Chapter 9 #2
They didn’t have all that much in common, to be perfectly honest. But she didn’t mind.
He was charming, a brave soldier who made her feel pretty.
It wasn’t like she planned on marrying him.
He was a diversion, a distraction from the handsome duke who kept cropping up in her thoughts—a man she could not have.
Well this one, she could. So, she figured, why not?
With her back against the tree trunk, she pulled out her book to wait.
For the first time in a week, he didn’t come.
An hour passed, which was unusual for the punctual soldier. Perhaps he’s covering another shift? Concerned and finished with her story, Nes folded up her throw and plodded back to the house, veering right, toward the guards’ quarters.
Before she even made it to the doors, she found a welcome sight—though, not as welcome as Rihan would’ve been.
Aylin stood in the sheltered entry, relaxing in the shade and enjoying a break from her many duties.
The maid plucked an ice cube out of thin air and ran it across her brow.
“Miss Kiappa, how are—” her eyebrows shot up at Nes’s tumultuous approach.
“Have you seen Rihan—the blond guard?” Nes clarified.
Aylin shook her gray-capped head. “Thera’s in the wine cellar, she’ll know. If you don’t find your guard first, that is.” With that, she winked at Nes and drew open the door, ushering her inside. “Cut through here, it’s faster than going around.”
Hustling through the long corridor, Nes listened for any sign of Rihan as her eyes swept through each open doorway she passed.
By the time she made it to the wine cellar, she’d greeted many members of the duke’s staff and guard, but had yet to sight her soldier.
With a sigh, she rapped on the door, slightly ajar, as Thera took inventory within.
“Miss Kiappa.” The housekeeper barely looked up as she continued her count, almost as if she’d been expecting her.
“Do you happen to know where I might find the blond soldier who joined our group from Serkath?”
Thera sighed deeply and turned to face her, her kind eyes heavy, and showing their age.
Nesrina’s mouth went dry.
“I’m sorry miss, he was sent back to the capital.”
The words hit her like she’d been conked over the head by one of the fine vintages. That infuriating duke! “Do you know why?” She kept her tone warm, though her voice shivered, a product of the ice running through her veins.
Thera shook her head almost imperceptibly before she spoke, as if in admonishment—of her? Rihan? Someone else? “I believe he was summoned on the king’s orders.”
Supposedly.
Thera provided little beyond a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry, Miss Kiappa. You’ll have to speak with Lord Kahoth for additional information.”
Nes let out a ragged sigh before thanking the woman, steeling herself, and marching from the room.
There was one place the damn Duke of Stormhill would be this time of day.
This was what her papa was always banging on about, high-handed and manipulative behavior for their own gain.
What could Lord Kahoth be getting out of this except to make her life miserable?
Regardless, his behavior tracked with Papa’s warnings.
She pounded through the house, though her footsteps weren’t quite as loud as she’d have liked, since she was wearing her new coral slippers.
Still, the unladylike pace she set helped relieve some of the negativity roiling inside her.
Frustration, anxiety, anger, sadness, unease, petulance; she attempted to tamp them all down with each step she took closer to Lord Kahoth’s private study. It did little to help.
She pulled herself to a halt a few steps from his door.
There, in the short hallway, Nes tried to force a state of calm by taking a few deep, steadying breaths.
The first was successful, releasing a smidge of her rampant rage into the ether.
The second breath, not so much. As she inhaled, her chest sputtered, throat pulsing a warning sign that sadness and frustration were about to usurp control and let loose a torrent of tears.
She hummed roughly—it was more of a grunt, but that was an action for grumpy tall men not five-foot-nothing women—and invited anger to the forefront as she positioned herself to confront the infuriating Duke of Stormhill.
Rapping on the door to his study, she was met with silence. So, she counted to ten.
She pounded on the door and received a muffled cough. Through ragged breaths, she counted to ten again.
She hammered louder. Silence. This time, she only made it to six before turning and stomping away.
Oh. My. Gods. This. Infuriating. Man. Rude. Horrid. Meddler. Each step she took was punctuated by an angry thought as Nesrina walked directly into the library and over to her favorite corner.
She hopped onto the chaise, standing on tiptoes to get as close as possible to the vent that must’ve led into his office.
“Stop hiding away like a coward and come speak to me.”
Silence.
She counted to ten. Gods. She was getting sick of counting. “Akkas Kahoth, I know you’re in there. Come out and talk to me.”
Silence.
She counted to ten, again. “What right do you think you have—”
“I was busy.” His voice was ice on the back of her neck as she spun atop the lounge to find him standing there. With the added height the chaise afforded her, they met eye to eye.
“And I was happy with my routine. Was this your doing?”
“What?” he asked with an exaggerated shrug and a pout of his stupid, tiny mouth.
It took everything in Nesrina’s power not to put both hands on his chest and shove him back. “Did you send him back to Kirce?” She couldn’t even say his name aloud. Rihan, the golden-haired guard—her guard.
“He was needed for the delegation.”
“That’s not what I asked.” She craned her neck forward, trying to meet the duke’s confusing gaze, but he was studying something far more interesting down near her toes.
That was the only answer she needed.
“Get out of my way.” Nes’s voice was steel, yet her words seemed to bounce off the statuesque man as he did, finally, lift his chin.
His eyes bore into hers; dark and tempestuous.
She refused to cower. “Get out of my way.” Her palms tingled, magic rising as she called in threads of chaos from nearby, slowing the flickering candles.
Something softened, infinitesimally, in the duke’s eyes, but not enough to make her feel sorry for the ire she was bombarding him with.
“You infernal man. I may be in the employ of your sister and brother, but I do not work for you. Get out of my way.”
Lord Kahoth took a single step back, opening up enough space for her to climb to the floor.
The move would take her closer to freedom, but it would also put her level with his nipples, and far too close to his chest. Neither of those things would do, so she stayed put and ignored his meager retreat.
“Who do you think you are?”
His lips quivered, and she grunted.
Aristocrats! So pretentious. “I spend the majority of my time with the prince and princess, attempting to coach them to learn some semblance of control. I am always available should they—my charges—need me. My days are busy, I have little free time for reading, or other such pastimes. And when I do find something I enjoy, you’re there looming over me!
You are not my father, Lord Kahoth! What right do you have—do you think you have to—” Rage boiled in her, bumping and bouncing her mind, making her stumble over words.
He stared at her, somehow looking utterly gormless, which made her want to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake.
“What right do you think you have to dictate who I spend my free time with?!”
“Miss Kiap—”
“Oh, I see you found your words. You dimwitted, foolish, asinine—”
“Let me speak.” The duke’s voice crashed through her, fiercer than the thunderstorm a few nights before.
It took everything in her to hold back a yelp.