Prince of Shadow and Ash

by Selina R. Gonzalez

  Minerva held her pregnant stomach as she laughed again.

  Gaius looked at Regulus with sympathy. “They do this sometimes. It’s most unfair.”

  “Maybe you should learn Khast,” Dresden said.

  “Minerva tried to teach me, but I fear I’m a poor student.” Gaius wrapped his arm around Minerva’s shoulders, and Regulus envied how comfortable and at ease they looked, with her shoulder tucked between his chest and arm.

  “Shall we continue?” Adelaide asked, looking as if she had recovered her composure.

  “Right.” Regulus nodded. “Nearly there.”

  Chapter 20

  ADELAIDE FOCUSED ON maintaining a composed exterior as they continued on their way. She left a little extra space between her and Regulus and didn’t take his arm again. She still felt a little...dizzy? Winded? For a moment, she’d wondered if he was going to kiss her. If she was honest, she had wished he would, although the thought made her legs feel weak. Adelaide had never been kissed, and the idea of kissing Regulus was both nerve-wracking and tantalizing. Hence, the extra space between them now. Plus, something Minerva had said, even in teasing, troubled her.

  Maybe he should talk to Father.

  Father was cautious with all his daughters, but with Adelaide most of all. She was the youngest, and more importantly, she was a mage. What if Father—or Mother, who could be even more fiercely protective—didn’t think Regulus could be trusted with her secret? Adelaide glanced over. She had a gut feeling she could trust Regulus. He’s a good man. I’m sure of it. If she wanted to marry him, would Father forbid her?

  Oh. A realization hit her with the force of one of her throwing knives, right in her heart. I’m thinking about marrying him. A whirlwind of emotions. Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Giddiness.

  True, Father would do anything to protect her. But Father loved her, and he trusted her. If Adelaide trusted Regulus, Father would, too. She looked over at Regulus again and caught him looking at her. She blushed and glanced away, smiling to herself.

  Might as well admit it. You’re falling hard.

  “Lady Adelaide!”

  Adelaide groaned internally as she recognized the voice. She forced a pleasant smile and turned toward Nolan.

  Nolan approached flanked by a couple knights. He had paired an ostentatious aquamarine doublet with a white shirt and navy trousers. A sword hung from a leather belt embroidered with silver thread, as if he feared someone might forget his parents were wealthy. His light brown hair, as usual, was perfect. What a marked contrast to Regulus’ loose, open-necked black shirt, plain sword belt, and longer, tousled wavy black hair.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Adelaide.” Nolan bowed, predictably snatching up her hand to kiss her fingers. She hated the flamboyant gesture. He bowed toward the rest of the party. “And you as well, Sir Gaius, Lady Minerva. Lord Hargreaves.” He sounded terse as he addressed Regulus, but his expression stayed agreeable. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you competed.”

  “I haven’t had the desire in the past,” Regulus said, to Adelaide’s surprise. “But I will compete in archery, sword, and joust this time.”

  “Interesting.” Nolan looked at Dresden. “And...tell me your name again?”

  “Sir Jakobs.” Dresden sounded unamused.

  “Right. I don’t expect you’ll be competing? Not allowed, I’d wager.”

  Shock rushed through her at Nolan’s flaunting of Dresden’s non-noble blood.

  “No,” Dresden said, his tone cool. “Only because the officials feared I’d kill some poor noble.”

  “Mm.” Nolan directed his attention back to Adelaide. Sorrow shadowed his face. “My lady, you wound me.”

  “Pardon?”

  He gestured toward her neck. “I had hoped to see my gift around that beautiful neck.”

  “Oh.” Adelaide’s fingers drifted to her bare neck. “The necklace was very...um, thoughtful.” She floundered. “But—”

  “Not your style?” Nolan sighed. “My mother warned me against jewelry, but I wanted something that at least approached your beauty.”

  How do you politely say, “Thank you, not interested?”

  “Perhaps over supper you can tell me more about yourself, and I can send better tokens of my affection in the future.”

  Supper? Future! Adelaide took a step backward, her words caught in her throat.

  “I’m sorry?” Regulus choked out.

