“Giselle is Kent’s wife, correct?”
“That’s right. And, truly, she’s lovely.” Grace wrinkles her nose. “In small doses.”
After adding a thin slice of orange to Grace’s tea, I hand her the cup.
“Everything’s so much prettier here,” she says as she drizzles honey in the amber liquid. “Even the tea.”
“Where are you from?” I ask, recognizing her accent as someone from the southern mainland.
Her smile falters, and she brushes an escaped strand of her very light brown hair behind her ear. “I grew up in Vernow.”
“I take it you’re glad to be away?”
“I was happy there, for the most part. But those good memories are tempered with unsavory ones.” She glances out the window and pauses as she takes a sip of tea. “I much prefer it here.”
Changing the subject, she asks, “Doing a little light reading?”
Dragons, A History of Terror, V. 3, sits discarded on a nearby settee.
“Ah…yes.”
“You’ve heard the rumors,” she says.
I look up. “You know of them?”
She nods. “Yes, but as far as we can tell, rumors are all they are. King Edlund sent a regiment of knights to both villages that had supposedly seen the creature, but there was no evidence.”
“Were the reports of the same description?”
“In both cases, the witnesses only claimed to see a massive figure cloaked in the shadows of night.”
“But there were attacks, weren’t there?”
Grace shakes her head. “A farmer in Balt lost four sheep, and a family in Marble lost a horse. There was no blood, no sign of struggle. It’s more likely to have been the work of a thief.”
Brushing the subject aside, obviously not keen to talk of it anymore, she informs me of the plans for the evening’s dinner.
***
Milly chatters as I finish dressing for the evening meal. I nod here and there, but she’s mostly content to carry on a one-sided conversation about her trip to the village with Rogert.
Irving never showed up. Grace came and left, I browsed through books that told me nothing, and Milly returned home—and all that time I foolishly waited for him.
“Help me cinch this.” I turn my back toward Milly.
She clasps my pale beige gown’s laces and yanks them snug, nearly jerking me off my feet. “And Rogert said the blue would suit me better, so, of course, that’s the one I chose.”
“Of course.”
She’s speaking of earrings or sashes or possibly a gown she commissioned. I’m not entirely sure.
“After that, we had tea at that little tavern with the fountain in front.”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“And then we stopped at that lovely rustic chapel and were married by the sweetest old bishop.”
“How lovel—” I angle my head over my shoulder and give her a sharp look. “What did you say?”
She gives me a wry smile. “I was only checking to see if you were paying attention.”
“I was.”
Milly yanks the laces again as she secures the knot. “Barely. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” Which isn’t true. “I’m simply not looking forward to this evening’s dinner.” Which is true.
After we’re finished, we make our way to the courtyard where the others should already be gathering.
Milly gasps when we walk through the front entryway.
Though we are to be at the castle in less than an hour, the men are gathered in the front, sparring. They’re sweaty and dusty, more ready to go to battle than to a formal dinner with the ruling family of Ptarma.
“Barowalt!” I cry out.
My brother turns, startled. I gape at the man Barowalt was dueling against. Irving looks as if he’s been dragged by a rope from the back of a horse. He’s filthy and his tunic is torn in several places. Resting his sword at his side, he leans forward, grinning, and draws in a lungful of air.
“Good evening, Audette. You look lovely.”
“What is going on?” I demand, sweeping toward them in my layers of gauzy, sparkling gown. I turn most of my venom on my brother. “You do realize, don’t you, that we’re expected to dine this evening with the king and queen of Ptarma?”
Barowalt slides his sword in the sheath at his side and looks at me, unconcerned. “Irving and I were attending to some business.”
The knights watch the exchange, some looking guilty and the others amused.
“And are you finished?” I ask.
Barowalt looks at Irving. He nods. “Yes, I believe so.”
I cross my arms and tilt my chin in the air. “And what, exactly, has been decided?”
Barowalt turns back to me, his face solemn. “Irving has earned the right to be inducted into the Order.”
CHAPTER SIX
I gape at my brother. “That is not your decision to make.”
Barowalt sighs, somehow frowning in an indulgent way. “Audette—”
“No,” I say, stepping forward. “I am still head of the Order, and I will make the final decision.” I’m careful to keep my eyes off Irving and trained on my brother. “There has never been a man who wasn’t a product of Brookraven blood in the Order, and I do not believe it’s wise to change that tradition now.”
These men, my knights, have been trained since birth. Though I’m inclined to cast my hard feelings aside when it comes to Irving, this decision isn’t a wise one.
Barowalt crosses his arms. “We’ll discuss it after tonight’s dinner.”
Frowning, biting my tongue so I won’t continue to argue with him in front of our men, I nod. He may be my brother, but he is also my king. I will respect him.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him push this through. The Order is outside the whims of the Brookraven king. It’s a ruling entity of its own.
“You best hurry,” I finally say. “We’re going to be late as it is.”
The men scatter, nodding in greeting—and some in apology—as they pass me. As Barowalt steps by, he nudges me with his shoulder. I glance at him, irritated. He wears an ornery smile, and my mood lightens.
