The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  He brushes his thumb over my cheek again, and I lower my eyes.

  “We should return,” he says.

  I look again to the southern mountains. “Have you ever thought of leaving? Of disappearing into the night and never coming back?”

  “No.”

  I look away, ashamed.

  He gently tilts my chin back. “But I do not blame you for having such thoughts.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “This is my land, and these people are my people. As a lord of this kingdom, it’s my duty to do everything I can to help them survive—to help them thrive. I would lay down my life for the good of Errinton.”

  A chill runs through me.

  “You really should be king,” I whisper. The words startle me. As I say them, I know they are true.

  Rigel’s face hardens, and he shakes his head. “It’s not my place.”

  “It should have been.”

  “I am content with my lot in life.” He drops his hand from my face and crosses his arms. “I have land. I have far more gold than I require for survival or comfort. I have people I trust and who, in return, trust me.”

  I cross my arms as well. “You are far greater a man than Calden could have ever hoped to be.”

  The sternness falls from his face. “If only I could be the man you seem to think I am.”

  Feeling a strange surge of boldness, I set my fingers on his chest. “You already are.”

  Before he can respond, I step away and pull myself on my horse. From the ground, Rigel watches me. Thoughts churn behind his dark eyes. Finally, he mounts his own horse, and we continue on.

  “I’ve heard you speak of ore,” I say as we near the castle. “What is it you’re mining?”

  Most gave up on the iron ore in our mountains when the dragon trade died. Every kingdom has a supply of iron; none are interested in ours.

  “When I was a boy, my father would let me visit his mines. Do you remember? I probably spoke of it.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to bring a child to a mine?”

  Rigel shoots me a look, and I smile to myself. No man in Errinton would be daunted by something dangerous, and it’s an affront to their honor to mention it.

  “Amongst the magnetite, there’s a strange, green mineral that laces the mountains. When I asked my father what it was, and why it wasn’t mined, he said it was of no interest to us.”

  I look at him sharply. “Could it be malachite?”

  As far as I know, we have no deposits of the chalky, green mineral. Neither do any of the neighboring kingdoms.

  He meets my eyes, and he looks as if I’ve pleased him. “No, it’s not malachite—though that’s what I had hoped as well. It’s a little darker and much harder.”

  The mineral isn’t copper then. It’s too bad. There’s so little of it in Elden; it’s worth more than gold.

  “I was stubborn when I was younger,” Rigel continues, and he pauses when I raise a knowing eyebrow at him. He gives me a wry almost-smile and then continues, “I doggedly picked at that green rock until I had enough to take home. I tried to smelt it, but it was to no avail. I gave up, figuring Father was right.”

  “You never told me this.”

  He laughs. “It was trivial at the time. Nothing came of it.”

  His story is cut short when we reach the village.

  Guards watch us from the tall wall that wraps the village’s perimeter. Flanking the entry are two massive stone dragons. They, too, look down on us. I’m told they’re larger and grander than any in Errinton. I don’t know it for a fact; I’ve never seen any of the others.

  We pass through the village, and I smile to the peasants I am friendly with. For everyone that greets me, two more avert their eyes with a sneer.

  But they all look at Rigel.

  What is it about this man that commands such respect? I, like them, am not immune to it. Some look at him with friendly familiarity, as if they know him personally and have judged him a worthy friend. Many—an alarmingly large majority—watch him with fiery pride in their eyes, a kind of hunger.

  Father is right to fear him.

  I dismount and hand my mare to a waiting groom. I expect Rigel to do the same, but, instead, he walks his horse past the man and into the stable. I glance at the grooms, surprised.

  One turns toward me and bows his head. “He always tends his own horse, Your Highness.”

  I nod to them and then follow Rigel.

  The air in the stable is not pleasant. It reeks of horse, manure, and the thick, heavy scent of feed. I hold a hand over my nose as I grow used to the smell. Now I remember why I rarely venture into the stables.