  Adelaide’s palms grew slick. This conversation had careened out of control.

  “Good luck with that.” Minerva snorted. “Perhaps you should ask Lord Hargreaves what kinds of gifts Adelaide enjoys.”

  Nolan opened and closed his mouth as he shot a glare Regulus’ direction. “I suppose,” he said with a pleasant smile, “until I can offer gifts more suited to your tastes, Adelaide, I’ll have to win this tournament in your honor.”

  Adelaide shook her head. “Oh—”

  “Has someone else already dedicated their victory to you?” Nolan raised a brow.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Good. I wouldn’t expect too much from Hargreaves’ first tournament, to be blunt.”

  “I’ll enjoy proving you wrong,” Regulus said evenly.

  Adelaide huffed. Annoying male egos. “Sir Nolan—”

  “Please, just Nolan.”

  “Sir Carrick.” She took a deep breath. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding.”

  “Then what is there to misunderstand?” Nolan looked into her eyes. “Every blow with my sword, every hit with my lance. Every win, and my ultimate victory, will be for you. When I am weak, I will look to you and your smiling face will give me strength.”

  Adelaide raised her brows, jaw agape. Is he for real? “Sir Carrick—”

  “Nolan,” he said, an edge to his voice. She took a deep breath as her irritation grew.

  “Sir Carrick,” Gaius said. “The lady is trying to let you down gently.”

  Nolan looked to Gaius, then back at her. “Is this true?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t return your feelings.”

  “Obviously,” Dresden muttered.

  Nolan glared at Regulus. “Because of him?”

  She couldn’t contain her irritation any longer. “Because of you! You’re insufferable! You’re vain and rude and presumptuous!” She clenched her hands into fists as she shoved down the urge to knock him backwards with a magic blast. “Just...go!”

  Nolan hung his head. “I apologize profusely, my lady. I meant no offense. My heart ran away with me, and if in my zeal to show you my affection, I appeared vain and presumptuous, I am most ashamed.”

  His sudden show of humility caught her by surprise. He certainly knew how to speak well when he so desired.

  “I would give anything for a chance to redeem myself.” Nolan stepped closer. Regulus moved around her, his hand on his sword. She didn’t need him to, but she appreciated the protective instinct.

  “Lady Belanger asked you to leave,” Regulus said, his voice deep and emphatic. Gracious, that was attractive.

  Nolan backed up. “As for rude, I blame my sincere desire to protect you from a man I do not believe to be worthy of your trust or your affections.” He bowed, then sauntered past, followed by his knights. As he passed Regulus, he said in a voice so low she almost didn’t hear him, “I’ll see you in the lists, mongrel.”

  Regulus watched him go, his expression stony.

  “I do not like that man,” Dresden said. “The villain.” He spat.

  “Drez!” Regulus snapped.

  “That seems harsh,” Gaius said. He stood behind Minerva with his arms wrapped around her stomach.

  “I’ve heard things,” Dresden said. “Scandalous rumors. About why his engagement was called off.”

  “Nolan was engaged?” Adelaide asked, the information like a slap to her face. Regulus’ expression shuttered at her use of Nolan’s first name, and she felt an immediate twinge of guilt.

  “It wasn’
t very public,” Dresden explained. “But rumor has it his parents had arranged a marriage for him a couple years back. Some say to Baron Gaveston’s daughter, but who knows. He offended the bride’s father, who called it off. If that weren’t enough to call him a villain, one of the Carricks’ servants will swear up and down that Baron Esmil’s oldest daughter was forced to join a convent after she was caught...” He cleared his throat. “With Nolan Carrick.”

  Adelaide’s face heated as she recalled Nolan’s offer to walk her to her room at Carrick castle.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say based on rumor,” Gaius said.

  “I’ve heard something similar.” Minerva nodded. “And I know a few young ladies who’ve admitted to pushing the boundaries of propriety for Nolan Carrick’s charm.”

  Adelaide shrugged. “Hopefully that means he’ll easily find someone else to bother with his bravado.”

