No Man Can Tame

by Miranda Honfleur

  “Besides, I have my own, thank you.”

  He scoffed. “Even for three experienced people, this tent would take at least two hours to put together.”

  She hmphed. “Oh, now you want to help me?”

  This again. “I already told you—there are greater concerns than—”

  “No, there aren’t. That’s what you led me to believe. That when it came to making an Offering, it meant there were no greater concerns.” A tremor shook her words. “But I suppose my understanding doesn’t matter, only your mother’s commands.”

  He shook his head. “Our first stop is the city of Stroppiata in two days,” he said gently. “Did you know they’ve planned our reception for weeks now?”

  “A reception can be postponed,” she shot back.

  “How about a parade route, a banquet, and the feast the duchess promised her people? Those people are waiting for us to arrive in exactly two days.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “And then three days after that, we’re going to Dun Mozg—you may know it as Dunmarrow—a small dark-elf queendom farther inland. Queen Nendra’s people are starving, and they’re expecting us that day, will be celebrating us that day. My own sister barely has the energy to feed her newborn daughter, and we are bringing her food in Nozva Rozkveta. How long should she wait while we postpone for a wedding?”

  A barely audible throat clearing came from the tent. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner? That the people were expecting us on specific days?”

  “I told you we had a strict schedule, that people were expecting us.” But even as he’d spoken the words then, she’d stormed out in tears and hadn’t wanted to listen to another word.

  And he shouldn’t blame her for it. At least she seemed of a mind to listen now.

  “I didn’t know about your sister. I didn’t think the people were looking forward to the specific day. I thought…” A deep breath. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  To people who barely survived on rations, the distribution of plentiful food was everything. She had to know that. Didn’t she notice the suffering of people now living in her own land?

  The canvas shifted as she slowly wriggled out from under it, her brown eyes big as she eyed him, dusting off her dirt-marred hands. When there had been no servants to pitch her tent, she’d gotten her own hands dirty. She’d tried to do it herself. Perhaps she wasn’t as spoiled as he’d thought, just… hadn’t been allowed beyond the walls of the world she knew.

  “You were thinking about your sister,” he said softly and crouched to meet her at eye level. “When my mother told me the schedule, I didn’t realize my bride’s sister’s wedding would be a few days later. If I’d known…” He would have wanted to speak up, to ask Mati whether he and his bride would be allowed to stay, perhaps send some food on ahead. “I’m sorry.”

  Kneeling in the grass, she rested her smudged hands in her lap, centered on the gray fabric. Errant dark curls had escaped her elaborate coiled hairstyle, framing her face, spilling over slender shoulders. She bit her lip. “I should have heard you out. I’m sorry, too.”

  There was so much more to discuss. The night of their wedding, she’d also mentioned wanting to talk to him about something. But this… unfortunate situation with Bianca had thwarted everything.

  He rested a hand on hers. “Come with me. I’ll find you another tent.”

  As he began to rise, she took his hand. “Wait. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

  The question stopped him—stopped him completely—but he swallowed and helped her up as he stood.

  “I mean—” she whispered. “Won’t it look bad if we sleep apart? As if we don’t agree, as if there’s disharmony between us.”

  She was right, but there had been disharmony between them.

  He’d assumed separate tents, but… “As long as it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

  “It doesn’t.” Her brief smile lit up her face with its brightness, just for a moment. It reached her eyes, their beautiful darkness gleaming, like moonlight over rippling night waters.

  He hefted her pack and her bedroll, then led her toward his tent, nodding greetings to the faces that turned to them. What he’d wanted was to keep looking into those eyes, so different than the ones he was accustomed to, all in shades of amber and gold. But the surface of those night waters had rippled, and there was something lurking there that she hadn’t revealed. Until she did, the risk of drowning, no matter how small, wasn’t worth the consequence.

  He’d already trusted a liar once. Watched Ata leave their family. Only to be crippled by the news of the truth.

  Never again.

  And Gavri—if she’d lied—

  No, there was no excuse.

