by Tessa Adams
“Any way that I need you?”
“Yes.”
“Including going beyond the normal boundaries of friendship? You would take your affection that far?”
“For you? Absolutely.”
The words were sweet, exactly what she might have wanted to hear yesterday or last week or last month. But two days spent with her father’s factionnaires had made her more cynical, less naive. And if that hadn’t done the job, the calculating gleam in Thierren’s eyes certainly would. Though he was doing his best to look soulful, she swore she could see the avarice in his gaze.
The betrayal cut like a knife. Not for him or her or the situation they now found themselves in, but for the relationship she had once believed they’d had. For the friendship she had once valued above all others.
This time when she tugged at her hand, he let it go—probably because he thought she wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him from rescuing her from the big, bad wolves. Or, to be more precise, the bigger, badder dragons. But she was no damsel in distress, not anymore, and if he thought she was going to latch on to the first offer she got, then he was sadly mistaken.
“I appreciate that, Thierren. I really do. As this . . . situation unfolds, it’s going to be important for me to know who I can trust.”
He blinked a little at her tone, and she didn’t blame him. It wasn’t one she’d ever used with him before—wasn’t one she could ever remember using with anyone, actually. “I’m glad I can put your mind at ease,” he answered, but his smile was a lot more unsettled than it had been just a few minutes before.
“Oh, you definitely did that. I’m so glad I can count on your support from this point forward. It will make it so much easier to convince some of the other Conseil members.”
“Yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat. “But I was kind of hoping to make my support for you a little more public.”
“More public than a Conseil meeting?” She widened her eyes as she spoke, deliberately playing into the misunderstanding. She wanted to hear him say it—a part of her still wanted to believe in him, and she needed to plainly hear his betrayal, just to make sure she wasn’t making another mistake. “I don’t think we need to advertise that I’m taking over to the entire clan, not yet. As you said earlier, some might not be ready to accept a female ruler—especially some of the older dragons.”
Now he looked pained, his smile definitely strained around the edges. “That’s not what I meant. I was thinking along the lines of something more formal, more permanent.”
“Oh, really? Like what?” Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, she pleaded with him silently. Please let me have misread the signals. Let me have made some terrible mistake.
But then he said it—the words she’d been dreading since he first took hold of her hands. “I think you should marry me, Cecily.”
She reared back in pretend shock. “Marry you? I thought you just said that you didn’t want to be king.”
“I didn’t. I mean, I don’t. But I can put aside my own desires and do this for you. I’d never turn my back on you when you need me.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she nearly puked on his shoes. It was bad enough that he wanted to marry her to cement his own position in the clan. It was another thing altogether for him to treat her like she was a brainless loser who was too stupid to see the writing on the wall.
She was torn between raking her talons down his face and telling him to go to hell. She wanted to do both, wanted to draw his blood so badly that she could barely breathe with the desire for it. But that wasn’t the way to get ahead with the Wyvernmoons, not with her father’s Conseil and not with him. He’d approached her like a gentleman—or the closest thing a slug like him could manage. It would be bad form to respond as anything less than a lady.
“That’s—that’s a very kind offer, Thierren.” She stumbled over the lie, got the words out from sheer will alone. “But I couldn’t ask you to make a sacrifice like that for me.”
He reached up, ran a soft hand down her cheek. “It’s no sacrifice, Cecily. I want to do this.”
Damn right, he does. So much so that he was champing at the bit, impatience in every line of his body. As if talking to her, let alone wooing her, was just a waste of his time on his mad dash for the grand prize. That she had gone from being someone this man sought out to talk to, to nothing more than a means to an end infuriated her all over again. A way for him to get the power she had never had a clue that he craved.
Unable to bear his touch a second longer, she stood up abruptly. For one moment, she saw a flash in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the impatience and annoyance she could feel seething right below the surface. And then it was gone, smoothed away like it had never existed, and that, more than anything else, was the death knell for his suit.
He was faking everything. The affection, the concern, the care. Faking it all in an effort to get a ring on her finger—and one on his. The royal ring, to be exact. How stupid to find out that she had been hoping, even through this whole conversation, that he at least felt something for her, as she did for him. Not romantic love, as that had never been between them. But was affection too much to hope for, in all the time they’d spent together? All the discussions they’d had?
In losing her father, had she really lost everything else, as well, everyone else, as well? It seemed like she had, only she’d been far too stupid to realize it. That thought grated above all others.
Turning her back on Thierren, she walked to the window. Looked out at the dark night and tried to fight the sudden hatred for the Dragonstars that welled up inside her. In killing her brother, they had done this to her. In killing her father, they had taken away any hope she might have had for a normal relationship—not even a sexual one, but any normal relationship.
A part of her wanted to lash out at them, to hurt them as they had hurt her, and to hell with what was best for the clan. The factionnaires would love it, and it might actually get her some support from them. She could put together the biggest war party yet, could throw some of her own formidable magic behind it, could . . .