  “Or he’s run out of other viable options,” Dresden said. Adelaide did not care for that possibility. She must have looked upset, because Dresden added, “But that seems unlikely. He’ll probably have moved on by this time tomorrow.”

  “Enough about Nolan Carrick.” She waved her hand. “He’s wasted enough of our time.”

  REGULUS DUCKED OUT of his tent and stretched. The sun just peeked above the horizon and the chill air bit through his worn, loose linen shirt and trousers. His bare toes curled into the grass. The clatter of pots, sound of footsteps, rustle of tents, and snatches of quiet conversation drifted through the air. He breathed in deeply as he stretched, and immediately regretted it. The air stank of dust, smoke, horses, and body odor. It smelled like camp and took him back to his days as a mercenary. He had many fond memories of those days, but he wouldn’t go back. He didn’t miss camping with dozens of sweaty men who hadn’t bathed in weeks.

  “Good morning, my lord!” Harold beamed as he rounded a tent, arms full of firewood.

  “You’re particularly cheery today,” Regulus noted.

  Harold bent down to arrange the logs in the ash from last night’s fire. “Never been to a tournament,” he said. “It’s exciting.”

  “Never?”

  “Never, my lord.”

  “Huh.” Regulus supposed that made sense. Since becoming a lord two years ago, he had avoided tournaments. People were already suspicious of him, with his checkered background and the ease with which he defeated Lady Arrano’s champion. Best to keep a low profile and avoid any accidental displays of the supernatural side effects of the sorcerer’s mark.

  Thinking of the mark made him uncomfortable. Was he endangering Adelaide by courting her? Could he risk marrying her? Oh, Etiros, do I want to marry her. He had assumed he would never marry. Too much darkness. Too much shame. But then Adelaide. She gave him hope. She liked his scar. His past and his scar, two things he thought made him undesirable, and she accepted them. But could she accept his mark? Could she love him if she knew the truth? Knew the oath he had made? The evil he served?

  Not forever. Until his debt was paid.

  If the sorcerer kept his word.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” Harold’s brow puckered.

  “Oh, yes.” He smiled. “Just thinking.”

  “You should do less of that,” Dresden said, emerging from the tent opposite Regulus’. “Makes your face all frowny.”

  “According to you I’m always frowning.”

  Drez yawned. “Yes, but less so yesterday. I’d like to keep this new trend of smiling Regulus going.”

  Regulus shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “I agree with Dresden.” Regulus nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Adelaide’s voice. He spun to see her standing with her hands held behind her back on the other side of Harold, who was busy cracking eggs into a pan over the fire. Another woman stood a little behind her to her left, dressed in the simple clothing of a maidservant.

  Adelaide wore a dress of deep purplish-red with white, fitted sleeves. The wide collar was embroidered in gold with flowers that matched the color of the dress. A belt of engraved bronze squares rested on her hips. She wore her black hair loose in waves over her shoulders.

  Regulus tried to stop staring. “You’ve made an early start of the day.”

  She shrugged. “I like mornings. Helps clear the mind.”

  Adelaide walked around Harold and the fire. Regulus caught her gaze flitting down to his torso. Part of him wished he had put on proper clothes before coming out of his tent, rather than standing there in a thin shirt and frayed trousers. A vainer part of him felt more than a little pleased and wanted her to look. So long as she can’t see the scars through the shirt.

  “I...” Adelaide hesitated, then pulled her hands in front of her. She held a piece of fabric around a foot long and about as wide as his hand that matched the purplish-red of her dress. She blushed as she held it out to him. “I thought...that is, I wondered...” She muttered something in Khast. “Would you wear this?”

  Regulus smiled. He hadn’t smiled like this in years. His scar pulled on his lips and cheek, the skin so tight it was almost painful. He didn’t care. “I would be honored.” He reached out, wrapped his fingers around the cloth—and over her fingers.

  She smiled back. Lingered for a moment with her fingers against his. She eased her hold on the cloth and pulled her hand away. “I’ll watch for you on the field.” Adelaide bit her lower lip, turned, and walked away, trailed by her handmaid.

