Chapter 18
The first day that Mr. Evergreen was gone, I wallowed in my chamber like a child who’d been sent to bed without their most cherished dessert.
I cited a stomach ache. The second day was much the same, though Ser Elías came and he played chess with me.
When I contemplated my moves for too long, he reminded me of the importance of hiding in plain sight and said that if I didn’t leave my quarters by the third day, people would associate my dismay with the swordsman’s absence.
He suggested that I spend time with my fiancé to keep up the facade. My fiancé!
For Oreia, for Chalke, and for my own sanity, he said.
He was, naturally and unfortunately correct, so as instructed, on the third day, I pried myself from my sheets, long enough to take a bath.
Then I embarked on an effort to find Sameer, but I hadn’t ventured too far into the Palace before he found me first. He handed me a delicate box containing a kind of biscuit he’d ordered from town and he told me the sugary treat had always helped him on the road to recovery in his youth. They’d been his mother’s favorite.
Reluctantly, or out of guilt and for Oreia, Chalke, and my sanity, I thanked him, declared they had worked their wonder upon me, and then spent the day in a florist’s shop with him after. I picked flowers for our wedding and I tried not to sneeze.
Then, on Day Four, I sulked only internally, and by the afternoon, I’d had enough.
I stood in front of Isaac’s stall, squaring my shoulders and dismissing Ser Willoughby’s nay-saying about taking her out.
“Cyrus will return,” he said. “We should wait for him.”
“No.” I ignored my cousin, speaking only to the mare. “You listen here, ma’am!” I told her, determined. “Your Evergreen has abandoned us; it’s just you and me now. Do you understand?”
“And Dan Willoughby,” Willoughby added. “I’m here, too.”
“Quiet, Ser Willoughby,” I hissed.
“She should know,” he said. “I’m right here and I don’t want to lie to her.”
I groaned. “Fine. And Dan Willoughby is here, too, but he won’t be riding you. I will be, however. I’m going to ride you, and you’re not going to be upset about it, yes?”
She blinked, and I wasn’t sure if it was compliance, so we just stared at one another, in a silent, possible-competition before I broke it to unpin her.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Ice was not happy to be ridden. She made every sound a horse should be expected to make, for better and for worse, and she got me a few times, bucking and nearly casting me into the grass like a doll, but I came back each time.
With Ser Willoughby, too, but day after day, and sometimes in the evening hours, to poke around, to casually inquire about Mr. Evergreen with Henry, and to show that bratty horse that I was not going anywhere despite her best efforts.
She was stuck with me, unlike a certain forever-tree who couldn’t be bothered with the common decency of explaining one’s action! For all I knew he was dead! Lost in the desert, or, or a married man!
On the tenth day, I was decidedly over Mr. Evergreen and vocally wished him well, every single chance he came up.
When Josie, Dan, and I discovered that Isaac had a soft spot for the peppermint plant growing about a mile off the main road, I was actually enjoying her unfocused attempts to bury her snout into the weed, to root around in its flavor, even if it meant she refused to let up no matter how hard I demanded it.
Even with Willoughby’s encouragement, his brute strength, my very stern voice, and Josie’s sweet melody, nothing dissuaded her.
When I tugged her bridle obnoxiously, she slung me off and into the dirt.
I coughed, opening my eyes to try and catch the wind knocked from my lungs, but then another face craned over mine and blocked the sun.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkened face.
“Svana?” Cyrus asked, offering his hand.
I sat up, sharply. “How hard did I hit the ground?” I stared at him dazed. “Wait, are you really here?”
“Svana! Are you alright?” Josie cried, arriving beside my swordsman. “We heard that from over–Oh!” She raised her brows. “Mr. Evergreen. …You’ve returned.”
“Aye,” he said. “He grabbed my hand anyway and pulled me to my feet. “Are you alright, love?”
I frowned. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You know, that was my question for you,” he quipped. “But it appears you’re stealing my horse again. Not sure why I’m surprised.”
“She’s mine!” I scoffed.
He bobbed his head. “Okay. Why are you lying in the mud?” he asked.
“The mud?” I looked behind me, realizing and gasped, scouring the back of my ruined dress. “Oh no!”
“Svana,” Josie said softly. “It’s alright. It’ll come out. Please. Let me check you. I think you hit your head.”
I touched my hair. “I did?”
She leaned in to study my eyes. “Hmm… How many fingers do I have up?” She held up her hand.