She cut off the rest of the thoughts before they could fully form. What was the point, anyway? Going after Dylan or his mate or his council, for that matter, wasn’t going to bring her father back. Nor was it going to change the situation she now found herself in as she attempted to navigate through the sudden avalanche of interest and nefarious intentions that seemed to be assailing her from all directions.
Thank God she’d been raised in the Black Hills, where avalanches were fairly common in the wintertime. She’d learned early on how to survive in an inhospitable climate.
She turned back to Thierren with a smile on her face. “You’ve given me so much to think about, I can scarcely wrap my mind around it.” She crossed to him, extended her hands and then forced herself not to flinch when he took them. “I knew I could count on you to have my best interests at heart, to try to help me when so many of the others were calling for my blood.”
The bastard didn’t even have the grace to look uncomfortable when he nodded and squeezed her hands. Instead, a smile bloomed across his face—the first real one she had seen all night. It only made her angrier.
“I’ll always look out for you, Cecily. I’ve been doing it your whole life, after all.”
No, he’d been looking out for himself her whole life. It was amazing how this new side of him tainted every memory she had of him. “I know you have, Thierren, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your honesty. But I need you to go now. I have a lot to think about—”
“Don’t think too long, Cecily. They won’t wait forever, and you don’t want to end up at Julian’s mercy—either in the Conseil room or as his wife.”
Annoyed beyond measure at his attempt to rush her, she let a little of her true emotional state shine through for the first time. He blinked, seemingly taken aback by the malice glittering behind her royal smile. She was glad of it,
liked this proof that Thierren didn’t know her nearly as well as he thought he did.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I have absolutely no intention of ending up in a position where Julian has power over me. No intention at all.” She opened the parlor door and waited with thinly veiled impatience for Thierren to walk through it. “Now I must ask you to leave. I have much planning to do, and I’m afraid I can’t do it with you here.”
“But, Cecily, I had hoped that we could reach some understanding tonight—”
“Oh, I understand perfectly, Thierren.”
Her oldest friend blanched. “What do you mean by that?”
She pretended to be confused. “That you’ve explained things admirably, of course. Why? Did you think I meant something else?”
He stumbled through some ridiculous explanation, but she was no longer listening. She escorted him to the front door, suffered through a hug from him when all she really wanted to do was slide a dagger between his ribs, then all but shoved him out the front door.
She slammed it behind him. Then locked it for the first time that she could remember.
CHAPTER NINE
Cecily leaned against the door she had just slammed and tried to pretend that her heart wasn’t breaking wide open. It didn’t work—but then, she hadn’t really expected it to. After all, she’d never been the most accomplished liar, and no amount of self-denial was going to change that. Not now that she knew where she stood. Not now that Thierren had shown her exactly how unimportant she was in the grand scheme of things.
The only thing that mattered to him or to any of the others was the fact that she’d been born a Fournier. Any affection she had imagined that they held for her was nothing more than an illusion—and one they couldn’t keep up as their own ambitions started to overrule their common sense. She’d thought it was her fault they had walked out this afternoon, that it was because of her mistake. But the truth was, they’d been waiting for an excuse to make her look like a fool. That she had handed it to them was her fault. That they had wanted it to begin with was completely theirs.
Sinking into the leather wingback chair that had stood next to the front door for as long as she could remember, she looked around the house that had always been much more a prison to her than it had ever been a comfort. It was beautiful, pristine, elegant to the extreme. The colors were understated but rich—golds and browns with accents of ivory and rich, dark green. Thick rugs covered gleaming wood floors, and heavy tapestries hung on the walls, side by side with original paintings by famous French Impressionists in ornately gilded frames.
It was a showplace, a modern-day castle with twin purposes: to boast and to intimidate. God knew it had fulfilled those purposes well—at least in her case. She’d been intimidated by this house practically from the time she was old enough to walk. Certainly from the time her mother had died. Everything here had a place, from the furniture to the dishes to her father and brother. She was the lone outsider, the one possession of her father’s that had never quite been able to fit in.
Was it any wonder, then, that months after his death she still hadn’t found her bearings?
Her shoulders slumped and Cecily buried her head in her hands as she tried to ignore the doubts that were crowding in on her from every side. Maybe she really was making an ass out of herself with her crusade to bring peace to the Wyvernmoons. Maybe she was as naive, as stupid, as the members of the Conseil seemed to think she was.
But whatever she was, whatever she knew or didn’t know, she was certain that things couldn’t go on this way. They just couldn’t. If the clan was strong, if business as usual was moving along on a fairly even keel, maybe she could fight this fight. Maybe she could even win it. But time was a luxury that was not on her side, a luxury that wouldn’t be on her side until she found a way to control the different factions all vying to take over.
And since they obviously weren’t going to unite under her, there really was only one answer. She would have to take a husband. She would have to provide the clan with a king.
