Chapter Three #2
“Wall sconces are a crucial element to any room. They help establish the atmosphere.” ó Connor shot Clía a look as if afraid she would begin her own ten-minute monologue, and she stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
A princess must be demure; she couldn’t be seen mocking a chief.
And in the crowded throne room, anyone could be watching.
Really, everyone was watching. “My mother really is looking for you.”
“Then let’s not keep Her Majesty waiting.” ó Connor gestured for her to lead the way.
Just as Clía and ó Connor reached the dais, the doors to the throne room opened with a thud. The noise rushed down Clía’s spine, and a hush fell over the nobility. ó Connor stepped behind her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents turn to face the front of the room.
The crowds of the court parted to reveal Prince Domhnall, a troop of warriors surrounding him. He strode purposefully toward the dais, nobles bowing as he passed. When he stood only a few feet away from Clía and her parents, he stopped and lowered himself into a deep and elegant bow.
Clía let her eyes settle on her future betrothed. Domhnall looked good despite having traveled for two days. To anyone else, it might seem as if not a hair was out of place, but Clía saw the way he straightened his doublet. The fit and fabric were fine; it didn’t need adjusting. He was nervous.
When he rose, Clía waited for Domhnall to look her way, to offer a smile or a nod as he had done so many times before. But his focus was fixed on the king and queen. A cold sense of unease settled in her.
“Prince Domhnall, we welcome you to our home.” Queen Eithne’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “How is your father? And your sister, Princess Aoife?”
She played the part of a concerned friend well, but the Scáilcan king had neglected to reply to her mother’s last three invitations to visit the court with Domhnall.
Only a week ago, Clía had overheard her mother mutter how she assumed the man “must be on his deathbed” for how foolish he was making them look.
“They are fine, Your Grace.” Domhnall tucked his hands behind his back, head held high. “My father sends his regrets. He had wished to join me on this visit, but kingdom matters required his attention.”
King Cathal had no desire to visit álainndore, Clía was sure. But the conversational dance of pleasantries required of royals was often filled with lies. Honesty was a virtue rarely desired.
Eithne’s lips tightened into a line. “Perhaps next time.”
“I take it your journey went well?” King Tighearnán’s warm voice filled the room.
Domhnall’s shoulders tightened, and Clía took the moment to truly look at the warriors he brought with him.
A smaller group than she expected—he was short a few guards.
Typically, they would come into the throne room with silver mail gleaming and heads held high, but today there were scuffs on their armor. Faint rusty splotches. Blood.
There was a minuscule adjustment. A subtle shift in Eithne’s gaze to the onlooking court. “You must be tired from your trip.” She spoke clearly, voice raised as she addressed the full room. “Let’s give our guests some privacy for a moment. We shall continue our celebration another time.”
At once, the crowd of nobles making up the court began to scurry out the doors, leaving Clía’s family alone with Domhnall and his retinue.
It was strange, seeing the throne room so empty. No soft murmurs or whispered conversations. The quiet calmed her, but not enough.
Domhnall’s warriors seemed to relax as well—the risk of a potential threat now lower—except for one.
He was tall, with brown skin and dark hair that barely brushed his shoulders.
He didn’t rest in his posture—his eyes continued to scan the room for any possible danger.
She hadn’t seen him on previous visits—she would remember someone as striking as him—but he was wearing the armor and rank of the captain of the prince’s guard.
Strange. She recalled an older gentleman in that position formerly. Perhaps he had retired.
Domhnall cleared his throat, drawing Clía’s attention. “I’m afraid the journey wasn’t as smooth as we expected, Your Majesty. We were attacked while traveling past Tiarnas.”
The queen’s smile dropped, and her eyes narrowed in on the prince. “An attack on a royal caravan?”
“It was Ionróirans. It could have been a case of us being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I’m doubtful. They have never been spotted this far inland. We have reason to believe they might have formed an alliance with Tinelann, giving them access to the Diamhair Mountains—”
Eithne interrupted him. “That’s not possible. The Diamhair Treaty prevents anyone from traveling through those mountains. To do so would be an act of war.”
That doesn’t mean anything, Clía thought to herself.
