Chapter Twenty-One
Dietan
I’m glad for the distraction of having to pack quickly.
I clench my jaw and hope Lydia was able to fight them off.
She didn’t deserve this. I say a prayer for her safe return, even though I know it’s unlikely.
She’s either dead or had to avail herself of the hemlock all royal guards carry in case the worst should happen.
Aren mentioned that there were less painful options when I informed her of this policy, but Marcus prioritizes speed and efficacy over comfort.
Maybe Aren and I will implement some changes when this is all over.
But of course, there is no Aren and I once this is over. Again, I have to remind myself that this is purely a business deal.
Marcus sent two of his best soldiers to look for Lydia, but the rest of the company must be on our way.
Getting Aren away from danger as fast as we can is priority.
We make quick work of stuffing our sundries and supplies into satchels and sling them onto the carriage.
As dawn breaks, we water the horses and load our gear.
By the time the sun creeps above the distant hills, our royal caravan is back on the road.
Instead of traveling as a pack as we have done so far, Marcus has set up a perimeter around our convoy. A handful of men scout ahead and few guards bring up the rear to alert us to any signs of trouble.
I climb into the carriage and take a seat across from Aren, who’s turned toward the window, her pale face contrasting with the glow of the morning light.
She’s staring at the landscape, but it’s clear her thoughts are elsewhere.
Her eyes, reflected in the glass, are glazed, her stare a thousand miles away.
Of course, she blames herself for Lydia’s kidnapping.
No matter how many times I assure her it wasn’t her fault—that she could be dead if she were in Lydia’s place—it doesn’t help.
I’m grateful Aren snuck out and wasn’t asleep in her bed last night.
The thought of something happening to her—I don’t think I could bear it.
I can’t keep doing this.
Marcus is worried that whoever did this will soon figure out they’ve captured the wrong person and return to finish the job. Not to mention the Kilandrar are still prowling the land, hunting for me.
I take in Aren’s thick, wavy black hair, the gentle slope of her cheek in profile, her slender fingers propping up her chin. I lean over and clear my throat.
She looks up, tears in her eyes.
“Look, I’ve made a decision,” I say. “This situation has become too dangerous for you. I can’t let you continue to do this. It was selfish and stupid of me,” I tell her, feeling awful. I’m the worst sort of heel. Why did I ever allow her to come with me in the first place?
Aren stares at me in a daze.
“What I’m trying to say is… You can’t stay with me. You need to go, for your own safety.” I see now that my plan was utter madness from the beginning but I feel compelled to explain myself.
“With war on the horizon, I’d forgotten that I have more enemies than merely the Usurper and the Kilandrar.
I know from years of briefings that, in addition to those who would take royals hostage for ransom, there are also those who would like to see the treaty between Alarice and Loegria collapse, who do not want to accept me as my grandfather’s heir and their future king.
My cousin, the Duke of Lancaster for one, and my own granduncle, Prince Namreth, to name another.
“Namreth has been sending assassins to murder me since I was named heir to the throne instead of him.
“Really, I come from a lovely family. So many relatives who want to see me dead.
“But Namreth is one of the staunchest traditionalists when it comes to male-line inheritance, primarily because it benefits himself. He’s gone missing since his banishment, his last known whereabouts somewhere in Penrith, but there the trail goes cold though my father’s spies keep trying to find him in order to fend off his troublemaking. ”
I shake my head, trying not to picture what would happen if the kidnappers are successful in capturing Aren.
They’re no real threat to my riches or my birthright, but they can hurt me.
They can take away the one thing that supposedly matters the most to me: my beautiful, innocent bride.
Dear gods, what have I done? What was I thinking? Why did I put a target on her back?
“You’re sending me away?” she asks incredulously. “After all this? What about your…problem?”
“I’ll figure it out, but you have to go,” I say, feeling utterly wretched. My mother is right, after all; I’m a coward and a fool.
“You don’t want me here, do you? I’m just dead weight. I can swing a frying pan, but I’m no warrior, no Lydia.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No…this is just too much to ask of anyone. Of you. I should have found another way. I should never have let you leave Evandale with me.”
