Clarysa raised a hand to her face. “Oh, yes, of course! Did you find Edward and Lionel? Was anyone hurt?”
Stellan shook his head. “To answer your questions, yes, and no, not in great numbers. We tracked down and destroyed as many of the infected as we could find. I advised Edward to increase security and alert healers across the kingdom. I’ll do what I can in the way of future patrols.”
“Thank you, Stellan. I’m indebted to you.”
Stellan absentmindedly scratched Wolfe behind his ears. “No thanks needed. By the way, Lionel sends his greetings. He said you’re very brave.”
“Really?”
“Really. He also said after the King is through punishing you, he’s got a few consequences of his own to administer.”
Clarysa laughed nervously. “He’s joking.”
Stellan shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. They were sick with worry, Clarysa.”
Anxiety tightened her throat. “But I was only trying to help! What else could I have done?”
“You were right to contact me. But you chose the most dangerous way possible.” Stellan put down his goblet. He knelt before her, studying her face by the light of the fire.
Fingertips pressed at her cheeks and neck, the gentlest of massages. So close to him, Clarysa saw details she hadn’t noticed before. A pale scar across his left cheekbone. Flecks of gold in his emerald eyes. The sharp slant of his nose. She tasted the wine on his breath as it purred between slightly parted lips. Lips she desperately wanted pressed against hers.
After a few moments, he murmured a hoarse, “How are you feeling?”
Clarysa swallowed, feeling nervous and excited at the same time. His innocent, nurturing touches shouldn’t have caused pulsing swirls of heat between her thighs, but they did. “All better, thanks to you. I did everything you said.”
Stellan nodded his approval. His hands lingered against her skin. Their faces seemed only a hairsbreadth apart. She heard his breath quicken, or was it hers? Then his head angled to the right. Moisture exploded in her mouth. This was it. He was going to kiss her.
A flicker of desire ignited Stellan’s eyes, though he fought to keep them open.
Clarysa pulled back with a start and gazed at him sympathetically. He’s exhausted. Alas, it was time for more practical action. “You should get some sleep,” she said firmly, trying to mask her disappointment. “You can tell me the rest tomorrow.”
Stellan sighed, and some of the paleness returned to his cheeks. “That reminds me–I told Edward I’d escort you back immediately. We leave at dawn.”
“But–”
“Dawn.”
Now it was Clarysa’s turn to sigh. “All right.” She reached for his hand and crushed it against her chest. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Stellan’s hand felt hot. Clarysa was tempted to keep him near, but he needed rest. She guided him back onto the settee. It wasn’t difficult. The man was practically asleep on his feet. “You should sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Stellan stared upward. Reluctantly, it seemed, he let go of her hand. “In the morning,” he echoed.
At the door, Clarysa looked back with a wistful expression, but Stellan’s eyes were already closed. “Good night, my handsome prince,” she whispered, and shut the door.
* * * *
The next day, as promised, Stellan rose early to escort her home. Clarysa shared a heartfelt goodbye with Gretchen. Froll, Ghyslain, Hunter and the others saw them off at the gate. Clarysa made many promises to return, feeling certain her visit had opened a much-needed door between Aldebaran and the Snowflake Kingdom.
As she and Stellan rode, snow fell heavily upon them. At least the air was calm. And Gretchen had lent her a cloak to shield her. A few of Stellan’s men provided additional security at the rear, but remained at a respectful distance.
The journey was over far too soon. As they approached the Aldebaran border on the southern edge of Dungeon Forest, the sun broke into view as though a theater curtain had parted. The bright, warm air welcomed Clarysa and her escorts with amber splashed kisses.
She had hoped to spend more time alone with Stellan, but movement down the road dictated otherwise. A company of the King’s guards were riding toward them. Stellan stopped and dismounted. Clarysa did the same, albeit reluctantly.
She placed a hand on his forearm. “When will I see you again?”
Stellan merely looked at her.
She withdrew her hand, taken aback by his morose expression. “Am I that horrid? You look as if somebody just died.”
