CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
My throat tightened, as I quickly moved toward the dais.
And an uncomfortable cough from Lord Dovan, followed by a pointed one from the Hermit told me I’d been lingering far too long.
“I’d like to sit now,” I said, peering through the lace.
“Of course.” Lord Dovan gestured to the stairs. “Shall we?”
A moment later I was seated in the center of House Kanos’s pavilion.
The Hermit took the seat beside me. “Maybe it’s time to put your full blindfold on, Princess Olivay,” he said under his breath. “And keep it on.”
I didn’t speak, just stared ahead at the armored knights gathering in the jousting field.
Most didn’t have their helmets on yet. They were sparring with practice swords and javelins.
Tightening their armor, or drinking. And beneath the darkening red hues of the setting sun, everyone’s hair began to take on a familiar golden hue.
One man in particular stood out to me. He had golden curls, and a familiar curl pattern.
A scar that ran through his bottom lip to his chin.
Green eyes I could see from a distance even in the dimming light.
Green eyes that I knew were cold and cruel.
My stomach turned as I made eye contact with Jaron for the first time in two years.
His gaze swept over me, over Princess Olivay’s body, blank and devoid of emotion.
I felt hollow inside, completely empty, until his eyes lowered, revealing something lascivious in them that made me sick.
The music’s tempo increased, and my attention returned to Finlay, Thomas, and the dancers, including Cecelia.
By the Gods. Had Jaron seen her? Had she seen him?
Vomiting was starting to feel like a real possibility. And more and more of the nobles, of the knights, and the people gathered to watch the event, began to turn their eyes onto me.
“I think I am ready for my blindfold,” I announced. And for once, I was happy to be relieved of my vision. To take a deep breath and forget the horrific place I’d ended up in. The horrific things I’d done to get here. And the even more horrific things I was about to do.
Marry Jaron. Bear his child.
The song came to an end as a second lace ribbon was folded over my eyes and tied behind my head. The next song started up just before the crowd applauded and trumpets blared. The herald cleared his throat and announced King Tirian along with his full title, and all four of his Godsdamned names.
“His Majesty, King Tirian Evander Nathan Jaron, Ruler of Eskalon.”
The herald continued, droning on and on about how this tournament was in honor of a special announcement, as well as to honor tonight’s Lady of Beauty whose identity was about to be revealed.
When King Tirian finally began to speak, his voice boomed across the field. I felt numb. My palms felt clammy, and my stomach churned so powerfully, he sounded far away. His words blurred together into something that sounded so unintelligible to me, he might as well have spoken another language.
But his words cleared when he mentioned Jaron and then Olivay.
“My son,” he said, “your prince, will unite Eskalon and Spartva, bringing unity between House Lafir and House Kanos with this marriage. And thus, it is my honor to reveal to you all that the tourney’s Lady of Beauty resides in the pavilion reserved for House Kanos.”
I could barely see more than shadows around me, but there was no mistaking the overwhelming sounds coming from every direction. Everyone, and I mean everyone, shifted in their seats, or on their feet to see me.
King Tirian continued, “And just as Orsete was blind, waiting for her husband Kavrir to lead her, Princess Olivay wears a blindfold, awaiting the guidance of her prince.”
The crowd cheered.
Olivay’s mother leaned in toward me and kissed my cheek.
“Come,” Olivay’s father said and took my hand, helping me to stand.
The crowd cheered and clapped as they called out my name.
I almost tripped as the King of Spartva led me off the dais, guiding me down the stairs and then onto the field.
I could feel the moment the ground changed from grass to dirt though I couldn’t see it.
We kept walking in silence as my ears were assaulted by the crowd’s applause and yells of congratulations.
The king squeezed my hand a minute later when I was sure we were in the center of the tourney field.
Then he released me. “My child, this is it. Just walk straight forward,” he said, and squeezed my shoulders.
“The prince is already walking toward you. He will remove your blindfold and escort you back to your seat in the King’s pavilion.
I’ll be waiting with your mother for you until the joust ends, and then we can celebrate. Together.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice shaking. Then my mind went black.
