by J. D. Wright
When Sidonie made it to the throne, Bree reached over and gave the seat next to her a few pats. Sidonie sat down beside her. They immediately fell into conversation, gushing over each other’s dresses and hair while Finnley left to get Sidonie a drink.
“Just look at them,” Dagan said, thinking out loud. “We really are some incredible fools, you and me.”
Rowan took another swig of his ale, then sat the mug down and glanced over at Bree and Sidonie, sitting beside each other, lost in conversation, and completely ignoring Dagan and Rowan’s existence. Bree was looking just as beautiful as ever, having curled her usually straight auburn hair and clipping a few leaves to the side of her head. Her dress tonight was emerald green with details in gold around the small sleeves and tight fitting corset. Green was Rowan’s favorite color to see on Bree, as it matched her eyes. He sighed and turned back to Dagan.
“At least you don’t have to worry about losing your head if you make her mad. Me, on the other hand… I am playing with fire. Royal fire, who is a royal pain.” Rowan groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I don’t know about that. After watching Sid fighting off that man last week, she probably could take my head off.”
“Are you going to leave again?” Rowan asked.
“I can’t,” Dagan replied, shaking his head. He was still staring at where Sidonie was sitting, watching her drink the wine that Finnley just brought to her, sipping slowly with that perfect mouth. “I can’t bring myself to leave her. I can’t explain what it is.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know her!”
“Huh,” Rowan snorted, “I can tell you first hand that knowing her doesn’t make it any easier. If anything, it makes it much, much worse. I can’t go anywhere in the kingdom without someone talking about Bree or asking me about her. I spent almost seven years apart from her, I barely know her anymore either, I guess.”
Rowan sat back, eyeing the barrel behind Dagan, wondering if he should stop drinking now before he started speaking even more insane.
“Do you believe what your grandfather said,” Rowan asked. “About the twisting… thing?” He tried to make his fingers intertwine, but too much drink was making that impossible. Yes, it was time to stop for the night.
Dagan laughed, sliding Rowan’s mug away from him. “Easy there, friend. Don’t want you getting too sloshed and accidentally killing someone with your bare hands tonight.”
“Speak for yourself. You’re just as dangerous as I am!” Rowan laughed now, too.
After a pause, Dagan remembered Rowan’s question. “I think you meant to ask if I believe what my grandfather said about the fusion,” emphasizing the last word. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment in his study, going through all of his books—and believe me, there are a lot of them. So far I haven’t found any mention of this fusion nonsense. I’m starting to think he invented the whole damn thing in his mind.”
“Then how do you explain the feelings, then, hmm?” Rowan used his fingers to point to his heart, then his head, then down to his groin, winking at Dagan. He received a kick from under the table.
“Ow!” Rowan yelped, but Dagan just laughed.
~*~
Bree was excited when the evening’s entertainment began. She had planned well, summoning the realm’s best storyteller, jester, and bard for the festival. She had met the storyteller, an old man from a close neighboring town and the jester was from Labara, but she had never met the bard. However, according to everyone she asked, Dahlia was the best.
Bree looked up just in time to see Dahlia walk in. A man in the corner had already started to play a tune on his lute. Bree was surprised at Dahlia’s beauty and age. Most of the singers Bree had heard over the years were older men and women, having spent many years traveling the realm to sing, not a young maiden like Dahlia. The bard was wearing a beautiful white ruffled undershirt beneath her corset, cut a bit low for Bree’s taste, revealing much of her breasts, and skirts that also fit her a bit snug around the hips and bottom. Dahlia’s curly golden hair was barely longer than her shoulders, the usual length for a woman who wasn’t a noble. But the way Dahlia’s hair framed her face, it just made her even more seductive. Perhaps this is how she gets her jobs, Bree mused. She uses all of her assets to get noticed. It probably works like a charm.
