Chapter Sixteen
Ronan waited a minute before following Clía out of the banquet. He had watched from a distance as she talked with Domhnall and Niamh, and while he couldn’t make out what was said, he knew something was wrong.
She made it all the way to the daltas’ study before he caught up to her. With everyone at the banquet, the room was empty.
At the sound of his approaching footsteps, she turned. “Ronan? What do you want?”
“You left the banquet. Is everything okay?” In the flickering light of the sconces, her eyes glistened as she looked everywhere but at him. Her fingers tapped against her thigh in rapid repetition. “What happened?”
She fell unceremoniously onto a couch, gesturing for him to take a seat beside her.
“Domhnall is a great prince and can charm anyone he meets. However, he seems to struggle with basic conversation when he isn’t supposed to be winning someone over.
” Her laugh was empty, and Ronan felt a part of himself ache at the sound.
He had grown used to her bright glow—looked forward to it, even.
He had to try to bring it back. “You shouldn’t waste your thoughts on his words.
I have spent years by his side—I know how his mind works, and I can assure you, you have every right to dismiss anything the man says.
” It was lighthearted—after all, Domhnall was still his friend, even if Ronan disagreed with how he was handling this situation.
“Including the news of his betrothal to Niamh Morrigan?”
Ronan paused. So he had been right—Domhnall had been keeping something from him, and something important too. Why?
“It doesn’t matter,” she continued, before he could speak. “Even if I wanted to ignore him, I can’t. My future—my kingdom—relies on me proving to him that I can be the queen he wants. It’s why I came here. And all I’ve done is make a mockery of myself.” Clía looked down at her calloused hands.
Ronan’s gaze sharpened, his other thoughts and questions forgotten. “You came here only to prove something to Domhnall?”
“I wanted to show him I’m more than just a pretty face. That I am strong enough to rule beside him.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “So you’re saying the entire reason you are at Caisleán Cósta, the most ruthless military academy in Inismian, is because a prince rejected you.”
She glared at him as if he’d struck her. “He didn’t reject me, he—”
“Clía, he left you. I know he was your friend—perhaps even more—but you said it yourself. He abandoned you. And because of this, you decided—on a whim—to go to Caisleán Cósta. You had no prior training, knew nothing of swords and battle; this was no secret, hidden desire of yours. You’re doing this just to win someone back. ”
“My kingdom needs this alliance to earn back the favor of the Draoi. I’m doing this to secure my future.” Her eyes met his, defiant.
“Secure your future? Quite a romantic outlook on life.” He laughed, but it faded fast as he considered her.
“I understand you’re doing this out of some sense of duty, but everyone else?
They see you fumble through lessons and your clear lack of skill with a sword.
You walk in here without a care, and still insist on training under Draoi scholars and Inismian’s most renowned military general.
There are warriors who have fought and killed, who risk their lives every day, who can only pray the gods might give them the opportunity that you were just handed. ”
“I worked to be where I am,” she insisted, her face flushing.
“You’re here because of your blood.” He stood.
“This is no condemnation of character, merely a statement of fact. I’ve seen you throw yourself in front of a Sluagh’s claws to protect someone, but them?
” He gestured to the entryway, to the halls beyond.
“All they’ve seen is a princess who argued with the general and humiliated herself on her first day. ”
He understood the importance of duty, and he even understood the need for approval that she seemed to try so desperately to hide—those things were what pushed him through pain and past failure. But did she believe this betrothal was this important?
She rose as well, eyes blazing. She was frustrated. Good. “What do you expect me to do?”
“I expect you to try harder, to stop seeing this as some unfortunate means to an end and instead take from this opportunity all you can. Everyone has a reason to be here; we’re all fighting for something.
If you want their respect, you need to earn it.
Prove that you’re just as dedicated as any other warrior. ”
“And you? What are you fighting for?”
Any anger or annoyance was gone from her face as she looked up at him expectantly.
Meanwhile, he was stumbling over the surprising turn in conversation.