“The Tinelannians are not allowed to travel through the mountains,” Domhnall corrected.
“And perhaps they don’t. But the Ionróirans are not from Inismian.
They are not held to the treaty.” Domhnall’s words echoed Clía’s thoughts, his gravity surprising her.
“Tinelann might be using the Ionróirans to act on their behalf—attempting to weaken us.”
“King Ardal would know better than to ally with Ionróir.”
“He’s a new king. It’s only been a year since his father passed, and Tinelann had been struggling long before he took the throne.
He’s inexperienced. Desperate. I only bring this matter up because if they’re going after Scáilca, they might attack our allies as well.
I thought you would like to know, considering Scáilca is not the only country that shares a border with Tinelann. ”
A chill ran down Clía’s back.
“Thank you for the information, Prince Domhnall,” Clía’s father said, before her mother could argue more. He leaned back into his throne, his eyes soft, as they often were. As if he hadn’t just been told of a threat to his kingdom.
The queen stood. “We can continue this conversation later. You’ve traveled a long way; we will have you shown to your rooms so you can rest. A small feast has been prepared for tomorrow night, in your honor.”
“While I appreciate it, I don’t believe we’ll be staying that long, Your Majesties. With this new information, I need to get back to my father and help him with the proper preparations in case war is on the horizon. It would be best I conduct my business then be on my way in the morning.”
Conduct my business? What a romantic way of discussing marriage.
“Of course, we completely understand.” The queen smiled and then turned to Clía, her mother once more. “I’m sure you and Clíodhna have much to discuss. The eastern courtyard is beautiful this time of day.”
“I imagine it is. Clía, would you care to join me for a walk?” Domhnall turned to her for the first time since he’d walked through those doors.
Head tall and eyes forward, she stepped toward him, ignoring the way her stomach dropped with nerves. “I would be honored.”
***
THEY WERE SILENT AS THEY MADE THEIR WAY TO THE EASTERN courtyard.
Her mother was right, the garden was stunning at this time of day.
The blooms matched the color of the nearby sea, a rich blue dotted with coral pinks and soft lavenders.
Her own little reefs. The sun shone down on them, but it wasn’t harsh.
Instead, she felt nothing but warmth and peace as she looked at the ivy-covered walls of the palace surrounding her.
“It’s nice to see you again.” Domhnall spoke quietly, his voice tentative, as if testing each word.
His teeth caught his bottom lip as he stared at the garden around them.
At everything but Clía. His guard—the tall, wary one—remained a discreet distance behind him, next to Clía’s own. “You look beautiful.”
The comment would be easier to believe if he’d actually looked at her. But she had worked so hard on the gown, she decided to allow it.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see you too.” Her reply was softer than she wanted it to be. Shakier.
There was an awkward pause. It was new. They had never before missed a beat in their conversation.
It would always flow, free and light, with no effort needed.
This struggle to find words was a familiar feeling for Clía, but never with Domhnall.
He seemed . . . different. Graver. His shoulders were slightly stooped, as if they were carrying a great load.
He turned to look at her.
“I suppose I should just get to the subject at hand, then, shouldn’t I?” His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes held an emotion she couldn’t read.
“I think that might be best.” She laughed, hoping to break the tension, but it failed.
The two walked over to a stone bench beside the garden and sat. Their legs rested near each other, and Clía could feel the heat from his body.
She let herself think of a life, a future, with Domhnall.
It was nice. Her parents would be happy.
She would want for nothing as his queen.
And Domhnall was fun. He was smart. They were friends, and the hope that something more might develop between them with time—not a great love, but a strong partnership—was warm in her chest.
“You know I care for you,” he began. “You’ve become a dear friend.”
“I care for you too . . .” Clía trailed off, confused where Domhnall was going with this assurance.
“We have had some incredible times together. Remember when we would have competitions to see who could start the most absurd rumor? We would go to the gossips and fuel the mill with ridiculous drivel?”
Clía laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “Chief MacSeáin still hasn’t forgiven me for that one about his hair. It was rather mean, Domhnall—you’re lucky I took the blame for you.”
His hand reached for hers, offering a comforting squeeze. “I’m lucky to have you in my life at all.”
Quiet fell over them once more.