of a woman, longer than was necessary to prove himself still capable of virility. Mordaen wore h
is hair to his shoulders, but Vad’Alvarn wore his down to the midpoint of his back. The dark shine gave it away in the small amount of light filtering into the room past him.
“Yes.” She responded to him calling her name long after he actually said her name. Reaction delayed by the preoccupation with her comparison between him and Lecern. Two different men, both of whom had claims upon her. Lecern had her heart, but Vad’Alvarn had her fear. She wanted to run from him, yet her fear kept her tethered to him. What would he do if she did run? So far, everyone seemed convinced he would do some great harm if she did run away. Perhaps it would be so. Still she could hardly deny she would escape him at the first offered chance. Escape him and return to the life she knew, regardless of the cost.
“Why did you point to an innocent man?” He turned to see her in one eye, his profile seemed all the more powerful for the fact it was shadowed, one eye a burning ember set on a black background.
“Is it not obvious?” Her answer was quick, barely thought through. There was no more thinking to be done on it. “You wanted someone to execute; I gave you someone.” Not the least bit remorseful for the damage done to a man’s reputation, to his family, to his lands. “Why do you ask me such a question?” Still she had to breathe a sigh of relief for the fact he was not touching her and seemed to be no longer interested in her body. What would she have done if he had demanded his rights as a husband in her current condition? From what she had heard, she did not have the right to nay-say him. He was her husband now, whether she liked it or not. As the ruling monarch, he could marry whoever he wished and none could stay his hand.
“I just wonder at the trusthworthiness of the woman who is lying in my bed.” There was a chip of cold in each word. It was confusing, listening to him. One moment, he seemed warm to her, then the next he was a carved statue speaking. How could he be this way, one minute to the next, and still be the same person who spoke to her? It made no sense.
“Your bed.” It had not occurred to her she was in his bed. It made perfect sense though, married couples slept together at least some nights of the year, certainly on the night they were meant to consummate their marriage. So Romkita had brought her to the king’s bedchamber and said nothing of the kind, only helped her to undress before leaving her to sleep, to rest. Of course to rest for the things he would certainly do when he came for her before dawn. “I’m sorry, I will go sleep elsewhere.”
“No.” He moved toward her in an almost menacing fashion to once again kneel at the edge of the platform. “This is your bed as well now. You can rest here.”
“Not if I am keeping you from your rest.” Jalcina started to rise. He grabbed her by her ankle and pulled her legs from beneath her. They were face to face a breath later, his eyes burning their way into hers.
“You keep me from nothing.” The soft puff of his breathing coasted across her skin and she flushed again, half-turning away from him. He leaned down a little and planted a kiss on her face, near her ear before moving away, letting her have what space he felt she should have. Jalcina, for long seconds, refused to move afraid she would provoke him to another such move with barely restrained violence inside of it. He doubted whether or not she was trustworthy. She doubted she was safe within the reach of his arms. Trust, so dear a thing, had no place between them. When she finally got up the courage to see, he was still watching her as if waiting for her to move. “You are afraid.” A bold statement before he leaned across the distance to kiss her on the forehead.
“No, I’m not.” Clinging to her pride, Jalcina refused to admit to her fear. Yes, every time he touched her, she stiffened as if expecting some blow. It did not mean she was afraid, only cautious of this fighter who boasted of conquering seven kingdoms and was rumored to have a wife from every single one of them.
“Then why do you hesitate and pull away? Surely you know what is expected.” Fingertips tracing the edge of her ear and teasing strands of her hair along her skin. “Or perhaps you wait for me to decide things for you?” The change in his motions was sudden, the caressing hand grabbing and dragging her forward until they were nose to nose. With a frightened whimper, she struggled away again and he chuckled.
“Fearless,” he mocked her with a single word. “So fearless.” A far cry from who he knew her to be.