“No, of course not.”
Clarysa looked over her shoulder. The soldiers were nearing. “Then what’s wrong? You know you can visit me any time.”
“I…think not. Despite my efforts, your brother Edward loathes me. No doubt he’s poisoned the King against me.”
Clarysa scowled. “That…that can’t be true!”
Stellan regarded her solemnly. “Are you sure? Then why have I been barred from Aldebaran? Those were Edward’s parting words, apparently speaking on behalf of your father.”
Clarysa gasped. A vision sprang into her head. A vision of her hands around a certain brother’s neck. But first she had to find a way to see Stellan again–soon. “Then you should invite our family to your castle to discuss an alliance. Send an invitation and I’ll bring it to the King myself. Compose the most urgent and diplomatic message possible regarding Pestilence. I’ll have a talk with Father–a very, very long talk. Lionel will help me. We simply need to get you an audience with him. Oh, Stellan, we’ve got to try something.”
But her plea was cut ruefully short as the King’s men arrived. The lead guard saluted her and brought forth an extra steed. “Our orders are to bring you back, Princess–immediately,” he said.
Stellan gripped her shoulders. “Clarysa,” he said, holding her gaze steady with a resolute stare, “go home. You’ll be safe there. I promise.”
“But–”
His grip tightened. “It’s not meant to be. You have to accept it.”
A chill went through her. Clarysa shook her head vigorously. “I don’t have to accept anything! Why do you give up so easily? Stellan, I–wait!”
She reached for him, but before she could make contact, he had mounted Midnight and was guiding the horse around. He glanced at her a final time, stern and remote. Soon, he and his men disappeared down the road.
Just like that, he was gone from her life. Her temples throbbed as she stared hard into the distant gloom of his kingdom, trying to will him back through sheer mind force alone. Unfortunately, he never came galloping forth to sweep her away. It’s over, then. She had to face the sorry fact that their brief encounters hadn’t been enough to win his heart.
Being a princess in a golden noose, she had neither the support nor the freedom to pursue him even if he had harbored feelings for her. Oh, who are you trying to fool? Obviously he doesn’t think you’re suited to him. Her eyes watered. Stellan probably preferred women like Patrulha, strong and fierce. Clarysa was nothing like her. She was nothing but an idealistic weakling.
Ignoring the guard’s proffered hand, Clarysa dropped to the ground. Dust soaked up her tears as she refused to move from the spot for a very long time.
Chapter 16
One month later
“The answer, dear daughter, is no,” rumbled King Leopold.
Clarysa stood at the foot of his throne, waving the invitation in the air. It had arrived that morning. Luck was with her, at least she had thought, for she had intercepted Stellan’s messenger while stepping out for a morning stroll. Subsequently, she had slipped into the royal study and helped herself to the King’s seal while he held court. There she had scripted a most kingly reply. Stellan’s messenger left with it before the seal had even dried.
Excitement coursed through her blood like a river swollen with spring’s melting snow. The feeling was in sharp contrast to her mood over the last few weeks, ever since Stellan had rejected her
so soundly. Clarysa had agonized endlessly over his curt farewell. Edward had refused to discuss the matter of his exclusion from Aldebaran, upon which Clarysa had unleashed a torrent of tears. The only person who’d been able to calm her was Lionel. They secretly commiserated about the separation from their friend.
As evening fell, Clarysa stood before her father, begging for his cooperation. Like a common courtier requesting an audience, she had presented the invitation with high hopes. His response shocked her, for she had felt certain, certain he would agree to at least a simple dinner affair. But no.
“How can you refuse?” she argued. “How can you even entertain the very idea? After all he’s done for you…for Aldebaran!”
“‘All he’s done’? Nonsense. We could have easily handled that minor situation ourselves. Examine the facts, daughter. He only came because you sent him.”
“Minor?” The words sputtered from her throat. “Father, I was there. I can’t fathom calling that rampaging mob a ‘minor situation.’ Besides, I’ve already told him we’d attend!”