When Dahlia started to sing, it made Bree smile. Perhaps, it is her singing after all. Dahlia had a lovely voice, soft and sweet. She grabbed the room’s attention, everyone watching her as she wandered around the room, singing and smiling. Her song was about star-crossed lovers, finding their way to each other. Bree had heard the song before.
Halfway through the song, Dahlia had made it around the room to where Rowan and Dagan were sitting, watching her intently. While she sang about two lovers making fire between them, she ran her hand along Rowan’s arm, causing him to blush. Bree laughed at the sight of him, embarrassed and red in the face. Serves him right, she thought.
However, Bree’s smile started to melt away when Dahlia made it over to Rowan for a second time, touching him again, this time on his knee. Only the second time around, Rowan didn’t look embarrassed. He looked intrigued, watching her and very obviously staring at her cleavage. Then for the third time, Dahlia stopped by Rowan, hovering too long. Bree felt a twinge of jealousy creeping up in the back of her throat. It was either jealousy or vomit. She couldn’t be sure of which. The way Dahlia bent down in front of Rowan, revealing her enormous breasts and swaying her hips as she sang, Bree was now convinced that Dahlia was flirting with him. Only him. She hadn’t acted as extremely with any of the other men in the room.
Finnley glanced over at Bree, sensing something was wrong when she stiffened up. Bree’s face was rock hard, her jaw clenched. Finnley reached out and gave Bree a quick pat on the arm. When she looked at him, he said, “Breathe, Bree. Just breathe. It’s okay. She’s just amusing the crowd. You know that. Probably trying to earn some extra coin.” Bree smiled lightly to Finn, then turned back to watch Dahlia, who had moved on to another.
Rowan glanced up at Bree. He could tell that she was irritated by the scowl on her face, but she had laid no claim to him. He was a free man, able to enjoy the company of a beautifully well-endowed woman when he chose to. It wasn’t as if he were planning to leave with the singer. He was just enjoying himself. And the many mugs of ale he had drunk this evening were helping him to do just that.
~*~
Rowan had to stay after the festival was over to load what was left of the barrels into the wagon to return to his grandfather’s tavern. The wine and ale from tonight had been a gift from his grandfather to the new queen.
The ale Rowan had consumed was beginning to leave his body, his wits coming back into focus. Dagan, however, started drinking even more after the bard had finished singing. The son of a local lord had asked Sidonie to dance, and Dagan wasn’t happy watching her spinning around in the arms of a stranger. Well, a stranger that wasn’t him. Dagan had taken his ale and left the hall, muttering something about wanting to shoot a ball of fire down the man’s trousers. He had come closer to killing someone tonight than Rowan.
Rowan was able to spend some time with Finnley, though, which was rare these days. And he even had a drink or two with Dagan’s grandfather. In all, he considered it a good night.
He could hear women’s voices, coming into the hall. Thinking it must be servants, coming to clean up, he said, “Will one of you fetch me a rag, to clean the spigots with?”
When he didn’t receive an answer, he looked up to see Bree, Sidonie, and Sarita standing there, gaping at him.
“Uh, sorry, Your Majesty… Sidonie… and…” His mind went blank at the sight of Sarita. “Princess,” he finished, nodding to her. “I thought you were the servants returning.”
Sarita snorted at the thought of being a servant and turned to Sidonie, “Siddy, will you braid my hair before bed? I want braids on every side, like last ti
me. Please?” Sidonie nodded and the two of them left the hall, leaving Rowan alone with Breestlin.
She walked over to the wine barrel, picked up a goblet sitting next to it and filled it. Before she could lift the cup to her mouth, Rowan snatched it from her hand.
“Have you lost your good sense?” she demanded. “Give that back right now.”
“You can’t just pick up a random cup and drink from it, Bree. Someone tried to kill you! Don’t be daft!”
Taken back by his rudeness, Bree replied, “How dare you presume to insult my intelligence. We had the same tutors, Rowan. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember. I also remember you accidentally drinking elk’s piss from a bottle in Elric’s tower one night. Remember that? Made you sick for a week!”