He had thought she would argue, defend herself, or tell him it wasn’t his place to be lecturing her.
However, she insisted on never doing as he expected.
He had told the story only once, years ago, to Domhnall as they lay on the cold dirt and watched the stars.
He had moved on; there was no point in living in the past. But here, in this quiet study, surrounded by old stories, with her bright presence beside him, he felt, suddenly, that he wanted to tell her.
“My mother.” He kept his voice steady, his breathing even. Against his will, his fist closed over his aching wrist.
“You mentioned she had passed,” Clía whispered, the sound a wisp of smoke from fading candlelight. “What happened?”
“She was killed by Ionróirans. Calafort, my home, is a coastal village; we had seen more than our share of attacks. It was during one of their invasions that they killed her, right in front of me. I only made it out alive because Kordislaen was there.”
“I’m so sorry.”
His eyes met hers without his permission, the soft shades of green and gold grounding him.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the rest—his failure that day, the pain that followed, the ambitions that kept him up at night.
Instead, he thought of his parents, and the life they used to have.
“She was a fierce warrior, but when there was no one to fight, she would grow the most beautiful flowers. It’s how she met my father.
“Each time the Ionróirans would come and leave destruction in their wake, my parents would pull me into the garden. There, they would show me the firecress, with its pink and gold petals that burned like flames in the midday sun. A beauty that could only bloom with the nourishment of ashes. After she died, my father continued to run their shop. It keeps a roof over his head and lets him provide for the village what the local apothecary won’t.
“Growing up, he taught me how to make a garden flourish, but it was my mother who taught me how to wield a sword.” Ronan’s hand drifted toward the sheath on his belt.
The feeling of its cold leather against his palm was a comfort.
“She wanted me to know how to protect myself. I trained with her ever since I could hold a weapon, and after she passed, Kordislaen made sure I was given the chance to train at the palace.”
“Do you see your father often?” she asked.
“I’m afraid the prince keeps me busy, but I write to him, when I can.
” With a surge of guilt, he thought of the letter from his father that sat unopened in his room—it had arrived when they were on their quest. A part of him was hesitant to open it, to know the stress he’d caused his only family.
“It bothers him, knowing I’m following in my mother’s footsteps down the same path that killed her.
But he understands why I have to do it. After all, my job allows me to send enough back to help him care for the village. Provide for those who lost loved ones.”
It had been years since he walked the winding paths of Calafort himself. He didn’t know if it was cowardly or brave, running away at the first opportunity and never looking back. It would always be his home, but he couldn’t bear the ghosts.
“Caring for an entire village shouldn’t fall on you and your father. Surely the king is willing to help.”
“Calafort is only one village out of hundreds. As Ionróiran attacks grow more common, King Cathal is overwhelmed by a demand for aid and protection that keeps growing. And even our closest allies can’t be counted on for help.
” He sent a pointed look to her, and instead of shrinking back, she only looked confused.
“I’m sure álainndore—”
Ronan cut her off. “álainndore has denied every request we send.”
“I didn’t—I’m sorry. I don’t always agree with my parents’ decisions,” she admitted. “And I realize that there is much I ignored in the past. But I’m fighting for álainndore now, and I’ll fight for Scáilca too. When I return home, I’ll try to convince them to change their minds on sending aid.”
In the past, he had seen Clía as a willing participant in her parents’ negligence. Perhaps she had contributed, but her genuine desire to fix her parents’ wrongs surprised him. She was nothing like he had imagined her to be, and each reveal made him want to uncover more.
“I appreciate it,” he finally said. “Although I doubt Calafort will see any of what’s sent.
We’re too small. My promotion to captain of Domhnall’s guard, and the raise that came with it, has thankfully made some difference.
If all goes well, Kordislaen will see my potential and might help me rise through the ranks even faster.
I might even make general myself. Then I can bring home more money for them. ”
“I’m sure your father appreciates your help.”
A wry smile spread across Ronan’s face. “He hates it. He insists that he’s fine and the village can take care of itself—and he might be right—but I think he says it because he would prefer I stayed home with him.”