“You’ll see the wisdom in my decision,” he promises quietly.
I study his dark hair, his dark eyes—so different from mine. Where Barowalt looks like our father, with my fair hair and fawn-colored eyes, I’ve taken after Mother. Yet, despite our differences, we wear the same determined look, the same obstinate tilt of our jaw. That, according to Father, is all from our mother.
Stepping aside and motioning Barowalt to hurry, I say, “We’ll see.”
Finally, when they’ve all passed, there’s only Irving. Milly mumbles an excuse, claiming she forgot something in her chambers, and she disappears inside.
Irving strides to me, looking a little worse for wear. “Good evening, Princess.”
“What are you playing at?” I ask him.
“It was Barowalt’s idea, not mine.” He smiles, his eyes teasing. “I was only vaguely aware of Brookraven’s secret guild until this evening.”
“Then why do you desire to be part of it?”
I want to brush the dirt off his tunic, wipe a smudge from his cheek with my thumb, but I keep my hands still.
He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “If this is what it takes to prove myself to your brother—to you, then I’ll do it.”
Stepping past him and into the gardens, I say, “And that’s why it’s a bad idea. You can’t join the Order in hopes of pleasing me. You must believe in it.”
Irving matches my pace. “And perhaps I will—but I still have no idea what your Order does, so, for now, it’s about you.”
I glance at him, meeting his eyes in the moonlight. Why does it seem all our civil conversations take place at night, with the stars and the evening breeze marring my judgment? When did this become so difficult? Irving wasn’t expected to join the Order when we married. In the original agreement, my mother already told his paren
ts I would be needed from time to time on Brookraven business with no questions asked.
He knew of the guild, and that was enough.
“Meet me here tomorrow night, just before dusk.” Worried I may be making a grave error in judgment, I continue, “I’ll show you what the Order is about. After that, we’ll decide if you’re worthy.”
He nods, solemn. Then his expression shifts, and he smiles. “You look lovely this evening.”
Self-conscious, I glance at my gown. It’s gathered at my waist, and though the skirt is full, the gossamer layers are light. This time of year, at home, I’d never be able to wear a sleeveless dress. Here the evening is just on the side of cool…the perfect temperature to step into someone’s arms in hopes of warding off the chill.
But even if I were so inclined—which I’m not—I wouldn’t. Irving is filthy. And yet, there’s something very male about him and the sweat darkening his hair. The almost full moon shines on his chain mail, and though most of it’s dull with dirt, there are places it shines. He looks strong and capable.
“You should go,” I say. “You’re going to be late for dinner as it is.”
As if he knew where my thoughts were trailing, he gives me a knowing smile. “I’ll see you shortly.”
I press a hand to my stomach as I watch him leave. He disappears into the stable and shortly emerges again with his horse. He mounts, the picture of masculine grace. With a hand raised to me in farewell, he rides down the road, toward the castle.
I hear Milly come up behind me. She stands next to me, watching as Irving’s silhouette disappears into the blackness.
“You like him,” she says, her voice both teasing and accusing.
“I might.”
“It would be all right, you know,” she says, tilting her head, “to let yourself feel something for him.”
The Ptarma lilies are at the end of their bloom cycle, but a few persistent ones stand tall in their beds. I examine one, carefully brushing its petals with my finger.
“Our marriage was never about an emotional attachment.” I glance at her. “I know his kind. He’ll get bored, and his affections will shift elsewhere. If I do agree to marry him, it won’t be because I’m in love.” I look at her. “It would be very foolish to fall in love with that man.”
“That’s all very logical.” Milly glances toward the villa as Barowalt strides through the front. “But we can’t choose who we fall in love with. It simply happens.”
I straighten. “Maybe it does for you, but I will not let myself fall in love with Irving.”
Smiling, she rolls her eyes, turning her attention away from my brother. “You’ll have to tell me how that works for you.”
Soon the knights are ready, each of them in a light dress chain mail and looking far too handsome for their own good.
I catch Rogert’s arm as he walks past. “You’ll behave yourselves tonight, won’t you?”
“I’m hurt, Princess.” He flashes me a grin. “Don’t we always?”
***
Barowalt’s seated on my right, and Milly’s on my left. Irving is directly across from him, and Giselle, who turns out to be the third-born princess of some kingdom in Waldren, sits by his side. Her husband, Kent, has gone off, hunting boar in western Ptarma with his father and Prince Aldus.
I hope she wouldn’t behave the way she did if he were present.
“You must take a tour of Ptarma while you’re here.” Giselle’s hand trails to Irving’s wrist, and she leans a fraction closer. In her charming accent, she continues, “It’s such a lovely kingdom.”
In an attempt to ignore the exchange, I carefully pull the bones from the delicate, pink-fleshed fish on my plate. The cattle here is mostly used for milk, and fish is a staple in the Ptarmish diet. Besides the prawns, I’m not overly fond of it.
Irving reaches for his goblet, subtly moving her hand from his wrist. “Perhaps you and your husband will take me on a tour?”