“Four, if you count the thumb.”
“Good,” she said, smiling.
Willoughby arrived with Ice in tow; he half-bowed his head to the Sword. “Cyrus.”
Evergreen cleared his throat. “Well, since you’re all here you might as well come in.”
He started toward the path that led us to the front door of a modest cottage. Ice shoved her nose into another patch of plants and Willoughby clicked his tongue at her, scolding her for ravaging it.
“That’s not yours!” he said.
Cyrus laughed. “It sort of is.”
“What?” I asked.
“The mint,” he said. He nodded at the house. “It’s sort of hers, isn’t it?”
“Are you suggesting the horse owns the cottage?” Daniel asked.
I scowled and he squinted.
“Did I hit my head?” Evergreen asked.
“What?” I knit my brows. I looked closer at where we were–a new location. We’d never taken the route in all our rides, and it was the opposite way of everything else. “Who’s house is this?” I asked.
“Mine,” he said. He unlocked the door and stepped in. “Though I wasn’t expecting guests; you’ll forgive me for the mess.”
There wasn’t a mess. The home was quaint but larger than the others I’d seen in town bearing the same type of architecture.
The roof was smooth with darker accents, and there was a long, sturdy fence around the side and rear yards– one that might hold a horse or two easily.
In the back, there was a barn, and inside, everything was as flashy as his attire. He had crystal bookends on the shelf.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” he said. He dropped the bag he’d been carrying by the door. “Is water alright or would you prefer tea? What about you lot? Not sure what else I have. Just got back.”
“Tea’s fine,” Josie said. She touched Daniel's arm, and he agreed.
“You live here?” I asked.
There were flowers in a vase but they had wilted. His settee was red. There was a blanket neatly folded over the back of it. A woman’s touch.
Cyrus nodded. Once he had put on the kettle, he turned to inspect my face. The moment he touched my jaw, I stumbled back. He tried to catch me but I refused.
“Am I missing something?“ he asked.
Then I smacked him, completely possessed. I sent my hands to cover my apologetic gasp, then shot them back out in front of him to pat the air.
“I’m so sorry!” I cried. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Evergreen. I’m sorry!”
Awkwardly, Willoughby moved Josie to the door and he suggested they go outside, and I… I counted the breaths I took until I managed to reply.
“I don’t know why I did that,” I said pathetically. A high-pitched sort of wail followed. “I’m so sorry!”
Cyrus pressed his fingers to his cheek. He said, “That’s not exactly a welcome home.”
“What?” I asked, angry again. “Welcome home? You write me a four sentence, impersonal letter, signed ‘regards’ and you expect a welcome home? You didn’t even tell me where you were! You—”
“Was it only four?” he asked.
He stepped past me and opened the satchel he’d brought in. The rustling was more than an irritation and only fueled the heat of my fury.
“What the Hell is that?” I asked. My body froze.
He handed it to me, a cold, sour look upon his face. “It’s a feather, love,” he said. “And the reason I went to Oreia. Chalke doesn’t have swans, in case you didn’t know.”
I stared at it. It was pure and chaste between us— a symbol, a confusion, a gift, a–
“I’m… Why?” I whispered.
“Take it,” he said.
I did and looked blankly at its beauty as he went on.
“I’ll save you the trouble of over analyzing what’s happening here. This is a romantic gesture, Princess.”
I shut my mouth. Then, “Wait. This… I told you what I thought of the feather I was given before?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And you… Then this is… Is this a declaration?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You’re declaring yourself?” I asked. “I specifically instructed you not to be in love with me,” I said.
Another “Yes.”
“Oh! So you defy your Queen?” I asked.
“You may be my queen, but you’re not the Queen, Swan, so yes, while I still maintain some independence from your inevitable reign, defying you like this seems to be what I do best. Although…
For the sake of reality, I understand the limitation of such a declaration.
I know that when a man back home declares himself to a woman, it’s with the intention of marriage…
. As that is not an option for us, the feather is…
something else. An offer. An offer of proof of my devotion to you.
And yes, I intend for you to interpret it the way you interpreted the last. Swans mate for life. ”
“But—”
“I know, and I know you’re scared, but we aren’t children, Svana. I’m an adult man and I do as I please, and it pleases me that this connection remains as it’s formed. Intense. Undeniable. Interwoven. Do you feel the same?”
I couldn’t find the words, any words.