“Ah, stubborn and self-reliant. He reminds me of someone I know.” Clía nudged her shoulder against his, and he couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping. A true smile bloomed on her face, brightening the room.
He enjoyed the view for a moment, as the soft melody of the musicians at the banquet drifted into the room.
Before he could think twice of it, Ronan stood and reached his hand out toward her. “Dance with me?”
Her hand hovered over his, close enough that he could feel its heat on his palm. “Here?” she said softly. “Why?”
His fingers closed around hers, pulling her up. He could feel his lips curl into a smile, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “Because it’ll be fun.”
He knew he’d won when she curled her other hand around his neck, pressing them closer together. “Just one dance.”
The sudden warmth of her body so near to his stole his focus.
Then she moved. They twirled in the firelit study, the song fast enough that they never stayed too close for too long.
He couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for that.
Domhnall had spoken of Clía’s beauty, but Ronan had never had reason to wonder how that beauty might affect him.
In the moments when she was pressed against him, he struggled to think, focused only on how the flames in the fireplace made her eyes glow.
With each step and sway, he noticed something else about her.
The way her hair flowed behind her, the gentle smile on her face, how her eyelashes brushed her cheeks with every blink.
The pain in his legs kept him from being as nimble as he would have liked, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying himself.
When he would stumble into Clía, or miss a step, she would simply laugh it off.
And he found himself joining in. Their dance turned into chaos, their movements wild, punctuated by breathless laughter, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in years, not since his mother died—a feeling of belonging. Of home.
Then the song changed, and the music slowed. Ronan felt his arms moving around her before he could stop himself. She didn’t step away, instead leaning into his embrace, hands resting on his shoulders.
“Two dances in a row? Bold of you, Captain.”
He should be letting go. He’d gotten his one dance and kept the smile on her face.
His hands tightened around her waist. “I don’t believe anyone would mind.”
“I haven’t had this much fun dancing in years,” she whispered into his chest.
“Years? Aren’t there countless feasts in álainndore?
I’m sure Domh—the nobles there are far better dancers than I am.
” He had caught Domhnall’s name before it slipped out, but the thought was already in his head.
Despite their very different lives, Ronan had never been jealous of Domhnall. Until now.
He brushed the feeling away. He had no claim to jealousy, no reason to feel it. Not for dances he should have no interest in.
“Those other dances, those other days, I felt on edge. Watched. It’s not that I hated them—but it was like I was trying to play a role, and everyone else had scripts except for me.
I did try to learn what they wanted from me, and I became more comfortable wearing that mask.
Until I got here. Coming here felt like I was starting from scratch. ”
He wanted to tell her how sorry he was she ever felt that way. How strong she was for persevering.
He settled on saying, “Whenever you’re here with me, know that there is no role, no script you need to follow. I have no use for them. You need only be yourself, and that’s enough. Anyone who makes you feel otherwise is a waste of your time.”
“Sometimes, I worry I don’t know who that is. Myself.” Her voice faltered slightly.
“You don’t need to. Not right now. You have the rest of your life to figure that out.
But if it helps, I can tell you what I’ve seen.
In the weeks I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself to be loyal, clever, stubborn, and brave.
You left everything you knew behind, and you continue to challenge yourself. It’s admirable.”
Her hands clenched tighter around his shoulders. Neither of them said anything. As the music faded to silence, they stayed close. Huddled in the study, they swayed together, dancing to music that lingered in the air. And in the quiet, an idea hit Ronan.
“What if I continue training you?” he whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“You said being here was like starting over. What if I can help you? I can teach you how to fight, how to think in battle.” He grinned at his stroke of genius, and definitely not at the idea of working closely with her again. “You know I’m a good teacher. Let me help.”
“I think you have a savior complex,” she retorted, but she was smiling.
“I think you just don’t want to sound needy by agreeing too quickly,” he teased back.
She shook her head. “Would this include waking up before sunrise? Because if so, I refuse.”
He only laughed.