Morning seemed to come almost as soon as she allowed herself to become comfortable enough to go back to sleep. Jalcina spent the night conscious of the body lying next to her, the rise and fall of his chest, the slight motions he made while sleeping rocking her, even if only barely. It had taken hours for her to realize he was not going to move against her or at least convince herself it was the truth. Awakened by just the awareness morning had come, the room still dark as midnight, she moved to get up only to find his hand was tangled in her hair. The first soft tug had been enough to make her freeze in place before reaching back with carefully questing fingers to find the source of the catch. Long tresses were twirled around his fingers as if he had been playing in her hair while she slept. Of course, she remembered nothing of him touching her. Nothing at all, how could one stroke so softly as to not wake another person? Untangling herself took long moments, moments she was not sure she had to spare. Daylight was here. He was asleep. Now she had to escape him. Free from his touch, she rolled away from him to put her feet on the floor, trying as best she could not to disturb him.
The door to the hallway was locked when she reached it. She pulled and it would not budge, so snug it did not rattle when she shook it in frustration. He locked himself into his bedroom at night. She pressed her palms flat against the wood of the door and then leaned forward to press her forehead against it. Angry tears were threatening to come forth, but she could not afford to cry. The unwilling princess needed to find some way to escape, before her captor woke from his rest. It would only cause her more pain to have to meet his eyes and lie to him. Blinking, she searched for patterns in the wood, anything to distract her mind from the fact she was locked in a room with a man she wanted nothing to do with. Turning away from the door, she searched the room quickly for something she could use to pry the door or force the lock. Nothing, the room was furnished, but only barely. A few books thrown down next to a cushion, a wine glass from some time, maybe from him before he came to bed, Jalcina had no way of knowing. It was possible Romkita had been drinking there after helping her to bed; she knew nothing about the woman so it was just as possible. This chamber was lighter than the one she slept in, a window at the far side of the room letting in light to filter across the floor. The wine glass twinkled causing her to blink rapidly, just the opening her tears needed to convince her to shed them. Her back to the door, she sank to the floor, her face in her hands. Though she tried to keep herself quiet, the sound of her sobbing drew the attention of Vad’Alvarn.
He rose from his bed and came into the room, keeping his distance from her as she sat curled up on the floor. Concern darkened his features, but he stopped well out of reach, folding his arms over his chest.
His robe was rumpled from being slept in, something he did not normally do. Yet he had worn it through the night, hoping it would make her more comfortable with him. It appeared to have no effect because now she sat like a lost child, eyes full of tears he did not understand. How could they bring her back and deny her the ability to remember? The light knew her. The darkness had reached for her, cradled her, comforted her; yet now she seemed terrified of him. His every touch made her stiffen as if to ward against a blow. Time ticked by, still he made no move to interrupt her. The tears were necessary, or so he felt. She could never become anything but what she was, and if she needed to cry for her pain, then so be it. He would not stop her.
Suddenly realizing she was not alone made Jalcina raise her eyes to see the stony expression on his face. There was no emotion there, blank as the face of a cliff created by the swords of heaven. Sniffling, she wiped her face with chilled fingers. Her skin was cold, the slight dress barely holding in any of the heat from her body. “
I did not mean to disturb you.” It was an apology of sorts, even as she wished she was not there to apologize to him.
“You tried to leave.”
“Did you expect less?” So much defeat in her tone. “Of course not, you locked the door intentionally because you knew I would try.”
He acquiesced to her statement, unfolding his arms and moving to sit down on one of the available cushions on the floor.
The sunshine fell across his back, leaving his face once again in shadow. The effect made him less distinct to her eyes, the darkness merging together until he seemed no more than a true shadow.
“You know I do not wish to be here; I have no interest in being your bride.”
“Nor did any of the others.” It was the first he mentioned of there being more than one wife and she bit her lip against wanting to scream.
Not only was she taken to wife, she was his sixth, seventh, eighth wife perhaps. Squeezing her eyes shut, she put her hands up to her face again, hiding as best she could from even being aware of him.
“You are not like them.” His statement did not make her change her stance, so he continued speaking. “You are better than they are. You are the one I’ve been waiting for.”
“Stop saying that!” she snapped out at him. “You cannot be older than I, a bare 18 summers, how can you have waited for anything, much less me?” Jalcina removed her hands to make herself sound clearer to her own ears, eyes rimmed with red from her tears. “I do not care if you have waited for me. I just want to return to my family.”
The tension in the room was tight, close, and heavy like the first clouds of a thunderstorm. Ready to break, but still holding in what they would bring. A king and a princess trapped in a room together, too much power brought together in one place.
Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1) Page 11
