I enter the dining hall to find I've arrived before Kaelen—again. I think to myself that perhaps I've been a little too eager for our shared dinners lately.
As usual, the table is set for two, my plate placed just to the right of Kaelen's. I smile, remembering how he'd insisted on changing the arrangement. We used to sit at opposite ends of the long table, but no more.
I smooth a hand over my dress—the blue satin catches the candlelight, gleaming like water under moonlight. My hair is coiled into an elegant braid, and I've dabbed on just a touch of my signature fragrance: lavender and crushed gardenia.
" Your scent—lavender and crushed gardenia—it unravels me every time you enter the room."
A shiver runs through me at the memory, raw and unfiltered, from that day in his chambers. I hug myself, still standing near the entrance, when he finally arrives.
"Are you cold?" he asks as he walks in and sees me standing there.
"Oh, no." I shake my head quickly. "Just lost in thought." I laugh nervously, glancing away—failing miserably to hide the blush rising to my cheeks.
"Thoughts?" He raises a brow. "Care to elaborate on these... thoughts?"
"I don't think they're any of your concern," I reply lightly, trying to hold my ground.
"I beg to differ. I think anything to do with his wife should be a husband's concern."
"I could be thinking of anything. Or anyone." I shrug.
Kaelen closes the distance between us in a few strides, one hand slipping around my waist, the other lifting my chin.
"Are you trying to make me jealous?" he murmurs.
"Why would I do that?" I ask, though the closeness is making my head spin.
"Then why tell me someone other than me is occupying your thoughts?"
"I didn't say someone other than you—I said anyone. You could be anyone." The words slip out before I can think better of them.
Kaelen's smirk widens. Before I can correct myself, he dips his head and presses a kiss to my shoulder. Then another, trailing upward along my neck to my jaw.
"Kaelen, stop. Not with them here," I say, glancing at the footmen trying—and failing—not to be noticed.
"Leave," Kaelen commands without taking his eyes off me. Within moments, we're alone.
"Better?" he asks, resuming what he was doing, but I step back slightly.
"No. What I'd like is to have dinner," I say, though I can't help drifting a little closer again. "I don't know about you, but I prefer my meals warm."
Kaelen laughs, tipping his head back. It's almost surreal—like he's not the Kaelen I used to know. Then again, I'm not the Nyriane I used to be, either.
"Laughter suits you," I say softly. "You should do it more often."
"I didn't have a reason to laugh before. Now I do."
"Excuse me—are you calling me a jester or a clown?"
"I'm calling you the light of my life," he replies. "The color in my dark, dreary existence."
My heart skips a beat.
"Do you mean those things?" I ask.
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"Kaelen."
"Yes?"
"Kiss me."
We did end up having a cold meal, but by then, it didn't really matter. With the footmen gone, we served each other—an odd sort of blessing in disguise.
"Ugh, I hate mushrooms with my very being," I say, pushing away the cold cream of mushroom soup.
"Really? What else don't you like in food?" Kaelen asks, happily taking a sip of his own.
"Not much else—maybe a few smelly cheeses. What about you? I know about the pheasant story, and how you like them now."
"Spinach," he replies instantly.
"Spinach? Really?"
"Hated it. Especially when they added it to the gruel during campaigns."
"Gruel? What's that?"
"It's this sludge they make on the battlefield. Fills you up but doesn't slow you down. Like porridge—but with meat and vegetables. You'd beg for cream of mushroom after one spoonful."
"I don't know... I quite enjoy spinach and porridge, although I've only had them separately."
A cough interrupts our light banter.
"Lord Commander, you are summoned to the keep," a guard announces.
The keep again? That's twice in one day.
"Is something wrong?" I ask.
"It's nothing," Kaelen says, wiping his mouth. "Just a few security measures I'm overseeing."
He's lying. I can feel it. But I don't press. I smile, though I don't think it reaches my eyes.
"I'll be late," he adds, placing a kiss on the top of my head. "You should head to bed."
And just like that, I'm alone—again.
And more uncertain than ever of what's to come.
Kaelen POV
The stone corridors of the keep echo with every step, cold and unwelcoming. General Harrow waits just beyond the guard post, arms folded, face grave.
"This better be worth dragging me away again," I mutter, Nyriane's laughter still ringing in my head. She had finally warmed up to me.
Harrow doesn't respond right away. He just nods toward the stairwell that spirals down into the bowels of the keep.
"He wouldn't talk until now," Harrow says as we descend. "But after a little persuasion, he's softened."
I know what that means. And I don't ask for clarification.
They've got him shackled in the lowest cell. His face is swollen—one eye nearly shut, a split lip crusted with blood.
Rovan.
"Speak!" I command him
All I receive is silence. He's soon to find out I am not a patient man
"You're wasting my time," I say coolly, stepping forward. "If this is all he has to offer, you should've just finished the job."
Rovan looks up through one eye, bloodied but still breathing. "Are you going to kill me?"
"I am a man who has better things to do than entertain silence," I say, voice low and sharp. "I left a warm room and warmer company. So unless you have something worth hearing, I'll consider this your final breath."
A beat passes.
Then, he breaks.
"He's not just rallying men," Rovan croaks. "Your Queen's brother—he's hiring specialists. Not soldiers. Not just mercenaries. Men who... know how to do things. Quiet things."
My pulse slows, sharpens.
"Assassins?" I ask.
"Some of them, maybe," Rovan wheezes. "But there was one. Different. Kept apart from the others and he wasn't there for you."
"Then who?" I ask, almost sensing the answer.
Rovan looks up, and even through the swelling, there's fear in his one good eye.
"Princess Nyriane," he says. "He was there for your Queen."
Silence thunders through the chamber.
"Are you saying he means to kill her?" My voice is ice, barely restrained.
"I don't know!" Rovan flinches. "I swear, I don't know! I just know he was being told about her—asking questions about her. Never about you. Not the war. Just her. I don't know if Saelow wants her dead or taken or used for something—but his focus was on her. Only her."
I turn away, clenching my fists so tightly they ache. The image of Nyriane just mere minutes ago flashes my mind.
You should laugh more, it suit you
And now Saelow's sending ghosts from the dark after her. I will never let that happen.
I turn back, stepping closer until my boots are inches from Rovan's chains.
"If she so much as bleeds—if anyone even looks at her wrong—I'll make you regret not dying in this cell."
He nods frantically, too afraid to speak again.
"Find out everything," I bark at Harrow. "Names. Faces. Where they were last seen. Every tavern, every whisper. I want to know who this man is."
Harrow nods. "We'll double her guards tonight."
"No." I shake my head. "I'll guard her myself."
And this time, I won't look away.