  He settled Alessandra into his tent, and then went back to the heap of a yurta they’d left behind and packed it up. Unlike human royalty, he didn’t travel with a legion of servants; dark-elves were expected to do nearly everything for themselves. Of course she wouldn’t have known that.

  Humans had such different values, but Alessandra… She was to spend her life in Nozva Rozkveta. It wasn’t easy being a newcomer to a strange place; if he had been tasked with living in Bellanzole, no doubt Alessandra would have helped him find his way among the humans. And he could do no less—would do no less—for her.

  Once he’d finally put the bundled tent back in the cart, he dug through his pack for his pipe and glanced back to check on Alessandra.

  Outside the tent, Gavri stood, arms crossed, her brow creased. Her fire-bright eyes smoldered, every inch of her battle hard. What did any of this matter to her?

  It clearly did, though.

  She’d done it. She’d lied.

  When she finally looked away, he caught her gaze. That battle hardness softened, her gaze cooled, and her mouth dropped open a moment before she closed it anew.

  He jerked his head to come hither, and biting her lip, she approached.

  “Your Highness, I only meant to—”

  Scowling, he held up a hand. “You lied.”

  She met his eyes, wouldn’t look away, that crease returning to her brow as she crossed her arms. “She put on that show in her ignorant human city and made you look like some barbarian, abducting her from—”

  He leaned in. “I. Don’t. Care.”

  Gavri had known him for his entire life. She should’ve known better. She had known better.

  And this was about some minor hiccup in his arranged marriage? It had been a few years, but maybe she was still sore over Zoran making the Offering to Queen Nendra.

  “Everyone at home is just suffering so much, and she throws these little fits over her whims. Rebellion. Disobedience.” She ran a hand over her hair, down the length of her braid, and exhaled a sigh through her nose. “You deserve—”

  “I am not Zoran,” he hissed, “and Alessandra is not Nendra. She has done nothing to you.”

  Gavri’s eyes widened a moment before a scowl creased her face. “This has nothing to do with Zoran! This is about some human disrespecting—”

  “You’re dismissed.”

  She scoffed and shook her head, then turned away.

  “From my guard.”

  She whirled back around, eyes wide. “What? I was defending you!”

  “By lying to me?” he bit out, stepping to her. “You are sworn to truth. But more than that, I trusted you. And you try to sabotage the peace your queen worked so hard to build? To sabotage my marriage before Alessandra and I have even gotten to know each other?”

  Her lower lip trembled as she breathed hard. “I know, I know it, but I was just—”

  “Don’t let me see your face again for the rest of this trip. And once we’re back in Nozva Rozkveta, you’ll be transferred from my guard.”

  With a sharp breath, she grabbed his wrist. “Veron—”

  He shook her off and strode to his tent, fists clenched. Gavri was like a sister to him, but if she was going to betray his friendship, endanger what they were doing here, disobey Mati
’s orders, then she had no place among his inner circle. The cost of her recklessness could be catastrophic.

  Outside the flap, he took several deep breaths. Relaxed his hands. Finally, he drew the flap aside.

  Alessandra was already scrubbing her hands in a small basin of water she’d gotten from... he didn’t know where. And two plates of Bellanzole bread, cheese, and figs sat between two neatly laid-out bedrolls.

  “You don’t waste time.” When her dark eyes met his, he added, “Will you be—”

  She moved the basin aside and, sitting stiffly, nodded him inside. “Please, this can’t wait. We need to talk.”

  Talk? That was cryptic. Drawing his eyebrows together, he ducked into the tent, pulled off his too-tight boots, and lowered onto the bedroll across from hers, trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders.

  On their wedding night, she’d mentioned wanting to speak to him about something, perhaps the same matter lurking beneath those night waters in her gaze. Was this it?

  Rubbing her palms on her skirts, she faced him. “Veron, there’s this group called the Brotherhood, and they’re—”

  “A rogue human army devoted to ousting all Immortals. I’ve… come across them before.”