The King’s glare manifested like a roiling storm cloud. “You did what? Accepted it on my behalf?”
“I had to do what was right.”
“It wasn’t right at all. You lied, Clarysa–not just to me, but to him. He may be one of those detestable warlocks, but he is still a prince. Have you no respect for protocol? Or for me and how your action would reflect upon my court?” Leopold slammed a fist upon his armrest. “How many times have I warned you about that brash impulsiveness of yours? How many times, child?”
Clarysa opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He only addressed her as “child” when he was livid, as he definitely was now. During these moments, it was best to simply bite her tongue.
“I cannot just strike up an agreement with that man. There are political ramifications, most of them deleterious.” The King raised a quick hand to block her protests. “No, no, don’t say anything. Nothing! I know exactly what’s running through your naive little head.” Her father sighed. “I appreciate what he’s done for us in the name of safety, Clarysa, and I’m not ruling out future alliances when the time is right. But heaven help me, he comes from a family full of rogues, charlatans and murderers! Is this the type you would have us associate our good name with? I might as well abdicate the throne.”
“But if you took the risk you’d save the lives of countless citizens. You’d be a hero!”
“Don’t bother with flattery. This conversation is over.”
Clarysa crossed her arms. “I’ve seen what those Pestilence victims can do. You’re making a serious mistake, Father.”
“Then so be it,” he responded in a tired voice. “There are matters your King–as well as your father–knows better than you. Now go to your quarters.”
His entrenched denial stunned her. When tears failed to move him, she spun about on her heel and stomped off to her sleeping chamber. The bed frame shook with the force of her landing. There she cried and pouted and cried some more. Beneath her anger, embarrassment reared its ugly head. She had encouraged Stellan to take the risk, after all. Now, because of her miscalculation, the King would appear as though he had reneged. Stellan would be furious and hurt–and it would be all her fault.
Father, how could you be so cold? There really must have been a royal order barring Stellan from the kingdom–or was someone trying to bar Stellan from her? She hadn’t exactly made a secret of her attraction to the elusive sorcerer prince. However, her father had never directly informed her of this edict. Why tell Edward but not her? Did he mean to leave open a back door? Clarysa massaged her aching forehead. Why did it always come down to politics, even in the King’s own family?
She poured herself a goblet of water and stepped out onto her private balcony. The stars twinkled merrily. Clarysa reclined on her divan. A warm breeze caressed her skin. As she sipped, her thoughts drifted to the sorcerer. Stellan’s wealth was not in jewels, gold or fine clothing. It lay embedded in magic and mystery and charismatic friends. Clarysa sighed, aching to explore every last dark and enchanted corner of his world. But he’s a sorcerer, sprouted a warning voice in her head. He’s dangerous.
“But he’s a very handsome sorcerer,” she whispered. “And so what if I like danger?”
There were other qualities in him she admired. For one thing, her boundless energy didn’t seem to ruffle him. In fact, nothing seemed to ruffle him very much. We suit each other perfectly.
Clarysa frowned. There she went again, making plans where none should form. But Stellan’s fragile trust of her would turn to hatred her if her father didn’t accept the invitation. She couldn’t bear the thought of being one more person who had let him down. She had to avoid it at all costs. Trust, love–those two things bound together everything in life worth having.
Clarysa rose slowly, her thirst a distant memory. Perhaps…perhaps all could be salvaged if she responded to the invitation. If her father couldn’t see reason where Pestilence was concerned, then it was up to his youngest daughter to ensure something effective was being done about it. And Stellan had more answers than all of Aldebaran combined.
That night, thoughts erupting like a volcano, Clarysa composed an urgent letter to her cousin Mirabelle.
The very survival of Aldebaran depends on your courage, she began.
Chapter 17
Stellan sat upon his throne, his chin resting uncomfortably in his right hand. He maintained this position for exactly two hundred heartbeats before switching off to his left hand, which, oddly, was even more uncomfortable. Thoughts raced helter-skelter through his mind. How would the King react to his proposal? Would he fully understand the ramifications of Pestilence spreading to his populace? Could he possibly put aside his bigotry against practitioners of magick–read: himself–and rally his army against the threat?