The thought of how badly she had failed—and how much she was going to have to give up because of that failure—grated and burned until she was half-mad with pain and sorrow. Everything she had, everything she was, longed to escape from her duty and all the agony and uncertainty and responsibility that came with it.
Maybe I could. The thought crept inside her slowly, so slowly that it took her a minute or two to really register it. When she did, she froze. Her mind flooded with what her life would be like if she simply took herself out of the game. If she just flat-out refused to play anymore.
Excitement welled up inside her at the thought of such freedom, and instantly Logan’s face popped into her head. He was rogue, completely free from responsibility to a clan. Master of his own fate. And he was happy—she could see that in his smile, see the joy shining from his eyes when he spoke to her. She wanted to be like him, without a care in the world. And, after her fantasy last night, wanted to be with him, as well. So much so that she had reached for the door handle before the idea had fully formed in her head.
No more would she do what they wanted her to do just because they wanted her to do it.
No more would she be moved around just to make their lives easier.
From now on, she would do what she wanted to do, and to hell with the consequences.
Why shouldn’t I? she wondered fiercely. She hadn’t been brought up for this. Her father had not once looked at her and told her that she needed to be ready to rule in case something ever happened to Jacob and him. In fact, if he had a grave, the old man would be rolling in it at the very thought.
And yet . . . and yet, really, what alternative was there for her? Did she really want Logan’s life? Did she really want to go rogue? Have nowhere to fit in, nowhere to call home? She might hate this house and everything it stood for, but it was still her home. A place where she could go when she wanted to get away from the prying eyes for a little while.
What would she do if she no longer had it?
What would she do, really, if she no longer had anywhere to belong?
Besides, who did the clan need more than its princess?
She thought back to the encounter she had had the week before, the one that had lit the fire under her desire to be a true queen. A civilian woman had come up to her to beg her pardon for her husband. She had pardoned him—of course she had, he’d done nothing wrong but take things into his own hands when the clan had failed him and his wife—but neither her father nor the factionnaires had cared about him or his family when the case had come up for trial. They had ignored them, tossed them aside like they were little more than garbage.
Like they were nothing more than pawns who existed for the Conseil’s amusement and abuse.
It had bothered her, angered her, made her determined to be more than an ineffectual figurehead for her people. Little had she known that, within days, the Conseil would have turned her into a pawn for much the same purpose.
The horror of that dawning knowledge hit her hard and she slid off the chair, not even noticing when she hit the ground hard. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she started to rock. And let the idea, the dream of being free, go before it had a chance to take root.
She wasn’t going to turn rogue today or ever. Wasn’t going to give up her clan or her position. Not because she needed or wanted the life of luxury provided to her by her birth and last name, but because as much as she tried to pretend otherwise, her people needed her.
Which meant that she was going to take the only road open to her. She was going to get married. She was going to pick a factionnaire, elevate him to king and spend the rest of her life working behind the scenes to make her people’s lives better. The dream she’d had of ruling as queen, of one day finding a man who would rule alongside her equally, was just that: a childish pipe dream. It would never have worked out, and it was better that she realize it now, before she’d completely alienated every man on the Conseil.
Too bad she hadn’t realized it before every single one of them had alienated her.
The idea of taking one of them for a husband physically hurt her, made her ache in a hundred different ways. It also begged the question—whom should she choose?
Not Julian, obviously, as he would rule the clan, and her, with an iron fist.
Not Acel and Remy, who were both too old for her, not to mention too mean.
Not Thierren, who was already drunk on the power of being her friend. His abuses of the position might be different from Julian’s or Acel’s or Remy’s, but they would occur nonetheless.
Wyatt, she wondered, with his good looks and charm, both of which hid a wicked temper and a dark past?
Dash, who made almost everything a joke but who hadn’t seen the need to stick around and back her up that afternoon?
Or Gage? She shuddered at the thought of being married to the man who had been a combination big brother/father figure for her entire life. Just the idea of the intimacy required of such an arrangement made her queasy—especially since she would be required to provide the next heir to the throne.
And yet Gage was truly the only one who had not spoken against her. The only one who had held his tongue as she had bumbled through the motions of trying to take over the clan. And he had been the last one to leave the room that afternoon.
He hadn’t helped her, but he hadn’t actively sabotaged her, either.
She snorted at the thought. What a way to pick a husband—not based on mutual affection or attraction or even common goals, but on who had not actively tried to hurt her in the last week. God, her life had deteriorated even more than she’d thought.
If it was to be Gage, then . . . If it was to be Gage . . . Her stomach twisted, threatened to revolt, but she breathed through her mouth until the nausea passed. If it was to be Gage, then she would have to reconcile herself to the idea of him touching her, kissing her, making love to her. If he was to take control of the warring factions of the clan, theirs would have to be a real marriage in every way.