  Rigel’s stallion snorts and tosses his giant black head in the air. Rigel unsaddles him and then takes his time to brush him. We’ll be late for the evening meal, but even with the stench, I would rather be here than in the great hall. At least it’s warm. I pull off my cloak and set it over the door of an empty stall.

  A large fire is centered directly in the middle of the stables. A massive stone chimney works as a center beam for the structure. The hearth is open on four sides, giving the stable a surprisingly cozy feel. It’s almost too warm.

  I lean against a beam and watch Rigel work. Hot from his task, he’s shed not only his cloak but also his outer jacket. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his tunic as well. My gaze wanders over his lean, muscular frame. I lower my eyes, embarrassed, but they flicker back. Though he’s paid me little attention during the process, his gaze moves to me now, catching me in my assessment. I start, embarrassed.

  Rigel’s hand goes still. For once, his mask of control drops. A flicker of something warm and wanting passes over his face. My breath catches in my throat, but at the moment, air seems of little importance. Heat blooms in my chest. Slowly, Rigel pulls his gaze back to his task.

  The moment has left me feeling off-kilter, and I can’t watch him anymore. I let out a slow breath and turn the corner to stand in front of the brightly burning fire.

  I wait for several minutes, watching the flame dance in the hearth.

  Straw crunches behind me, and Rigel says, “Seirsha?”

  I close my eyes, savoring the way my name sounds when he says it.

  “You forgot your cloak.” He settles it over my shoulders.

  His hands linger even after it’s placed. If I turn now, I’ll be in his arms.

  I shiver at the thought.

  “Are you cold?” he asks.

  So much of Rigel’s appeal comes from his voice. It’s as dark as his hair, and there’s a richness to it, a lovely catch that hints at danger and excitement. I could lose myself in it.

  Hoping he won’t move away, I turn. My eyes find his, and I silently beg him to stay where he is.

  Please, don’t step back.

  There’s no one around. The grooms and stable hands have already left for the evening, gone to the tavern for their ale and mead. I’m sure there are guards posted at the entrances, but they’re outside.

  We are quite alone.

  “You told me what people think of me.” I bravely meet his eyes. “Do you want to know what they say about you?”

  His expression turns wary. “Not particularly.”

  I laugh under my breath. “They say you are honest and fair—an evaluation that doesn’t always make you popular with the crowd we keep.” Encouraged by his amused snort, I continue, “They also say you are loyal to the king despite your very obvious reasons not to be.”

  “What if people are wrong?”

  I shake my head. He’s already demonstrated his steadfastness. “They aren’t.”

  Rigel steps toward me, closer now than when we were dancing. “What if my allegiance lies not with the king…” He watches me closely. “But with his daughter?”

  My knees go weak, and my hand absently strays to the pendant. His eyes follow my fingers, and I flush.

  “You’re still wearing it.”

  I lock my eyes on his, hoping he’ll understand wha
t I can’t say. “I told you. I always do.”

  He cups the back of my neck. “Seirsha, I—”

  Pippa’s unmistakable laughter fills the stables, and I almost groan. We pull apart, trying to look casual, but it’s too late. The pair spots us, and their eyes widen.

  Pippa sends Rigel a feline smirk. “This seems familiar.”

  The princess wags her eyebrows as she walks past us, leading her horse with her. Unlike Pippa, Archer tries to hide his smile. He does a poor job of it.

  Rigel shakes his head, but the curve of his lips betrays the irritated laughter he’s holding in. I don’t understand their teasing, but I’m still too flustered to ponder it.

  I steal a glance at Rigel. He raises an eyebrow, which sends a riot of sparks straight through me. The tension has returned tenfold, but now it’s of a different nature.

  Chapter Seven

  “It seems you and Rigel are” —Pippa taps her finger against my sitting room table, pretending she’s searching for the right words— “getting along fine.”

  She smiles over her cup of tea.

  “Yes.” I take a sip of my own tea.

