Chapter Four
Ronan stood awkwardly beside a shrub.
“That went well,” Domhnall stated after Princess Clíodhna fled the courtyard, sitting down unceremoniously on the bench.
The garden was empty except for the two of them.
For a moment, Ronan thought he saw a glimpse of hurt in the prince’s eyes, before it was replaced by resolve.
“I can’t say that went as I expected, but nothing ever does. ”
“What did you expect?” Ronan could have told Domhnall that the news wouldn’t go over well. He didn’t really know the princess, but he had the common sense to know breaking a near-finalized betrothal, especially one as awaited as theirs, would not incite a positive response.
And now, after having seen the princess, Ronan was just grateful that Domhnall had left the exchange alive. There had been fire in her hazel eyes, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if in that moment, she pulled out a dagger and stabbed the prince in his heart.
However, anger wasn’t the only thing he saw.
Defeat had crept into the set of her shoulders as she turned to leave.
For a moment, Ronan couldn’t help but pity her.
Without any warning, the future that had been planned for her since birth was taken away.
He didn’t have to like her or her family to understand that such a loss would be a heavy blow. Especially when dealt by a friend.
Domhnall turned to Ronan, looking almost helpless. “I guess I thought she might understand?”
“Understand that you and your father think she’s too weak to rule?”
Domhnall groaned. “Perhaps that was a little harsh.”
“Perhaps?” Ronan raised a brow. It was strange, this urge to defend her. But he understood Domhnall’s situation. Kingdom comes first. Duty was a common language between the two men.
Ronan took a seat beside the prince on the stone bench. It helped the aching in his legs that was a result of hours stuffed into a tiny carriage. The pain always got worse when he traveled. “You want my honesty? You could have handled it better. But it’s over now—there’s no use worrying about it.”
“Ah, your inexperience with romance is revealing itself if you think I have no cause for concern here.” Ronan balked at Domhnall’s comment.
Inexperience? But the prince continued talking.
“Clía won’t forget this. I’m worried I lost a good friend today.
” The forced levity had left Domhnall’s voice.
When Ronan looked at him and saw his shoulders slumped, gaze trained on the sky as if pleading with the gods, he didn’t see a prince. He saw his friend.
This was what Domhnall had been dreading in the carriage. The prince didn’t want to abandon the princess, but he felt he had no choice. If King Cathal was truly against the match, it would be pointless to fight for it. The end was unfortunate but unavoidable.
“You don’t know if you’ve actually lost her,” Ronan offered.
“Although, some warning might have softened the blow. Even I wasn’t aware your father had changed his mind, nor of the doubts you held.
” It was a statement but also a question.
Domhnall never kept things from him, and Ronan had never heard a hint of doubt about Princess Clíodhna from him before.
“You never seemed to think it was a good match. Maybe I didn’t want to prove you right,” Domhnall replied, but his excuse felt off. Hollow. There was something he wasn’t saying.
Ronan wanted to inquire further, to figure out what Domhnall was keeping close to his chest, but his friend’s eyes were tired. Now wasn’t the time to push.
Instead, he settled for a half-hearted attempt at comfort. “I’m sure, with time, she’ll forgive you.”
“You’re a bad liar.” Domhnall’s head fell. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
That, Ronan believed. Unfortunately, it didn’t make a difference.
“But you did. And now you’ll have to live with it.” There was a pause. “Everything you said—about Scáilca needing a warrior queen because of what’s coming—did you mean it?”
Of course, Ronan had felt the blades of the Ionróirans earlier that day. But for Domhnall to be this concerned—
“We’ve known Tinelann and Ionróir are growing threats. But if the Ionróirans attacked us—me—they’re feeling brave. Far braver than before, and perhaps bold enough to launch a true invasion. I imagine only an alliance with Tinelann could be the cause of this newfound courage.”
Ronan considered this possibility. “So war is on the horizon.”
“And I intend for us to survive it.”
***
RONAN EXPECTED MORE NOISE AS HE TRAVELED THROUGH the halls of the Bailetara castle. When people spoke of Scáilca’s ally to the east, the stories centered their dancing and music, their loud fashions and love of celebrations and gaiety. Yet their halls were as quiet as those in Suanriogh.
As he made his way to the war room, he was left with nothing but his thoughts. Thoughts that kept going back to Caisleán Cósta.
