The siege had ended. Lord Kern, the dark mage, was dead.
Maren pushed her forehead against the warm glass, straining for a better view of the commotion below. A cheer went up from the crowd, and she searched for any sign of the man making his way to the castle. The man who’d saved the city – and the kingdom.
All she could see was a mass of bodies, crowding the path leading up from the city gates.
It wasn’t uncommon to see people in the streets of Delorme. They’d come every day for the past two and a half years, standing in subdued silence as they waited for the daily rations that grew more and more meager as the weeks went by. But today the crowd wasn’t silent. Today was different.
The tent cities beyond the wall, once teeming with soldiers draining the city of life, were now abandoned, destroyed, thin plumes of smoke the only movement. What was left of the lush, green fields sat charred and barren. Desolate.
“Anything?”
Maren jumped back from the window and felt the color rise to her cheeks.
“It’s all right, Maren,” Adare said, trying to get her own view of the street below. “We’re all curious. And you have more right than the rest of us. You knew him better than anyone.”
The dull, familiar ache in her chest forced Maren to hesitate until she was sure she could speak without her voice breaking. Even then, she couldn’t meet the queen’s eyes. “I’m not sure I knew him at all.”
Adare didn’t comment, instead turning her attention back to the crowd. “I wish I could be out there with them. But that would be beneath my station.”
Maren managed a small laugh. “But would you really give it all up?”
Adare thought. “Most of it. But not Daric. Although what he ever saw in a plain girl with no fortune or political connections will always be a mystery.”
True, Adare wasn’t beautiful. Her eyes were too small, her nose too wide, and although her hair was a rich shade of gold, it neither hung in a beautiful, straight curtain, or in large, soft curls like Maren’s own. None of that mattered when she smiled. It was like the sun coming out after a storm. “I think the king fell in love.”
Now it was Adare’s turn to laugh. “Yes, he did. Despite all the advice of his Council.” She shrugged. “You can’t help who you fall in love with.”
No, Maren thought. You can’t.
After another moment, Adare sighed and stepped away from the window. “They’ll be at the castle within the hour.”
Maren’s stomach knotted. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Are you all right?” Adare’s brows wrinkled in concern. “Does it hurt?”
Maren instinctively pulled the fabric of her dress over her shoulder as far as possible. “No more than normal. It isn’t that.”
“You’ll have to face him sometime.”
“I know, but it’s been three years.”
Adare’s smile was full of sympathy. “All the more reason not to put it off any longer.” She paused. “I won’t order you to come. I’d never order you to do anything. I’m asking. I can’t stand up there in front of everyone with only the other Ladies. I need you. As a friend.”
Maren kept her eyes lowered. “Daric will be there.”
“But even he doesn’t understand. He’s been on display his entire life. It comes natural.” She took a deep breath. “It’s easier for him to hide his heartache. Besides, the people love him.”
The people loved her even more. But Adare would never believe it.
“I’ll come.”
A dimple appeared at the corner of Adare’s mouth. “Good. I want to watch his reaction when he sees you.”
Maren managed a weak smile, afraid his reaction wouldn’t be at all what the queen was expecting.
Maren fidgeted as she followed Daric and Adare down the threadbare, red carpet of the Great Hall. The room was already crowded with members of the nobility and a few commoners who had managed to find a spot. They pushed up against the walls, whispering, eyes flicking to the doors at the back of the room, anxious for the first glimpse of their hero. The excitement in the air was tangible – for everyone except her. She was nervous and apprehensive, terrified of what the next few minutes might bring. Even the familiar surroundings didn’t help. They only reminded her how much had changed.
Everything about the castle had once been beautiful – stained-glass windows that sparkled in the sunlight, tapestries prized for their rich colors and intricate detail, marble laced with slivers of silver. Now only a shadow of that remained.
A siege took its toll.
And as Maren walked between the once-glistening marble columns, as she felt the breeze from glassless windows that brushed against her cheeks and temporarily pushed away the smell of mildew, her heart ached for all that had been lost. For all that had been destroyed.
And yet, there was hope. She saw smiles on the faces around her. Laughter even broke through the terrified silence that had suffocated the kingdom over the past two and a half years. There were repairs to be done, buildings to rebuild, but it could be done. Things could go back to the way they were – her thoughts strayed to the man who waited behind the closed doors – at least most things.