Bree preferred not to think about that. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. She rolled her eyes at him and stiffened up, refusing to back down.
“You can’t behave so carelessly, Bree. Not when someone is out there, trying to hurt you.”
Someone is in here, trying to hurt me, too, she thought, and he’s doing a good job of it.
“What do you expect me to do, Rowan? Hide in my little castle? I am not a coward. I will not let you or anyone else intimidate me or my kingdom!” Things were heated between them now, standing toe to toe with each other.
Cicilly overheard the argument as she came into the hall. She stepped back out of the doorway and hid beside it. She didn’t mean to interrupt them and hoped they hadn’t seen her. As she waited in the hallway, Nick came toward her. She held her finger up to her lips.
“Shhhh!” she said and pointed to the hall. Nick saw Bree and Rowan inside so he hid on the other side of the door.
“I can’t believe how stubborn you are being. Like a damn mule!” Rowan shouted.
“Yeah, well you smell like a damn mule! How many pints of ale did you have tonight, Rowan? It’s a wonder why your little blonde harlot didn’t just hit you over the head and drag you away with her! Some killer you are!”
“What does it matter to you? You aren’t my mother or my wife. I can do as I please.”
“Oh, so now you need a mother and a wife to make you use your common sense? You say that I need to pay better attention, be more careful. You are such a hypocrite!”
They were literally nose to nose now, growling at each other. So close that Bree could see the sweat on Rowan’s forehead, that she suddenly wanted to drown him in.
Rowan was furious. How dare she act like there isn’t someone out there who wants her dead? Who hasn’t already tried to kill her once?
“If you don’t want my help, then fine by me!” he stormed off and out of the hall, leaving the barrels behind.
“It is PERFECTLY fine by me!” Bree shouted after him, then ran out of the hall in the opposite direction, fuming.
Cicilly had her hand over her heart, flabbergasted at what she just witnessed. How could two people that care for each other so much, be so stubborn?
“Well,” she said, after Rowan breezed past them, too blind with rage to even see them standing there. “That was interesting.” She looked up at Nick. “Did you need Bree for something?”
“Uh, no actually. I came to see the both of them.”
“Oh? What for?” she asked.
Nick laughed, then scratched the side of his head, cringing a bit. Cicilly gave him a puzzled look.
“What is so funny?”
Nick took a deep breath and replied, “The council held their meeting tonight, to vote on a personal guard for Bree.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “They picked Rowan.”
Chapter Eight
Light? It can’t possibly be daylight already. Ugh. Bree grumbled, sitting up in her bed, with her eyes still shut. She would probably have to pry them open. Her head was reeling, and it felt like the room was spinning. Is it really spinning? She opened one eye, just to be sure. Her nightgown felt damp from sweat. Just another remnant of indulging in too much wine the night before.
Bree finally decided to open her eyes, looking down on the bed, fearing that if she looked up any higher she would catch the rays of sunlight coming in through the window and falling directly on her. Who left the damn drapes open? She drug herself over to the edge of the bed with her eyes barely open and swung her legs over the side. The stone floor was cool on her feet, a great contrast to the hot and sweaty bed behind her. She closed her eyes and took a few breaths, enjoying the fact that the room had stopped spinning.
Bree reached over to the bedpost, using it as a crutch to hobble around the bed. She had taken a few steps before her foot caught something, big and heavy, and she fell, tumbling straight onto Rowan, who was lying on the floor at the foot of her bed.
“Ahh!” Bree yelped as she fell. Stunned, she glanced up and gaped at him for a moment, then blinked twice to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination. She was lying on top of him, their faces so close that she could feel his warm breath that still smelled a bit like ale. His body, firm under hers, had softened the fall. But he hadn’t caught her, so he must have been asleep. She noticed his cloak was rolled up and under his head as a makeshift pillow.