I hide a smile behind my napkin. Grace catches it and presses her lips together, holding back a laugh. Javid’s between her and Irving, and, though his attention is on the meal, he doesn’t seem terribly impressed with his cousin’s wife either.
Giselle gives Irving a knowing smile, and she tosses her glossy hair behind her shoulder. “I’m sure he’d love to, but Kent keeps himself so busy, and I’m often bored to tears.” Her eyes travel over Irving, and she wears a telling smile. “But I’d be happy to entertain you.”
I look at Grace, shocked. The duchess raises her eyebrows, silently reminding me she’d told me as much.
Giselle continues to make eyes at Irving through the rest of the meal. Unfortunately, the king and queen are at the end of the table, conversing with the elder nobility, and they don’t see the shameful display their nephew’s wife is putting on.
“Audette,” Giselle says after following Irving’s gaze to me. “You’re from Brookraven, is that right?” She says the name of our kingdom slowly as if she’s questioning its existence.
“Yes.”
She leans forward, smiling. “I’m not familiar with all of Elden’s tiny kingdoms—they are so many on the outskirts, after all. I was curious of yours, seeing as you’re family. But when I tried to find it on a map, I’m afraid I wasn’t able to locate it.”
Brookraven is on the eastern edge of Lenrook, and though it may be small, it’s plainly marked on any map of Elden.
I have no answer for her, so I only smile. Unfortunately, next to me, Barowalt is in a conversation with Rogert and didn’t hear. He would have had a clever answer for her.
“Primewood, though,” she says, turning back to Irving, “looks fascinating.”
What map was she looking at? It’s nothing but forest.
“I’m rather partial to it,” Irving says.
Giselle’s hand drifts under the table, and, from the way Irving jumps, likely to his leg. She leans closer. “You’ll find that I am very friendly, should you grow homesick.”
Irving stands. “Audette, you seem to be finished. Shall we take that walk you promised me?”
I promised him no such walk, but I rise, eager to be away from Giselle. “Of course.”
A harpist begins to strum her soft melody as others excuse themselves from the tables. Irving escorts me through the hall and into the gardens. Fire-lit urns dot the paths, lighting the walkways.
“Thank you,” Irving says.
“The princess seemed to be rather fond of you.” I avoid his eyes, looking instead at the flowers.
He shakes his head. “Persistent, wasn’t she?”
“And lovely.”
Irving stops suddenly, and since my arm is in his, I’m forced to stop as well. Leaning in, he says, “And married.”
I shrug, still not able to meet his eyes.
“There’s only one girl I’m interested in.” With a finger to my chin, Irving tilts my head toward him, making me look at him. “And I’m looking at her.”
The words roll off his tongue in a practiced manner, and I don’t doubt he’s saying them because he thinks they are what I want to hear. And maybe I do, but I don’t necessarily believe him.
“Because you don’t want to lose your title,” I say.
He smiles, and it’s such a brilliant thing, my heart gives an extra thump.
“Telling me I have to marry you to keep my title,” he says, “is like saying I must eat dessert before I choke down the fish they’re so fond of here.”
A smile fights at my lips, and I give into it. “That implies you don’t want your title.”
Readjusting our arms so they are linked just a little closer, he continues on. “Honestly? I like my position—I like the freedom, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fond of the gold. But crowning me king? It doesn’t seem like a sane idea.”
Earlier, I’d had the same thought of him being in the Order. But now, seeing the shadow of doubt on his face, I wonder if Irving hasn’t drawn himself short.
“Barowalt believes there’s mo
re to you than you give yourself credit for,” I say.
He gives me an incredulous look.
“I’m serious. He’d never suggest you join the Order if he didn’t.”
We walk through the meandering paths, past fountains, private nooks, palm trees and weeping willows. Scattered amongst the beds of vibrant flowers, moonstones, artfully arranged in patterns, glow after soaking up a full day’s worth of sunshine. Nearby, a night bird calls.
It feels as if we’re the only ones out here, but the gardens are so extensive, there are likely more people strolling as we are.
“Speaking of the Order, tell me something.” Irving glances at me, smiling. “What exactly flows in Brookraven’s water?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Are all the men of Brookraven as huge as your chosen elite, or did you scour the countryside searching for them?” He grins. “Being amongst them is a bit humbling, to tell you the truth.”
“Not all of them.”
“Is there something in your water that produces such beefy individuals? Fairy magic?” He grins at his joke.
“In a manner.”
Startled, he pauses. “Darling, I wasn’t serious.”
I have no idea why Barowalt suddenly feels Irving should join the Order, but I trust my brother’s judgment.
“If you really want to know our secret, be at the villa tomorrow as we discussed.”
Suddenly, he looks concerned.
“What is it?” I ask.
He turns toward me and sets his hands on my shoulders. “You’re not dabbling in something dangerous, are you?”
Giving in to impulse, I run my hand from his shoulder, down his arm. “Dark magic?”
Solemn and wary, he nods.
I laugh at the thought. “No. We’re as far removed from the dark sources as the day is from the night.”
“In that case, please tell me you’re not actually in league with fairies.” He smiles, but there’s something in his expression. “I’ve had my fill of them.”
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 5