  Alessandra nodded gravely. “I don’t suspect Luciano is involved—”

  He took a slow breath. Thank the Deep, the Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael. Calling one of those bigots family wasn’t one of his life’s goals. Besides, King Macario had sworn to Mati that he’d finesse the Brotherhood as part of the agreement.

  “—but his brother, Tarquin, has given me reason to believe he is,” she said, wriggling closer. “Veron, I think he might be… watching us.”

  “Tarquin,” he said, testing the name as his claws bit into his palms. There had been a man in the abbazia who’d stared lances through him, the same man who’d cut into Alessandra’s dance with her brother Lorenzo.

  “His sister Arabella disappeared, and he blames the Immortali. Before we left, there was an attack on a light-elf settlement in the night, not far from Bellanzole,” she said, wringing the gray fabric in her hand. “I don’t know whether it’s isolated or part of a greater plan, but I needed you to know in case…”

  In case the Brotherhood came after the monsters. In case they rescued their human princess. In case they chose to make an example of him and his entourage, staking them out in the sun and starting the all-out war the Brotherhood so desperately seemed to want.

  Her bearing tight, she watched him, those small, clawless fingers fidgeting. She blinked dark lashes over dark eyes, beneath a furrowed brow. “In case…”

  “In case they come for my blood, and that of every dark-elf here.”

  Chapter 9

  The early morning rays hit the distant red clay roof shingles of Stroppiata as Aless rode alongside Veron. She adjusted her right leg in the sidesaddle, spreading out her rosy-pink brocade skirts. The pink softened her look, a subtle contradiction to her infamous intemperance… or so her sister Giuliana had once said.

  In less than an hour, they’d be inside the city walls. Normally, she was accustomed to riding inside a carriage, but today wasn’t about comfort—it was about being seen. If it went well, it would set a good tone for the rest of the Royal Progress.

  If it went poorly… the best case would make this entire maneuver a failure, and the worst would see her, Veron, and countless others dead.

  She exhaled. Too bad those thoughts couldn’t leave with her breath.

  No pressure. None whatsoever.

  She’d been on a Royal Progress once, when Lorenzo had come of age. Just outside each city’s gates, Papà, Mamma, and Lorenzo had mounted horses, while she, Giuliana, and Bianca had stayed in the carriage. Smiling faces had lined the streets, eyes wide and shining, as cheers had drowned out all but the clink of coins and clop of hooves.

  The people need to see Lorenzo, who’ll be their next king, Giuliana had whispered, leaning in. They need to see us, their monarchs, up close. It makes us real, creates connection, gives us the chance to show them who we truly are… or who we want to be.

  Giuliana had gone on a Royal Progress in Emaurria with her husband, Crown Prince Robert, several years ago after their wedding. No doubt she’d been the perfect princess, claiming space in every Emaurrian’s heart as she’d shown them who she’d truly been. Talented and strong, beautiful and charming, a singular person capable of taming conflicts with a well-placed compliment or just the right laugh. If only Giuliana were here. If only she’d survived. If only—

  No. There would be no useful thoughts in that direction. Not today. She sighed.

  Golden eyes narrowed, Veron peered into the distance at the city, his face masked in black but for his eyes. His head hooded, hiding most of his ghostly white hair.

  The first time she’d seen him, back in the palazzo’s courtyard, he’d been masked, hooded, cloaked—a black rider on a black horse, mysterious and intimidating, like some phantom hunter fallen to earth from the Wild Hunt.

  The people need to see us.

  “Veron?” she asked, and those golden eyes found her before he turned her way.

  “Hmm?” A gruff sound, but soft.

  Behind them, the cavalcade stretched so far back she couldn’t tell where it ended, but she and Veron needed to speak. Even if he chose to ignore her, as Papà always did, she needed to try.

  This first visit was crucial—it would set the tone for the rest of the Royal Progress, and if it went well, maybe Veron would agree that they could maintain the peace as friends… and she could see her public library built. “Could we stop for a moment?”