“Well, it’s too late. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” she says, sitting ramrod straight, her eyes flashing with annoyance.
My words were meant to comfort her, but instead, I’ve upset her.
“Tell the truth. You can’t abide my company, I’ve cost you a valuable warrior, and you’re trying to get rid of me so no one else in your entourage dies protecting me,” she accuses.
“No, that’s not it at all! It’s just too dangerous.” Trying to get rid of her? I’m trying to save her life. Why can’t she see that?
Her eyes narrow as she says, “You knew it would be dangerous when you asked me. And we fought the Kilandrar together, remember? I know it’s dangerous.”
“But it’s even more dangerous than our intelligence reports predicted,” I say, more and more desperate to make her understand.
“Too bad. I’m not going anywhere. I have people I need to protect from the Usurper, too.”
I exhale in annoyance, reluctantly impressed by her spirit. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“I’m not leaving. End of discussion.” She huffs and folds her arms across her chest.
I tear my eyes away and resolve not to press the issue for now. But doesn’t she want to live to attend her sister’s wedding? Why won’t she listen to reason?
I wish I knew how to make her feel better, even if I can’t make her understand why she must go home.
A man of worth should be able to muster the courage to reach out and hold her hand.
I want to touch her simply so she won’t feel so alone, so abandoned.
But my hands remain firmly wedged under my armpits.
I’ve grown used to holding Aren in public, but it’s always been a staged performance…
That embrace at the inn earlier, though. That wasn’t for show.
Regardless of the performance we put on for the world, the truth is that we’re business partners, not intimate ones. To touch her now, in the privacy of the carriage, would feel like overstepping.
I could ask if she wants to be comforted, but I’m not sure I want to hear her reply.
What if she says no? The rejection alone would make the rest of the carriage ride unbearable.
She’s already made it clear she thinks I’m nothing more than an arrogant oaf on the best of days, despite this morning’s display of concern.
So, I keep my hands where they are.
She doesn’t say a word.
Her silence is slowly driving me mad. I want to lift her spirits, distract her, maybe make a terrible joke that she can roll her eyes at. I can’t think of a joke that feels right for the moment.
The landscape rolls past, the air heavy with tension. When I can’t bear it anymore, I cross the carriage and take a seat beside her. We don’t touch. I just want to show her that I’m here.
She glances at me briefly, and to my relief, she doesn’t move. She resumes staring out the window. I gaze up toward the ceiling, searching for the right words. I know I’m not good at comforting others.
“You’re beating yourself up about this,” I say.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it? For sneaking out?”
For a moment, this strong, stubborn woman sounds so uncharacteristically childlike that I have to suppress a completely inappropriate smile.
“It’s not. Trust me, I would know. People have been trying to assassinate me for as long as I can remember.
Blaming yourself for the collateral damage is never the answer. ”
She remains unmoved, except for the fist in her lap, which tightens around the hem of the lovely coat I had made for her.
“I’m not like you,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’m not really a princess. I don’t want to be the reason people get hurt.”
Her words sting. I didn’t ask for this life. But then, she didn’t, either. She’s not used to it like I am. The pressure, the expectation, the attention—good and bad.
“I agree. To tell you the truth, I’ve always hated the job,” I say. It’s such a relief to admit it aloud.
How much better to be like my fourth cousin once removed, a contented baronet in the countryside, whose only responsibilities are his sheep and keeping his wife and children happy—probably in that order. He was even allowed to choose his own bride: no treaties to consider, no kingdoms to unify.
More than ever, I’m glad I chose Aren. She’s been unflagging through this whole thing.
But I must let her go. It’s the only way to keep her safe.
She scoffs. “No way.”
“It’s true,” I add. “Being a prince is a burden.”
“Liar,” she says, but at least there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. “You? Give up your valet and your fancy clothes? Please.”
I frown. I can’t tell if she’s teasing. Is that all she thinks of me?
I’d hoped I’d risen a little in her estimation.
I forge on anyway. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true.
I’d give it all up so I don’t have to live with the fact that there are so many people in the world who could die because of me or want me dead.
And they haven’t even gotten to know me first.”