Daric led the small procession to the front of the room, took Adare’s hand in his, and smiled at the waiting crowd. At twenty-seven, he was relatively young for a king. He wasn’t, however, inexperienced. He’d inherited the throne of Tredare at sixteen, after Lord Kern had murdered his father. Daric’s first task had been to capture Kern, seal him in a tomb, and leave him to die – or whatever it was black mages did. It had taken two long years, after which the entire kingdom breathed a sigh of relief. Only Kern had escaped six years later, vowing revenge on Daric and taking the city hostage. Through it all, Maren had watched Daric struggle to hold the kingdom together.
She looked at him now, staring out over the crowd. Over the past three days, the worry lines around his eyes and across his forehead had softened. They’d never be completely gone. Some heartaches, some losses, left a permanent mark. But at least that pain faded. Before she knew it, he’d be teasing her again. Just like he had for years.
A footman signaled it was time, and she knew this was her last chance to escape. It would have been the easier decision. But Adare was right. She’d have to face him sometime.
A second later the doors at the end of the hall opened, and two men stepped forward, one slightly in front of the other.
Maren’s breath caught as her eyes glued to the man in front. Philip. He walked with his shoulders straight and head held high. His eyes never wavered from his king, apparently unaware of the murmurs from the crowd on either side.
He’d chosen to wear black, the silver sword hanging comfortably at his side the only exception. His dark hair was shorter, his features older, more defined, but his eyes were as brown as she remembered – like rich soil after the rain. Even his walk was familiar, the firm, confident stride of a soldier. He was the handsomest man she’d ever met. Three years had only emphasized that. He was no longer an adolescent bordering on adulthood. He was a man. Twenty-three years old and hero of a nation.
Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat and she forced herself not to flee. Instead she took a step back and lowered her head, hoping to go unnoticed as long as possible.
Philip reached the end of the carpet and bowed low. Then he drew his sword, knelt, and presented it to Daric. “I offer you my allegiance, My King.”
She closed her eyes as a wave of nostalgia overcame her. His voice evoked too many memories, and even the good ones brought pain. She mentally shook herself. Today wasn’t about her. It was about a kingdom that had every reason to celebrate.
Daric took the sword from Philip’s outstretched hand before presenting it back to him, hilt first. “I accept your allegiance, Lord Philip, and offer you the gra—”
“How do we know we can trust him?!”
The crowd looked aroun
d in confusion, searching for the person who dared interrupt the king.
He stood on the base of a pillar at the back of the room. His hair was unruly and stuck out in all directions. His face was as dirty as his clothing, and there was a slightly unbalanced look in his eye.
“How do we know Kern is really dead?” The man pointed an accusing finger at Philip. “That he, Kern’s own son, really killed him? He doesn’t have magic. How could he do what no one else could?”
She’d wondered the same thing over the past few days, but Maren’s immediate reaction was to defend Philip – even though the small amount of information that had trickled into the city didn’t offer an explanation that made sense. They only knew Philip had amassed an army that outnumbered Kern’s. But Kern had more than just men surrounding the city. Still, Maren knew Philip’s deep, personal hatred for Kern. He must have found a way. Even though she’d spent every spare moment for the past two and a half years searching for that way – and had failed.
She looked back at Daric. For a moment, he only stared, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then he smiled.
“We can trust Lord Philip because he’s saved this kingdom. And we know Kern is dead because the thousands of soldiers who now protect this city are the same soldiers who saw Kern die. Who helped Lord Philip defeat him.”
Daric nodded to his guard, who quickly but kindly ushered the man out of the room.
Everyone relaxed, they smiled, their laughs echoed off the marble walls. Daric was right. Philip was a hero. Old fears needed to be forgotten.
So why couldn’t she forget?
“Now,” Daric addressed the crowd and Maren forced her attention away from Philip, “should we start again? Hopefully this time without the interruption.”
Daric once again offered Philip his sword. “I accept your allegiance, and offer you the gratitude of a nation.”
The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause. Daric motioned Philip to stand and then turned him to face the room. Something Philip seemed uncomfortable with. His smile was forced, and she could sense his eagerness for it to be over. It was so unlike Philip, at least Philip from three years ago – popular, charming, charismatic, winking at her from across the room.
“You don’t seem very excited, Maren,” someone whispered beside her.
Lady Kira. Perhaps the last person she wanted to deal with right now.
Maren forced herself to remain expressionless. “I’m as excited as everyone else.”
Kira laughed. “You’re not a very good liar. You always did wear your emotions on your sleeve. I’d be careful this time, though. Things have changed. He probably won’t be the same. You’re not the same.” She brushed a strand of honey-colored hair back into place. “And I’m definitely not the same.”
Maren balled her hands into fists. Kira was right. Maybe that’s what she was so afraid of.