  The princess leans forward on her elbows. “How long have you been in love with him?”

  I choke on the hot liquid. “I’m not in love with Rigel.”

  Pippa laughs at me and waves her hand like I’ve said something humorous. “Please.”

  I set my cup down. “And Father will never join our family lines even if I am.”

  “Well, he’s smitten with you.”

  My cup trembles in my hand, and I almost spill the tea on my gown.

  She continues, oblivious to my discomfort. “He’s different around you. I see a warmth in him that I’ve never noticed before.”

  “He hardly knows me anymore.”

  Pippa helps herself to another one of Rella’s scones and slathers it with more butter than most women would dare. “Didn’t you grow up together?”

  “We were often together when we were young, yes, but once we reached adulthood…” I shrug. “We were parallel, but our paths never crossed. I could see him…he was often here at court…but we seldom interacted.”

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. This is so hard to explain to someone who’s obviously never had restrictions placed on her. Pippa is free to the point of being wild. She doesn’t understand.

  “Father wants me to be seen, but I mustn’t speak. I’m a decoration, a—” I struggle for the right word.

  She frowns. “An ornament.”

  I nod.

  “A beautiful bird with a cold master,” she adds quietly.

  The words mean something to her, and somehow we’ve connected. I take another sip of tea and look out the window at the gray day. The morning’s snow has turned to sleet. It’s almost the first days of summer. Soon we may have rain.

  Pippa frowns at her cup and then glances around my sitting room. She’s restless. “Do you enjoy this?”

  I swirl a stray tea leaf in my cup. “Not particularly.”

  “Good.” She stands. “Let’s go.”

  “Where would we go?”

  She shrugs. “Take me somewhere I won’t feel like I’m suffocating.”

  After I think about it, I say, “All right.”

  ***

  Bea instantly takes to Pippa. They’re laughing so loudly, I’m afraid Rella will kick us out of the kitchens. I smile to myself as I work the dough under my hands. The yeasty aroma envelopes me, and for the time being, I am perfectly content.

  Could Rigel love me?

  I let myself fall to daydreams, remembering each memory I’ve treasured: the flowers he picked for me when we were children, the chaste kisses he stole when we were young and hopeful and stupid…the day he gave me the pendant.

  “Seirsha,” Rella says. “Are you finished?”

  I look down at the forgotten dough in my hands.

  “She’s in love,” Pippa announces as if it explains everything.

  I expect some kind of argument, but Bea and her mother only nod.

  I give the dough a good smack with the palm of my hand. “This is ridiculous.”

  A hush falls over the kitchen, and I look up to see what the problem is. My breath catches in my throat. Rigel stands at the door, looking as dark and handsome as ever. His arms are crossed, and he wears an almost amused expression. “Pippa, your husband is looking for you.”

  “I’m making bread.” She proudly holds up the gnarly dough she’s been neglecting.

  Rigel raises an eyebrow. “I see that.”

  She wipes off her hands. “You’ll have to finish for me.”

  The kitchen maids stare at the princess with slack jaws. No one has ever suggested a lord of Errinton, especially a lord with Rigel’s lineage, bake bread.

  “All right.” He strides to our bench, takes a place by my side, and looks at me expectantly. “What do I do?”

  I blink at him and then look away. “You’ll get floury.”

  Rigel leans close so only I may hear him. “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

  His face stays expressionless, but there’s humor in his eyes. I’m so disconcerted; I can only stare at him.

  “Have fun,” Pippa trills as she leaves.

  Bea and Rella not-so-subtly find another chore, and we’re as alone as we can be in a kitchen full of curious, giggly girls.

  “What do I do?” Rigel asks.

  I can’t look at him as I say, “You knead it, push it, and fold it. Give it a turn and do it again.”

  He takes the dough and looks at me in question. I set my hands over his, guiding his fingers. My cheeks grow warm, and I remove my hands after I have demonstrated the process.