  He nodded and held up a hand.

  The sharp-eyed guard bellowed, the first of a series of shouts down the line as it drew to a halt.

  Veron dismounted that enormous beast of a horse, his motion practiced and fluid, and three guards followed suit as he extended a gloved hand to her. She removed her foot from the stirrup, then lifted her right leg over while turning in the saddle to the left.

  It wasn’t her first time dismounting a sidesaddle, but she took his hand anyway and hopped down. Ever since her… fashion statement at the wedding, it was more important than ever that she and Veron appear at peace. Especially with Tarquin’s pride out there somewhere, watching.

  Veron offered her his arm, and when she looped hers around it, he walked her to the blue-green maritime pine forest. A few feet into its concealment, he paused among some myrtle shrubs, his guards several feet behind and scanning the area.

  When she’d told Veron about the Brotherhood and Tarquin, he’d taken the news calmly and said the Brotherhood wouldn’t launch an attack in a human city, that she’d be safe in Stroppiata.

  That had made sense, as all the previous attacks had taken place in Immortali settlements, and yet the entire dark-elf cavalcade seemed on edge, every guard more responsive, more watchful.

  “I’ll wait for you here,” he said, his deep voice muffled through his mask as he nodded toward a farther patch of shrubs.

  Wait for—?

  “No.” She smiled, shaking a ladybug off her rosy-pink skirts. “Not that.”

  With a glance at his nearby guards, she took his hand and led him behind a thicker orange-red trunk, where he looked down at her with glimmering half-moon eyes.

  She reached up and brushed a finger along the edge of his black hood. “Do your people always wear masks and hoods?”

  He looked away. “In the sky realm, yes.” A matter-of-fact answer.

  “Why?”

  A pale eyebrow quirked. “People fear us.”

  People did fear them. Their imposing size. Those golden eyes, like those of predators in the night, with sharp canine teeth to match. Hair pale as a ghost’s, come to drag them to the Lone. Blue-gray skin, so different from their own, its hue cold and stony. And claws… she well knew those.

  Biting her lip, she slowly raised a hand toward his face, and when he didn’t move, simply kept those golden eyes fixed on her, she t
ugged down the mask, revealing his sculpted jaw, the slate-blue of his face.

  So close, his scent of earth and fresh water soothed its way to her nose, like a meadow after a summer storm, maybe, and she breathed in deeply, rising on her tiptoes to draw back his hood. Her finger brushed against smooth, pale hair, and for the briefest of moments, he closed his eyes, exhaled through parted lips.

  For a second, everything paused. The breeze rustling through pine needles and myrtle leaves, the nearby whisper of a guard, the distant calls among those in the cavalcade, and everything waited as that slow, quivering exhalation rolled through him.

  His eyebrows drew together as his eyes found hers once more, searching, questioning, but only a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  No part of her would move while those eyes held her in place, not her hands, not her lips, not even her tongue.

  Her pulse raced her breathing, and which was faster, she couldn’t tell.

  Dark-elves kissed, didn’t they? That’s what this felt like, almost a kiss…

  Only… he dropped his gaze between them, and both her pulse and her breathing—thank the Mother—slowed.

  He, too, had been frozen, but had it been in repugnance or discomfort? Unsettled that she might have been trying to kiss him? It had only been a few days since their wedding night, when he’d made it very clear he hadn’t found her attractive in the least.

  Had that changed, even a little? Or were his reactions a courtesy, so his human wife wouldn’t feel like a fool? Or maybe a show.

  Or duty.

  There was no order of his mother’s that he’d refuse. Even on his wedding night, utterly repulsed by his human bride, he would have done his duty if she’d demanded it. He’d been ordered to marry her, and any warmth, if that’s what it was, would be in service of that order.

  When he looked at her, he’d only ever see a human. Someone unappealing he’d been forced to wed. That’s all she’d ever be.

  Obedient as he was, he’d been kind to her. Sympathetic. Understanding. Patient.