12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
A rooster crowed as the sun poured through his chamber window, and Cyrus found himself wondering when they’d gotten chickens. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a chicken.
As he opened the door to step out into the hall, he nearly collided with Visa, who was entering.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly as she stumbled back. “I thought you were already gone.” Her eyes dropped to the frown on his face. “I was just bringing these by,” she added, and held out a stack of folded tunics.
The dogs pushed by him to huddle around her, wiggling excitedly. They were always happy to see Visa.
Cyrus stared at her, still not sure exactly what was happening. “Why would you bring me tunics?”
“Um, because… you need them. And wear them. And mess them up. And need new ones. Often.”
He still wasn’t sure why Visa was bringing him tunics.
“I’m just going to put them in your dressing chamber,” she said.
And then it hit him. “Wait, do you stock my clothes?”
Her brows twitched. “Of course I do.”
“Regularly? This whole time?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Cyrus, who do you think stocks your dressing room?”
He’d actually never thought about it. There were lots of people employed around the castle to keep things up. His chamber was always clean, his clothing always pressed. “I had no idea,” he confessed. Shame licked his cheeks. “You don’t have to clean up after me.”
Visa shook her head. “Oh, I don’t clean up after you. We pay others very well to do that. I just see to buying your clothes and making sure they’re here when you need them.”
She slipped by him and into the side dressing chamber.
“Thank you,” he said, “although you don’t have to do that either.”
She stepped back out after putting the tunics away. “I don’t mind. I’m already doing the same for Everan.” She smiled. “Plus, I think it’s fun to shop for the king.”
He chuckled.
They left his chamber and made their way down the halls to the mainway. The dogs followed.
Floral garlands hung from the side pillars.
“What’s all this for?” he asked.
“For Heart’s Harvest.”
That couldn’t be right. “We did away with all the old festivals,” he said. They’d done away with everything of the past regime, putting new traditions in place, new holidays, new celebrations.
“Well, mostly, but not Heart’s Harvest. We missed doing it last year because the rebellion had just happened.”
He paused in his step. It had been over a year since the rebellion. He’d known this, but hearing it…
Over a year.
And what had he done in that year?
Nothing .
“Are you all right?” Visa asked.
“Of course.” He straightened.
“Are you going this evening?”
“Why would I?”
Heart’s Harvest was intended for those seeking a marriage match.
Cyrus hated the name. There wasn’t a harvest, only an overindulgence in food and wine, which they were already in short supply of.
And there were no hearts involved—marriages were brokered to secure family status.
At least, that was how it had been. It had started with nobility, but over the years became a festival that included common citizens as well.
Eventually, it was even shared by slaves, who snuck one another small gifts to reveal their affections.
Perhaps only for slaves— those who had no wealth to bargain and only their hearts to follow—was it truly a heart’s celebration.
“I’m not looking for a match,” he said.
She laughed. “Well, I already have one, but I’m still going. Everan has promised to dance as long as I want, and I’m going to take full advantage.”
“Have fun.”
“Essandra will be there.”
His eyes darted back to her. “Why is she going?”
And this was exactly how Cyrus found himself standing in the overcrowded main hall as the sun dipped below the horizon, watching the festivities and drinking wine too quickly.
It was awkward, but if he were honest with himself, it was also a reprieve from ruminating on Gregor’s visit.
Gregor had sailed back to Japheth three days ago, and Cyrus hadn’t been able to think about anything else since.
Until he saw her.
The most beautiful woman in the room.
Essandra had definitely been avoiding him; she was still distant from their situation with the assassins. And after his conversation with Orion, he thought she’d be doubly angry, but Orion had told Cyrus he’d kept that to himself.
So, she should only be regular amounts of angry. He expected her to still avoid him here, but when she saw him, she gave a visible sigh and—to his surprise—walked over.
His anger at her about using his brother for her spell had faded.
He would have let her. It made sense for her to try to use Alexander as an anchor.
She had everything she needed here, and Alexander would be none the wiser, provided it worked .
But it would become complicated for Cyrus if it didn’t.
He still hadn’t been able to ask her about the blood-bond vision that had come to him without an actual blood bond. He needed to.
Her eyes held a scowl as she neared.
He’d probably wait a little longer on the vision.
“I’m glad to see you’re trying not to have too much fun,” he told her when she reached him.
