Chapter Fourteen
Aren
That evening, there is a real engagement party for Ophelia and Jared at the town hall.
The prince is hosting, making up for missing his friend’s proposal.
He evidently wants to put on a grand show, ordering food and drink from the Raven’s Beak on a few hours’ notice, leaving me scrambling to get everything ready instead of just attending the party as the betrothed’s family.
If he thinks he can get under my skin, he’s mistaken. I’m more than up to the challenge, and if he’s paying for it, then I’ll make certain my sister is sent off with the most elaborate feast imaginable.
I spend the better part of the afternoon rolling barrels of ale to the town hall with the help of Bonnie and a handful of royal soldiers, and laying the large table with hearty fare prepared from the freshest bounty of the year’s harvest.
All the while, I pretend not to notice the marquis, who stalks around the place barking unnecessary orders.
I do, however, note with satisfaction the damage Dietan did to his face.
While the very sight of the marquis still makes me shiver, I feel safer with Loegrian soldiers everywhere.
The marquis keeps out of my way as well.
If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was avoiding me. Good.
When the celebration’s finally underway, I smile and chat merrily with our guests, accepting congratulations on Father’s behalf and ensuring everyone’s cups and bellies are full. The hall is full of laughter, and the trill of a flute signals the next dance.
Prince Dietan reigns in all his resplendent glory in the center of the fete, drawing listeners around him as he tells them of his travels.
“So, there I was, a plate of oysters in one hand and the duchess’s dog in the other, locked on the balcony in a hurricane.
” He pauses, grinning, for everyone to laugh.
He’s probably told this story so many times, he knows exactly when to expect it.
“As you can imagine, I couldn’t exactly go running to the duke now, could I?
” More raucous laughter. “So, I’m trying to kick down the door, when who should come to my rescue? The one and only Lord Jared.”
Cheers rise as everyone lifts their mugs to the groom-to-be. “Lord Jared!”
Dietan’s charisma and his ability to navigate conversations is like watching a skilled swordsman duel. He knows when to make a joke, when to commend someone to make them smile, how to deflect a clumsy remark.
But it all seems so hollow to me, like he’s had years to practice putting on the act of the merry prince.
I remember his desperation, his pleas, his fear in the healer’s cottage.
But the night isn’t about him. I make a point to always keep at least twenty paces away from him, busying myself in the periphery of his orbit.
Tonight is for Ophelia and Jared.
One of Evandale’s many traditions is to personally feed the happy couple, to usher in prosperity and good fortune.
The two of them, blushing equally hard, are seated at the high table as they are spoon-fed food by various villagers.
No matter which way they turn their heads, they are met with a forkful of pot pie or jam or crumble.
I try to focus on them, but at the same time I can’t stop glancing Dietan’s way every so often, catching a lift in his voice that unconsciously draws my attention toward him. His very presence annoys me. I still can’t shake what he said about hoping to find a woman to keep him on his toes.
With any luck, today will be the last day I’ll have to hear that low, baritone voice, and then I’ll be free of him once and for all.
Just as I’m cutting up a cake that’s been baked into a tower, covered in buttermilk frosting, and decorated with edible wildflowers, I hear that all-too-familiar voice at my shoulder.
“You’re keeping busy. Don’t you ever take a break?”
My knife hovers above the cake, but I don’t turn around. His voice alone makes energy course through my veins. I will my hand not to tremble from adrenaline as I slowly slice the cake and divide the pieces onto plates.
“It’s my job, Your Highness.”
“I told you, stop calling me that. Just Dietan.”
“Nope. Sorry, Your Worship, but we keep to custom here. Just because we’re in Nowhereland doesn’t mean we don’t have manners.”
He grins. “Your Worship. I kind of like it. Hey, join the party, will you?”
“Not unless you want to do the dishes.” Said dirty dishes are already soaking in a giant tub outside, full of rainwater and suds. If I don’t tend to it soon, I’ll be up all night after the party.
“Sure, why not?” He shrugs. “I’ll help.”
“Oh, please. As if you’ve ever washed a dish in your life!”
He grins wider. “You got me there. I’ll have my men do it. Come on, don’t you ever take a moment for yourself?”
I laugh as I grab a stack of clean plates. Dietan’s leaning against the wall, looking at me, his arms folded across his chest and his long legs crossed at the ankles. Why is he staring? Infuriating man. I refuse to meet his eyes.
“Shouldn’t you be off finding some woman who will keep you on your toes?” I ask.
“What makes you think I haven’t found her already?”
“Well, my other sister seems to be involved with your general Marcus, so I believe she’s already taken.” I eye the two, who are whispering head-to-head in the corner. I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that. Sonja could still be a princess.
Dietan’s green-blue eyes sparkle, and it’s frustrating how they look exactly like summer sunshine. “I’m not talking about your sister.”
I frown. If he’s shown any interest in another woman, I haven’t noticed it, which means that his intentions are superficial at best and indifferent at worst. Will he tell this mystery woman his secret?
Or will she live out her days not knowing who her husband truly is?
I feel sorry for whoever he does choose.
Dietan closes the gap between us, and I step back in surprise.
He’s so close now, I can smell his cologne, and it makes my head swim.
Goddess, why does he smell so good? It’s overwhelming, making it impossible to think straight.
I’m hit by a flash of memory of when he rescued me from the marquis—how his shoulder felt, pressed against my face, how his scent wrapped around me like a promise of safety.
My chest tightens, a confusing mix of longing and regret twisting inside me.
“Hey, uh, don’t walk away. I need to ask you something,” he says.
“If it’s about biscuits—or kings—it can wait until after my sister’s party,” I snap defensively, continuing to back away. Ophelia doesn’t deserve us making a scene tonight.
He takes a couple of steps closer. “No, it’s much more important.
” He bends his head toward mine, whispering, “A business proposition that I hope an adventurous woman like yourself would find amenable.” I’m about to ask what he means when we both notice at the same time that the entire room is staring at us. So much for not making a scene.
“Damn,” Dietan mutters. He seems to recover smoothly, standing straight and flashing a carefree smile to the crowd. But then, to my utter horror, the prince gets down on one knee and holds up a shiny ring.
What the hell? I feel like I’m dreaming. My jaw drops, and I quickly shut it in embarrassment.
But this is not a dream. It’s a damn nightmare. Dietan looks up at me with hope on his handsome face. For the whole hall to hear, he says, “My dearest snarky barmaid, Aren of Evandale, will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”
It takes a moment for everyone around us to realize what’s happening—me, too, for that matter—and a hush falls, grinding the music to a halt with a screech of strings. It’s as if everyone has stopped breathing. From the corner of my eye, I catch Ophelia and Sonja grinning.
But Dietan barely moves. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He just gazes up at me with those sea-and-sky eyes. “I realize this is just my signet ring, but I’ll make sure you get a real one later.”
I can feel heat rising in my cheeks as I look down at him. His face is so handsome—vulnerable, even—as he waits for my answer. My heart beats so fast I can’t think.
A prince on his knees is a sight to behold. No one moves. No one breathes. I’m frozen in place. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my hands are cold.
Dietan clears his throat once more. “So, will you? Marry me, I mean?” Then he has the audacity to wink.
The rat bastard. A business proposition, he had said. I exhale. This isn’t about love. This is some sort of plan he’s concocted. I want to slap him. Instead, I clench my fists and reply, “Absolutely not.”