Daric pulled Philip over to Adare. Maren lowered her head further, allowing her hair to fall across her face. Still, she couldn’t keep from staring. Now that she could see Philip closely, the difference she’d sensed was more apparent. She just couldn’t decide what it was.
“May I present my second in command?” Philip motioned the man at his side forward. “A man without whom this victory would never have happened. Lord Teige.”
Maren pulled her gaze from Philip and finally glanced at the man who, until this point, she hadn’t paid attention to. And then she couldn’t look away.
The man was…beautiful. There really wasn’t a better word for it. Where Philip was dark, Teige was light, with blue eyes and hair the color of caramel. He appeared a few years older than Philip and was half a head shorter. Not that it mattered. He exuded a confidence that filled the space around him.
He bowed to Daric before taking Adare’s outstretched hand.
“We owe you our lives,” Adare said. “And our gratitude.”
“You owe me nothing. It was an honor to serve Tredare.” Teige smiled and Maren felt the collective sigh from every woman in the crowd.
That magnetism only intensified as she witnessed his conversation with their majesties and the Council. Instead of Philip’s quiet dignity, Teige was friendly and charismatic, asking polite questions, complimenting each person individually. Even Lord Berk, the head of the Council and a man known for his reserve, clapped Teige on the shoulder as they shared a joke.
A minute later, Adare laced her arm through Philip’s and led him and Teige over, and Maren realized they’d reached the moment she’d been dreading.
“Lord Philip, Lord Teige, I’d like to present Lady Maren, my First Lady.”
Philip stiffened and hesitated for the tiniest of seconds before facing her.
She sank into a graceful curtsey. “My Lord.” His hand trembled as he took hers. Or maybe it was her own.
For a moment he just stared, and her heart leapt at the tenderness – and relief – in his gaze, but then his mouth hardened into an angry line. He released her hand and took a barely discernable step back. “Lady Maren. It’s a pleasure.” The words were distant and cold, thrown at her with such force she flinched.
He turned to Teige. “Lady Maren and I grew up together and were always in some kind of trouble.” His smile was purely on the surface. “I remember one time in particular. Her father caught us climbing onto the castle roof. I was probably eleven; she was eight. We knew if we didn’t come up with a good excuse, we wouldn’t be allowed outside for a month. We both sat there shaking, not knowing what to say, when Lady Maren blurted out a story about trying to save a nest of birds from a hawk. She even managed a few tears for effect. Luckily for us, there actually was a hawk flying overhead. Not only did her father believe us, we didn’t even get punished.” He paused and looked at her with something approaching hatred. “I never would have believed she could lie so well.”
For a second the words hung in the air between them, and Maren blinked back tears, refusing to let him see how much he’d hurt her. A moment later, Adare, her polite smile frozen in place, took advantage of the silence to present him to Kira. He didn’t look back.
She was left facing Lord Teige, who stared after his friend with knitted brows before offering his hand. “I’m always pleased to make the acquaintance of a beautiful woman, Lady Maren.”
She forced a smile and placed her hand in his.
Intense pressure pierced through her left shoulder, and she unconsciously gripped Teige’s hand tighter.
“Lady Maren, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she managed, her voice weaker than she would have liked. “I’m fine. A sudden headache.”
“You don’t look well,” he said, guiding her to a chair. “Let me get someone to help.”
“That’s not necessary, but thank you.” She tried not to look as panicked as she felt. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Probably the stress of the past week.”
He held her gaze with his own, concern and curiosity clearly warring with good manners. Then he bowed once more before greeting Kira.
The next half hour was a blur. Not because of the pain, which had evaporated shortly after it came, but because her shoulder hadn’t hurt like that since before the siege. She shouldn’t be feeling it now. She’d been healed – as much as she could be. Maybe the stress of the past week truly was catching up with her.
She retreated to the edge of the crowd, passing Philip with a beaming Lady Kira on his arm. He ignored her. Kira shot her a look of pure triumph. As if it was some sort of contest. Some things never changed.
She sank onto a nearby chair. Now her head truly did hurt. Philip hated her. Time hadn’t fixed anything. And still, she couldn’t keep from following him with her eyes, seeing him praised by others, watching as he readjusted to the life that had been his. Even now, Kira hung on one arm, Teige stood to his right. And a large crowd had gathered around them. Laughter and smiles flowed freely – until someone dared
ask the question everyone wanted the answer to.
“What exactly happened out there, Lord Philip? How did you kill Kern?”
Philip paused with his drink halfway to his mouth, and resignation settled into every one of his features. Maren slipped from her chair and moved closer.
Philip took a deep breath. “While Kern was busy holding siege to the city, I was scouring the country for men. By the time they were trained and I made my way here, I had a force of just over three thousand. Kern, by comparison, had less than a thousand.”