How long had he slept there? She rolled off of him, narrowly missing his groin with her knee. He groaned, then pulled himself up to standing and held out a hand to her, still on the floor.
“We need to talk.” Rowan looked calm and composed, showing no sign that he had just been trampled on or that he was experiencing any of the same symptoms from the aftermath of the festival. Obviously he was in better shape this morning than she was. After all he drank last night, how was that even possible?
“Rowan, what the devil are you doing here? How long have you been lying there?” she demanded to know while allowing him to pull her to her feet. But she didn’t give him a chance to answer. “This is highly inappropriate. Who let you in here? Did you have to kill my guards to get in here?” She smirked at him.
“Funny.” But he wasn’t laughing. “No, your guards are outside the door, where they are supposed to be, and I think we need to talk.”
“You already said that,” Bree said. “But I don’t feel like talking to you. I don’t even want to see you, let alone be in the same room with you.”
Realizing she was standing before him in a damp white, and incredibly thin, nightgown, Bree reached down, trying to cover herself, to no avail. Rowan could still see her nearly naked body with the wet gown clinging to her curves and outlining the shape of her breasts and hips. He bit his lower lip to prevent a smile from spreading across his face. She would probably slap him if he smiled.
“Well, that may be a problem, my dear,” Rowan replied, crossing his arms. “It seems we are going to be seeing a lot of each other.” Even though Rowan hadn’t intended to see quite so much of her like this, he was hardly regretting it, inspecting her magnificent body once more. Under normal circumstances, being alone with Bree, in her room and half naked, would be a desirable situation.
“What are you talking about? Why would we--? Oh…”
Realization hit her like a boulder. Her personal guard. Nick had said the council would vote on it once they investigated all of the appropriate candidates. Bree hadn’t even known that Rowan was a candidate.
“Apparently,” Rowan began as he started walking over to the corner of Bree’s wardrobe, grabbing one of her robes, “the council feels that I am best suited for the job after our little excursion to find the wizard.” He walked back over to where Bree was standing and held the robe open. Bree turned around, and he wrapped the robe around her shoulders. She turned back to him, pulling the ends of the robe closed.
“They were highly impressed with my willingness to put myself in danger for you. I believe the words ‘courageous and clever’ were involved.”
“Did the words ‘foolish and pigheaded’ come up, too?” Bree asked, smirking.
Rowan frowned at her with narrowed eyes, th
ough Bree could see the corner of his mouth twitch.
“And why didn’t I get a vote in the matter?”
“I already asked that, predicting you would say that very same thing. My father said it wouldn’t have made a difference. The vote was unanimous.” The way he said it, he sounded just as irritated about it as she was.
“I think we need to set some rules, Your Majesty.”
Bree gave him a blank look. Clearly she was not amused.
“Oh, you do, do you?” She folded her arms and began to tap her foot. Rowan stepped back out of reach, in case she decided to take a swing at him.
“I do,” he replied. “Three rules. First rule: you do not go anywhere without my knowledge. That means no sneaking off to the kitchens after midnight for an apple tart unless I am with you.”
“How do you even know about that?”
“I caught you once, remember? You were ten, I think.”
“Eleven. And if I recall, you only caught me because you were stealing honey brittle from Misses Delray’s stash in the pantries.”
“Regardless,” Rowan replied, shaking his head, “I can’t protect you if I am not with you. At. All. Times. I will even be sleeping in your sitting room, so I am close by. Always.”
“And number two?”
“Number two: No consorting with strangers. Only trusted people can be in your company.”
Bree rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Go on.”
Rowan sighed, “And number three: please, for the love of all things holy, do not put yourself in danger.”
“Ha! Afraid you can’t protect me, oh courageous and clever one?” He knew she was patronizing him, but it was the truth. He wasn’t sure he could protect her. His father may have had confidence in him, but Rowan wasn’t as sure about himself. His skills were used to spy on and murder people, not to protect them. And Bree wasn’t an easy person to protect as evidenced by the wine goblet incident the night before.