Stellan had witnessed first hand the rapid degeneration Pestilence wrought on a living being. Within hours of the initial contact, the body and mind were lost. The recent infection of humans proved the plague had become much more virulent. Stellan sighed as he slid his left hand up over his forehead. Excellent work, Alucard, excellent work. How long did it take you to configure the devil’s brew this time, I wonder? What unspeakable forces have you conspired with? If Pestilence had indeed spread as far as the outreaches of Aldebaran, as he suspected from the mysterious deaths there recently, then King Leopold had only months to respond.
Stellan had sought Gretchen’s advice, as well as Froll’s, and they’d counseled him extensively. All of the inhabitants of Castle Vandeborg were in agreement–Leopold must be made to understand the threat.
To accomplish that task, Stellan had decided he would do anything–including washing several hundred years’ worth of grime from the castle walls. If forging an alliance with Aldebaran was simply a matter of following royal protocol, as ridiculous as its rules may be, then he would do it. There was too much at stake, too many lives at risk. So, pail of water and rag in hand, he had set to work.
Several weeks of backbreaking work passed.
Gretchen cleaned a set of porcelain dinnerware, one Froll had purchased at an emporium located a five day’s march away with money left over from Clarysa’s forfeited rings. Perhaps it was ostentatious, but visiting royalty expected to be surrounded with ostentatious finery. Such attention to detail could only further Stellan’s cause.
Besides, the dishes did much to lift the spirits of a tired cook accustomed to the brittle earthenware she had been using for years. Stellan could hardly begrudge her the change.
Finally, the castle began to take on the appearance of something “less than detestable,” as Gretchen remarked. It would have to do. All that really mattered was King Leopold understanding the gravity of the situation.
The hour of the King’s visit arrived. Stellan ended his rumination and joined the others in the entrance hall. By necessity the gate remained closed, but Ghyslain faithfully kept watch along the wintry ramparts for the Al
debaran procession. The other inhabitants of Vandeborg waited anxiously.
“How does the weather look?” asked Gretchen.
Hunter cracked open the front door. “Not bad,” he told her. “Almost clear, for this place.”
They waited.
After an hour, Stellan stopped pacing the entrance hall and retreated to the throne room. He fiddled with the various decorations. He adjusted and readjusted the lighting. Then he sat at the head of the long dining table. The entire area was redolent of sweet sauces and meats. He fought to control his growling stomach.
Three hours later, Gretchen entered. She, too, made a number of unnecessary corrections, this time to the silverware. Turning to Stellan, she pursed her lips. “I can keep the food warm, but it won’t be as good.”
“Do it,” Stellan muttered.
They waited more.
An hour later, she sauntered up to him again. “I should feed Ghyslain on the tower. The poor boy’s probably half-frozen to death, but he was determined to keep watch. Let alone how hard it is for everyone to be around this much food and not eat.”
Stellan tried not to groan. “Fine.”
After the others had shared a meal in the kitchen, Froll tried to entice Stellan with a game of cards, but he was in a dangerously foul mood and waved him off. He continued his vigil at the head of the table.
Froll played cards with Hunter in one corner. Patrulha appeared and leaned against a wall with arms crossed. The Captain of the Guard looked at him, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Stellan knew what she was trying to tell him with her measured, one-eyed stare. He glanced away. Now was not the time to provoke him. After a while, she took the hint and left.
The hour of midnight approached. Gretchen wandered in and encouraged Stellan to eat. He waved her back to the kitchen. After she left, he frowned. The Aldebarans should have arrived by now, even if a storm had delayed them.
He stared into the fire. The candlelight–staged to properly welcome the expected visitors–was dying down. Shadows lurched across the walls. Wolfe slinked around his master’s chair, sensing a dark change in his master’s mood. He howled mournfully.
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