She could feel the crowd’s anticipation. Whether they laughed off the “crazy” man from earlier or not, they all wanted an explanation. They were curious. And with the deep-seeded fear of magic that Kern had wrought throughout the kingdom, they wanted to know not just that he was gone, but how it happened. They wanted assurance.
So did she. Desperately.
Philip gave it to them, describing how Teige distracted Kern with the bulk of the army while Philip took a smaller force and snuck up from behind.
“Then what happened?” someone in the crowd prompted.
Philip hesitated. Only a hardness around his eyes gave any indication to the depth of his emotions. “I stabbed Kern straight through the heart.”
A few in the crowd gasped. One woman let out a horrified cry. But no one moved. “And?” The words weren’t spoken aloud, but Maren could feel the question hanging in the air like an unpleasant wind.
Philip frowned. “As soon as the fighting ended, we took the body back to camp and burned it.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Kern truly was dead. Even though she’d known it on some level, hearing it from Philip filled her with a relief that left her light headed and surprisingly drained.
The crowd obviously felt similar. Still, they only stood wide-eyed for a moment before the questions poured out.
It was like watching a group of boys after a sporting competition. They wanted to replay every move. Every hit. Every win. They pushed forward, each trying to get that all-important detail that would be talked about for the next week. Not that anything they heard would stay the same. The story would grow and change and adapt until it was barely recognizable. And through it all, the reality would be lost. So would the horror.
Only Philip seemed to understand the seriousness of it all. He opened his mouth and then shut it again and shook his head, unwilling to say anymore. Instead, everyone’s eyes turned to Teige, eager for the details Philip wouldn’t share.
“All right, all right.” Teige put his arms up in surrender. “I’ll tell you everything Philip is too modest to say.”
Maren retreated from the crowd, immediately searching for Philip. He stood with Daric and Adare, listening more than talking. She could understand his reservation; he’d been gone for three years. But the difference she’d sensed in him earlier was more than reservation. She continued to watch him move about the room, talking to various people, receiving praise that obviously made him uncomfortable. Then he turned and their eyes met just for a moment before he looked away.
And she finally recognized what was different.
He’d lost the laughter in his eyes – the realization of which tore at her heart like nothing else had. It was one of the things she’d loved most about him. That laughter had allowed them to share private jokes even from across a crowded ballroom. It had let her know when he was internally chuckling while some young woman was trying to win his affections. It had assured her that the bond between them was as strong as ever. It was something he let everyone see but that he only truly shared with her.
Tears stung her eyes as she made her way to the door, desperately needing to be alone.
Maren wrapped her arms around her legs and stared out the window. It had been hours since her confrontation with Philip, but her mood hadn’t improved. She sat in the dark, letting the moonlight rest on her face.
Below her, the people still celebrated. The streets were almost as full as they’d been this morning. Bonfires blazed in every courtyard. Food and drink, scarce for so long, were passed around in abundance until the people were drunk with happiness. The city felt alive again.
And she’d never felt so alone, which was something, all things considered.
She’d always lived in the castle. Not in the high, beautiful rooms with views of the city where she lived now. But neither in the servants’ quarters that were shoved behind the kitchen and always smelled of onion. Her father was the King’s Scholar, the youngest son of the youngest son of the Lord of Alaister. A respectful pedigree – not the highest, or the lowest. Somewhere in the middle.
It hadn’t really bothered her. At least not much, especially as she got older and realized she didn’t care about position or title, or that the other Ladies never really accepted her. She just wanted to be happy. And she had been. Until three years ago.
And now…well it was more complicated. Her head ached. Her heart ached. Her shoulder ached more than normal. She was exhausted.
How could she live like this? How could she face Philip again? How could she endure that kind of pain – heartache – day after day and still maintain the outward appearance of normalcy? The questions had swirled through her head since she’d collapsed on her bed hours earlier, and she still didn’t have any answers.
Her door creaked open, but she didn’t bother to turn around. Only one person would enter her room without knocking.
Adare wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I didn’t understand. I didn’t think he’d be…” She took a deep breath. “Should I have Daric throw him in the dungeon or would you like to do it personally?”
Even with Adare’s attempt at humor, Maren couldn’t find it in herself to smile.
“Won’t you tell me what happened?” Adare asked. “I know you quarreled, but obviously it was more than that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I just hoped, after three years…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He still hates me.”
Adare’s arms tightened around her. “No, he doesn’t. No one who saw the way he looked at you for that first second could ever believe that. It was like he’d finally, truly come home.”
Which somehow only made her feel worse.
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