“This isn’t what I would call fun,” she quipped.
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
He shrugged. “I’m king, I’m expected to be at these kinds of things.”
“Since when have you cared about doing what’s expected of you?” Her tone was curt and cold.
He didn’t particularly think that was fair. He’d been trying hard. Lately.
He looked back out across the hall. “Are you looking for a match?”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a merry laugh. “Maybe I am.”
Of course she wasn’t.
But it eased a little between them.
“What are you looking for, exactly?” He’d meant it as a jest, but as he said it, it sounded stupid, and he cursed himself.
She pursed her lips as she rocked on her heel. “He would have to be a powerful man.” She cut him a side look. “Very powerful.” Her eyes trailed down his body. “And a fine specimen of male physique.”
He snorted. “Is that so?” He stepped closer.
“Tall,” she added, looking up at him.
He was tall. He smiled.
“With dark hair, preferably black, and deep brown eyes,” she said.
The air left his lungs. But he straightened and looked back out across the hall full of people.
“Will you keep an eye out for me?” she asked. Then she quirked her lips into a smile and slipped into the crowd.
Fire rippled across his skin. She’d had him for a moment, which made him feel even more sheepish. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come. He didn’t have to, regardless of what people expected. They knew him—they probably didn’t expect anything.
He shouldn’t have come.
Heart’s Harvest was a stupid festival with a stupid name.
The room grew warmer. He needed air.
Cyrus pushed out of the side doors to the mezzanine outside. This woman…
Did she like making a fool of him? She probably—
He paused when he saw Hephain, who stood leaning against the railing and looking out over the lights of the dusky city.
Something wasn’t quite right.
“Shouldn’t you be inside… celebrating?” Cyrus asked.
Hephain jerked, not having heard Cyrus come outside, but when he saw Cyrus, his shoulders loosened. “I’m not in the mood for celebrating,” he said as he turned back to the city.
Cyrus leaned his weight on his forearms against the railing beside Hephain. “No luck tonight?” he jested, trying to lighten the air. He knew Hephain was already with someone, although he hadn’t met her yet.
But his ex-guard showed no amusement.
“What’s wrong?” Cyrus asked him.
He shook his head and took a drink of wine from a chalice that Cyrus hadn’t noticed until now. Cyrus also hadn’t noticed his red-rimmed eyes.
Hephain drained the rest of his cup.
Cyrus looked out over the city too. He wasn’t good at… emotional things. “How far do you think you can throw that?” he asked.
Hephain’s brows drew together. “The cup?”
Cyrus shrugged.
Hephain snorted. Then he heaved the chalice as far as he could off the mezzanine.
It was impressive. Cyrus was glad he didn’t also have a chalice to throw. He feared he might have been shown up.
They both leaned against the railing again.
“Have you ever had a broken heart?” Hephain asked finally.
Cyrus’s heart had been broken many times, if betrayal counted. Not quite the same, but he could still empathize. “Women can do that.”
“So can men.”
Cyrus briefly lost his words. He hadn’t even realized… And he didn’t know what to say. “Fortunately, there are plenty more of those around here,” he said, filling the void with another jest.
“I only want one,” Hephain said.
And Cyrus suddenly regretted trying to jest at all. He quieted again for a moment. What did one even say after that? “He doesn’t feel the same way?” he asked finally.
Hephain shrugged. “He does, but… he says he needs a traditional life—a wife and children. He said he needs to build his legacy—sons to carry on the name of his father, for that name to be respected in society, to be respected in history.” He paused.
“He had a family crest drawn for him. He’s so proud of it.
” His eyes welled again, and he wiped his face.
“I can’t be angry with him, though. Before he was free, he couldn’t dream.
Our love was enough. Now, the world offers him more, and he wants it.
” He smiled sadly through his tears. “But I just want him.”
Cyrus didn’t have words for him.
Hephain snorted. “Clearly this has sent me on a path of self-destruction. I can’t believe I’m sharing this.” He shook his head. “But I guess I don’t care if people see me as less. I’m not trying to build a legacy.”
Cyrus looked back out across the city. “Who is this man?”
Hephain shook his head. “I can only tell my own secrets, not his.”
Cyrus could respect that. He glanced back at the festivities continuing in the main hall. He didn’t know what would make things better for Hephain, but he was pretty sure spiraling out here wasn’t it. “Will you come back inside?” he asked.