  Regulus wished she’d stayed. He was glad she didn’t. If she had, he might have kissed her. He watched her until she disappeared between the tents. The soft cloth in his hands still held her warmth. He looked up and saw Dresden smirking.

  He pointed at Dresden. “Not. A. Word.”

  Chapter 21

  A SQUIRE SQUEEZED PAST Regulus with a muttered “pardon me.” The space around the archery arena buzzed with conversation and hurried footsteps. Regulus moved closer to the low fence surrounding the arena and checked the fabric tied to his upper right arm again. Still there.

  He strung his bow and looked for Adelaide. He glimpsed the purple-red of her dress, but then lost her in the crowd. You’re being a fool, Regulus. Focus on the competition.

  “You know,” Carrick’s cool voice cut through his thoughts, “I may have to review the entry guidelines with the heralds. I’m not sure you carry the necessary lineage to legally compete, Lord Half-Breed.”

  Carrick stood next to him but looked straight ahead as he adjusted his gloves. He wore armor with engraved edges and lines and points that provided more style than function.

  “The law requires proof of nobility on one side only, and proof of legal title.” Regulus shoved down his anger. “I am well within my rights.”

  “Sounds like the law needs adjusted if we’re to keep the rabble out.”

  “Do we have a problem, Sir Carrick?” Regulus turned toward Carrick, reveling in the fact that he towered over him.

  Carrick continued looking straight ahead, as unfazed and sure of himself as ever. “Yes, actually. Stay away from Adelaide.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Carrick finally faced him. “I won’t tell you again. She’s above your station.” He shrugged. “A little beneath mine, but that’s beside the point. I don’t know what she finds so fascinating about your scarred face, peasant blood, and murderer-for-hire past, but sooner or later she’ll realize you’re not a good match.”

  Regulus clenched his fist, every muscle taunt. Save it for the field. He gritted his teeth. “You should go.”

  “I’m going. I’m needed in the polearm arena.” Carrick’s gaze fell to Adelaide’s token. “Pity you’re competing in archery instead. I suppose I must wait until the sword competition this afternoon to cut that off your arm.” He turned and strode away.

  Regulus shook his head and tried to focus on archery.

  THE ARCHERY COMPETITION went both worse and better than Regulus had expected. He hadn’t expected to win, but he had wanted to. He felt Adelaide’s token put
a little extra pressure on him to do well. To show he deserved to wear it. To not put her to shame.

  Adelaide would probably find that ridiculous. He couldn’t find her in the chaos of the dispersing crowd, but she hadn’t said a word that morning about winning. Still, he wondered if she found his underperformance embarrassing. Not that he did poorly. He placed sixth out of seventeen, which wasn’t terrible, all things considered. Although Caleb would be disappointed his lessons hadn’t had more of an impact.

  Caleb should be competing. Caleb would have won. But that couldn’t happen. His knights had come to support him and enjoy the spectacle of the tournament, but not to compete. Caleb’s father had been a minor lord, but after his father died and left everything to his three older brothers, Caleb left his old life behind, and he no longer had anything to prove his nobility. Perceval could have competed if he wanted, since he could prove his ancestry of nobility. But, in his own words, he “fought too dirty and had too many hard feelings toward nobles to get in a sparring ring with those prissy pretty boys.” Dresden, Jerrick, and Estevan couldn’t claim a drop of noble blood. And, unfortunately, lineage mattered at tournaments in Monparthian law, not the knighthood Regulus had bestowed.

  Regulus strolled across the massive tournament grounds back toward the tents, Dresden, Caleb, and Perceval beside him.

  “Well, I won’t say you haven’t improved,” Caleb said.

  Regulus raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like you want to say I haven’t.”

  “Oh, no, no!” Caleb held his hands out and shook his head. “I mean you have.”

  “It’s the double negatives,” Perceval said. “Sounds like you’re sayin’ opposite of what you said.”

  Regulus looked at him in confusion.

  “What? I went to university, remember?”

  “For two and a half weeks.” Drez snorted.

  “Still longer than any of you, makin’ me the most educated member of this band.” Perceval inclined his head. “All due respect, Captain.”

  “And the least genteel.” Caleb shook his head with exaggerated sadness.