After years of relentless training, of pushing himself and taking every opportunity afforded to him, he would get his chance to receive training beside his friend and to finally see Kordislaen again.
It had been nearly ten years since Ronan had last seen the general. Ten years since the worst day of his life. His mind replayed that day every night as he drifted to sleep. If only he had been stronger, braver, smarter, maybe he could have saved his mother.
In his dreams, he could still feel the sunlight blinding him as he rushed to find a place to hide, following her instructions.
He remembered his legs not moving fast enough under him and an invading Ionróiran grabbing him by the shoulder.
He recalled his mother, sharp edges and determined mind, as she fought to save him. She was a warrior.
He could still see the heavy blade cutting her down and the blood that flowed, staining his shoes, his hem, his heart.
He didn’t cry then. He only stared in shock. How could such a stubborn force be struck down by a stranger’s axe? How could he, in one still moment, lose a part of his family, a part of himself?
How could he go on?
Somehow he did.
He’d pulled out of the distracted Ionróiran’s grip and reached for his mother’s sword. He swung. The man who killed his mother fell without elegance or ceremony. Then Ronan also collapsed, too tired to stand. With his last bit of energy, he brushed his mother’s hair out of her face.
He may not have cried, but he broke. The pain in his heart traveled to his hands, his legs, his ankles. He wouldn’t feel it immediately, but it would come, and it would never truly go away.
But in that moment, he didn’t feel anything. Not even as the man who had grabbed him stepped closer, weapon drawn. He felt nothing as the sword started crashing toward him. He felt nothing as another blade met it, inches from his chest.
Kordislaen saved him that day. He saw a boy take down a grown man and made sure that boy survived the battle.
The general saw promise in him, at only ten years old, and insisted that this child from a small village receive the best possible training.
He placed Ronan in the palace to learn and encouraged him to follow the path set out for him.
Ronan joined the royal guard the moment he was of age.
He hadn’t seen Kordislaen again after that, but occasionally a gift would appear from him.
Swords and armor and books. Every so often, there would be a letter.
They were always short and never personal, usually including advice or instructions.
Whenever Ronan received one, he knew it was because he was doing something right.
Ronan practiced until his hands bled and studied until his head ached. Until he was in so much pain, he couldn’t get out of bed for days. But he kept pushing.
Kordislaen saved his life and built his future. And Ronan was going to prove to him that he had been a worthy investment.
A body colliding into him pulled Ronan from his thoughts. Without thinking, his hands shot out to steady the person. “My apologies.”
Princess Clíodhna looked up at him. Her eyes were faintly red, but her expression was serene. His hands dropped.
“No apology needed. I’m afraid I was not paying attention.
” She straightened her skirts, and Ronan found himself following the motion with his eyes.
While he had seen her before, he hadn’t looked.
His job was to protect his prince. Now that he was on his own, he could see how the pink of her dress would have perfectly matched the blush of her cheeks—had she not been so pale.
She met his gaze head on. “I’m sorry if this is too blunt, but aren’t you one of Domhnall’s guards? Shouldn’t you be with your prince?”
“I was on my way to him. He had asked for a meeting and requested my presence, and I’m afraid I’m already running behind. If you’ll excuse me, Princess.” He motioned to go past her, but she didn’t move out of his way. Instead, she gave him a look he couldn’t interpret.
Before he could try to decipher it, he was distracted by a fluttering movement. A small, furry creature hid behind the princess’s skirts. He cleared his throat and took a tiny step back. “Is that a dobhar-chú?”
“I call him Murphy. Speaking of which, what’s your name?” the princess continued before he could comment on the tiny murderous thing that followed her like a lost puppy. “I can’t keep calling you ‘that one warrior’ in my head. It doesn’t have a good ring to it.”
“Captain Ronan ó Faoláin.” He answered before he could think, before he could wonder why she was thinking of him in the first place.
“Captain ó Faoláin.” She tested the name, weighing it on her lips. “I believe we are late to a meeting.”
“We?”
“I’m coming with you. There must be something of concern if Prince Domhnall is meeting in the álainndoran war room—which is the only room I can imagine you would be headed to in the eastern wing—and as the álainndoran princess, I feel I should be involved.”
Ronan didn’t know what to make of the princess’s statement.