Chapter 11
Ceridwen had opened up about herself the night before, and he found he wanted to know more, so much more. The thought distracted him from his work much of the night, making his task impossible. He should be angry about that. After all, his time before returning to the capital was running short. But somehow, he couldn’t be cross with her.
She intrigued him, sparked something in him other than the burning desire for revenge that fueled his purpose. It was that little flame that urged him to seek her out during the day rather than leaving her to her own ministrations or watching her from a distance as he sometimes found himself doing.
When she wasn’t in the gardens, nor her rooms, he finally asked about her whereabouts and discovered her in the library. He opened the old wooden door slowly, holding his breath that it wouldn’t squeak. When it was wide enough, he slipped inside and walked slowly beside the wall, looking for sight of his quarry.
He found Ceridwen sitting in the cushioned window seat, her back propped on one wall, sunlight spilling in through the window. The light added a shimmer to her golden hair and cast itself across the exposed skin of her arms, where they sat in her lap with an open book. Whatever she read held her full attention. She flipped the page. Ceridwen pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and he almost groaned aloud.
Watching her was tempting. Joining her? More so.
“What are you reading?”
Ceridwen jumped in her seat, nearly dropping the book. “You startled me.”
“Apologies,” he replied, though he wasn’t the least bit sorry.
Drystan walked to the window seat where she reclined. Ceridwen scooted closer to the window—giving him space to sit or moving away from him? He hoped the first and sat on the edge of the cushion, the little bit of space between their legs full of tension and warmth.
She turned the book his way, showing him the cover. The lack of wear alone marked it as a new item in the mostly aged collection. “It’s the tale of the late King Jesstin and Queen Manon, Goddess give them peace.”
“Ah, I see.” Of all the things for her to pick.
He knew of the book, though he had not read it himself. It chronicled the late king’s struggle against his father’s dark magic and his efforts to restore peace and prosperity to the kingdom. A recent history, as things went, though it happened before his birth. He’d wager the printed version of the tale held must less detail than some of the rumors he’d heard.
“Quite the tale,” he replied at length.
“It’s…oddly vague in parts,” Ceridwen said, her lips pursed. It only confirmed his suspicions. The secrecy of the royalty and nobility extended to books. No one would dare print the details of their magic and power, even if they knew what they were.
“There was little about the dark king and how he turned from such a loving father to a horrible madman,” Ceridwen said. “You lived in the capital, right? Are the stories about the atrocities the dark king committed really true?”
The reminder of those dark days, and their likelihood of coming again, settled on him like a heavy weight. Ceridwen had no idea the significance of what she read and how the darkness rose once more in the capital. At length, he sighed. “The atrocities are true, as far as I know. I was not born yet, so everything I know is something I’ve heard from others.”
Ceridwen inched closer in the seat until her leg brushed against his arm. The simple touch had desire building between his legs. “Can you tell me about the dark magic? What makes it different from yours?”
He grinned in return. “Dark magic is forbidden.”
Ceridwen half rolled her eyes as if that were obvious. “Well, perhaps I’ll find something about it in this library. It does seem there are books from the capital here, after all.” She lifted the small book for emphasis.
Unlikely. Those secrets would never be put in books available to the public, not even ones left openly in a noble’s home. “Hah,” he replied, attempting to maintain some lightness in the conversation. “It may take you many years to read them all.”
Her shoulders slumped as the book found a home in her lap once again.
“What is it?” he asked. But he had a sneaking suspicion. She wouldn’t be here that long. Soon, he’d have to return to the capital, and she’d go back to her normal life. He thought about that looming deadline plenty, but not in relation to her, not the fact that he’d probably never see her again once she left. That fate was suddenly worse than whatever awaited him in the capital on his return.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
He knew well enough that wasn’t true but let it go.
“It’s horrible what happened to them,” Ceridwen said, looking back up at him as if she needed the change of conversation as much as he did. “The king and queen, after all their sacrifice and hardship, to be killed by their own son.”
The comment hit him like a punch to the ribs. Horrible indeed.
Ceridwen stared at the painting of the couple on the front of the book, one meant to resemble the now late monarchs in their youth. “Was it really as awful as the stories?”
“Yes.” The word was thick with unspoken emotion. “Likely worse than the stories.”
“Then it’s a good thing King Rhion found the prince before he could escape and brought him to justice.”
She spoke with such fervency, having no idea that the king she praised was as terrible, or even worse, than his nephew.
“Were you there when they executed him?” Ceridwen leaned closer, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze. “My friend Lydia claimed the whole of the capital attended, or at least all the nobility, though her sources are sometimes dubious.”
“The execution?” Drystan asked.
She nodded, her hand settling on the cushion just an inch from his.
“That’s a dark subject… But yes, I was there. Crying and begging for mercy were not what anyone expected from the prince in his last moments.” A huff of air left through his nose as he pressed his lips in a thin line. “Do they include that bit in the stories?”
Ceridwen paled and leaned back toward the window. “No. They certainly do not.”
“I thought not.” Drystan stared at the dour expression that had risen to her face. “The execution was…uncomfortable at best for all in attendance. I’m sure no one wanted to repeat that in the tales they told their friends and relations.”
She hugged her arms around herself, and he instantly regretted the frankness of his words. Even the sun retreated behind a cloud, stealing its warmth away from them.
Words to comfort her eluded him, and before he could chase them down, she spoke again, her voice a soft whisper toward the window pane. “The rumors out of the capital these days are not much brighter.”
He stiffened. “You heard that here?”
Ceridwen shook her head. “The women gossiped about it before I ever came here.” She glanced at him. “Monsters like our own. Whispers of terrible magic like the Dark King used to use.”
So the rumors had spread to Teneboure. Things might be worse than he feared. Drystan remained silent. He could offer little in the way of comfort other than lies.
“I wish the king would do something about it. Or…”
Or me?He wanted to ask. I’m trying.
“The king, he—” He clenched his fist at his side. “Never mind. We shouldn’t speak of it.” He had more discretion in his words than his servants when speaking about their not-so-beloved monarch. He had to.
Ceridwen gave a soft gasp and turned more fully in the seat.
“What—”
But before he could ask, she reached back for him, tugging on his sleeve. “Look!”
His focus glued on her hand, that touch, and for a moment, all thought of what she’d seen vanished.
Ceridwen gave him another gentle tug and pointed out the window, a smile spreading across her face. “Snow.”
The first flakes of winter. The joy of it lit the woman before him from the inside out. All talk of darkness vanished amid the spark of wonder radiating from her. A soft giggle escaped Ceridwen as she watched the flakes fall, and Drystan smiled too. Not at the snow that reminded him all too well of his time running short, but at the woman who found reasons to smile amid the coming darkness.