I couldn’t remember what Olivay called her father.
Or how she addressed him. Or even what the fucking custom in Spartva was.
But it felt odd to not address him as something at that moment.
Even if I wasn’t actually his daughter, I felt like it then.
So I turned toward the direction of his voice. “Thank you, Father.”
He chuckled. “You must be nervous, child. You haven’t called me that in ages.”
I couldn’t respond. All I knew was I was about to see the prince for the first time in two years.
See His Highness, Crown Prince Jaron Emmerson Rowan Brendathan.
And I had to convince him, and the hundreds of people watching, that I was someone I wasn't. Someone I could never be. Someone that I didn’t want to be.
I took one step forward, and then another, my stomach twisting even tighter until I thought I’d double-over in pain. Step after step, until I heard a pair of boots touching down on the dirt, walking carefully toward me, followed by the sharp intake of a man releasing his breath.
“Princess,” Jaron said. His voice was low, far lower than I remembered. His metal armor clanked as he took his final step toward me. I still couldn’t see him, but I could feel his nearness. Feel the way his height towered over mine. Feel his body heat radiating toward me. “Your Highness,” he said.
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. Because right there at that moment, I was going to lose it, going to vomit when I saw Jaron’s face again.
When I saw the scar I’d given him that last night.
How the hell was I going to pretend I didn’t want to kill him for what he did to me, for what he did to Cecelia?
How was I going to keep him from knowing it was me when Abigail was already suspicious, and I’d publicly drained Olivay’s mother so quickly, she’d fallen?
“You’re okay,” the prince said. “I’m right here.
I know,” he cleared his throat, “I know this must feel quite strange to you. And uncomfortable. It’s almost over and you’ll be able to see again freely.
But until then, I’ve got you.” He took my hands in his, they were surprisingly warm and soft.
And to my shock, he threaded our fingers together.
The sensation of him doing so was like a jolt to my stomach.
It felt familiar. Too familiar. I flinched.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
I couldn’t respond. I just shook my head.
So Jaron was back to sounding sweet, and putting on the charm as he once had. The way he had done so when we first met.
“And so,” King Tirian announced, “Kavrir found a blind Orsete, lost in the world and confused like all women. She was weak, and susceptible to temptation, to the trickery of Batrir. Led astray into the wilds of the world but her own folly, carried on wings of fire. But Kavrir saved her when he took her hand in marriage. He became her guide, and softened her, leading her through life.”
“I’m going to take your blindfold off now,” he said quietly. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded as his hands left mine. They moved toward my hair, his fingertips softly brushing against the jasmine flowers as he sought out the knots of lace at the back.
He had to move closer to me to reach. The crowd began to cheer in anticipation of the reveal. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. Feel him. Feel his body heat against mine. The edges of his armor pressing into my dress.
Nausea roiled in my gut.
The wind blew against us, and his scent wafted toward me as well, the natural musk of his body mixing with the spices of his perfume. Spices I’d smelled recently. Very recently.
Then the knot of my lace ties gave way, and the blindfold fell from my eyes, revealing a man with soft brown curls that shone gold against the final departure of the day’s sun.
He had startling green eyes that were kind and gentle, and a sensual mouth that turned up at the corners into a warm and genuine, almost boyish smile.
I gasped, taking a step back. He was no longer wearing a green cloak.
But blue. The blue of House Lafir, embroidered with the same golden thread he wore the other night.
And beneath was the metal armor of a knight entering the tourney, shaped to fit a muscular body, one that had clearly trained for such events.
“O-Olivay?” he asked, his face concerned. “Princess? Are you—are you all right?”
“W—what?” I asked, forgetting my name, who I was, and who I was supposed to be.
I couldn’t even move. I wasn’t all right. I couldn't breathe. I clutched at my chest, staring back at him in horror. Not at the man I’d expected or imagined. Not at Jaron and his hateful face, and the scar across his lip from the wound I’d given to him.
Because Jaron wasn’t before me at all.
The prince I was standing in front of was Brennan.