  “Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?” he asks.

  “Father wouldn’t like it if he knew I was here.”

  “We all need a sanctuary.”

  I meet his eyes and let myself smile, not even bothering to hide it. He stares at me as if bemused.

  “You’re not bad at this,” I say.

  With little instruction, he’s moving the dough deftly under his hands.

  “Well,” he says with a lazy shrug. “I’ve done it before.”

  I turn to him, surprised. He flashes me a dazzling grin. More than a few of the kitchen girls giggle. I shake my head and look away before he can see how he affects me.

  “Why the kitchens?” he asks.

  “It’s warm.”

  He sets his finished dough on the stone to rise, and then he starts on another piece. “The stables are warm.”

  I scrunch my nose. “The stables smell bad.”

  His lips tip in what’s almost a smirk. “Because of the men or the horses?”

  Startled, I laugh. “Probably both.”

  “There are certainly no men here.”

  Giving him a sideways look, I say, “There’s one. I wouldn’t say he smells bad…”

  I get a thrill in taking Rigel off guard. I smile at him in challenge, wondering how he’ll reply.

  He narrows his eyes. “You have flour on your face.”

  Suddenly self-conscious, I brush my cheek. “Where?”

  Rigel dips his finger in the barrel next to us and swipes it down my nose. He leans in close, so we’re eye to eye, and he grins at me. “Right there.”

  I gape at him, shocked.

  Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the smallest pinch of flour and flick it on his tunic.

  “Oh, Princess.” His eyes glint with humor despite his serious tone. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  In the end—and much to Bea’s delight—it’s me and Rigel that Rella shoos from the kitchens.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me—I don’t know what’s gotten into him. We haven’t behaved like this since we were children.

  Eyeing Rigel, I say, “I think I won.”

  He’s covered in flour. He runs a hand through his hair, and a white cloud poofs around him. “Not a chance.”


  We walk along the corridor and both of us attempt to dust ourselves clean.

  Voices sound from down the hall. I look at Rigel, horrified. We can’t be seen like this. He takes my hand and pulls me around a corner. Laughing, we race down corridors until we’re deep in the castle. I don’t even know where we’re at.

  Breathing hard from the mad dash, I lean against a stone wall. Our eyes meet. Rigel steps close, and my heart leaps. Of all the memories we have shared together, this will be my favorite.

  He props a hand on either side of my shoulders and leans in, his dark eyes gleaming. “I’m fond of you, Seirsha.”

  An easy grin stretches across his face. It’s almost as if the expression is familiar to him, like there is somewhere he feels comfortable enough to smile often. I want to know that place. I want to be that place.

  My cheeks grow hot, and I’m grinning like a fool, but I don’t care. “I somewhat like you as well.”

  “Come with me to my land tomorrow. Just for the day.”

  My mood falls. “Rigel, I can’t.”

  His eyes are on mine, unreadable.

  “You can,” he says quietly. “You can spend as much time with me as you want.”

  I realize why he’s right, and I turn from him, pushing my shoulder against the wall to move away.

  Rigel sets his hand on my arm, stopping me. “Please.”

  I hesitate, unsure.

  He steps back and takes my hands. “I swear to you, on my honor and my life, I will not touch you.”

  My eyes drop to our clasped hands. I raise an eyebrow, trying to lock down the erratic emotions I’m feeling. “You’re touching me now.”

  He gives me a wry smile, and amusement shines in his dark eyes. “Do I need to be more specific?”

  My cheeks flush again at the thought. “No.”

  “Will you come tomorrow?”

  “Father will be upset if you leave.”

  Leaning against the wall, he says, “We’ll be back before dusk.”

  I let myself get lost in his eyes. “All right.”

  “Good.” He wears a satisfied expression, but then he looks around and frowns. “Now, where are we?”

  ***

  Escaping to Rigel’s land makes me feel like I’m participating in something scandalous. It’s both exhilarating and nerve-racking.