Chapter Nineteen #2
His hand released hers. Gently, he slid it up and wrapped it around her forearm, holding her even nearer. She coiled her fingers in his hair in response, drawing a groan from his chest.
She stilled, and the rest of the world seeped into the gaps between them, pulling them apart. A pained look crossed her face, and he knew she was remembering Domhnall and her goals.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. With the shooting pain still flaring under his skin, he couldn’t stand and give her the distance he thought appropriate. Instead, he settled for releasing her from his arms and shifting away. The slight but sudden distance hurt almost as much as if he’d tried to stand.
The kiss was a foolish mistake. And now that he knew what she felt like against him, he wouldn’t be able to forget it.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .” She trailed off.
She was still choosing Domhnall.
No, she was choosing her kingdom. He couldn’t fault her for it, no matter how much he wished she would be the irresponsible princess he originally believed her to be in just this.
He tried to offer her a smile, hoping it didn’t come across as pained as he felt. “We can share the blame, then. It’s all right, really. I know you’re here for Domhnall.”
She winced.
“I need to head back, I promised I’d meet Sárait.” It was a lie, but Ronan didn’t call her on it. Clía stood, turning to the castle and leaving Ronan alone on the bench.
Against his will and better interest, Ronan wondered what his life would look like if she did end up with the prince.
He was the captain of Domhnall’s guard; he would have to attend their wedding, and every feast and ball.
They would dance, and kiss, and one day Ronan might also be guarding their children.
If that was his lot, so be it. He would watch her live the life she’d fought for, and he would be happy for her.
His chest ached. It was odd. His pain had never manifested there before.
***
A WEEK LATER, RONAN KNOCKED ON CLíA’S DOOR, BOTH afraid and eager to see her again.
“Come in,” Sárait called from inside the room. When he entered, he found Sárait sitting on Clía’s bed, a book in her lap. It wasn’t a surprise; he had never seen the woman idle. She was always reading or sewing or whispering with Clía. What did confuse Ronan was the princess’s absence.
“Clía asked me to drop this off,” he said, raising the book in his hands. It was a Scáilcan history text he had brought with him from Suanriogh. When he’d mentioned it to Clía while they were studying a couple of days ago, she asked to borrow it.
Since their moment in the garden, he had waited for Clía to mention the kiss, or at least acknowledge it somehow.
Instead, she pretended as if it had never happened.
They had continued their training and study sessions as usual.
How she continued to act normal, he didn’t understand.
The instant their lips had touched, it was as if a gate was thrown open, and he couldn’t seem to close it again.
Thoughts of her wouldn’t leave his mind.
If he’d wanted her before, it was so much worse now.
But he took the cue from Clía and ignored the feelings.
It was for the best; there could be no future for them.
“You can leave it on the dresser,” Sárait said, not looking up. “She’ll be back soon.”
A part of him was tempted to wait for her, but he didn’t want to encroach on whatever plans she had with Sárait. He’d see her later, in class.
Placing the book on the dresser, he noticed a crystal resting forgotten on top of a pile of unused stationery. Without meaning to, he reached for it.
The gem seemed to have an unnatural gleam in the lantern-lit room; it’s pink hue almost grew brighter the more he examined it.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sárait was watching him, her eyes also fixed on the stone. “Clía found it during your mission in the Ghostwood. We talked about turning it into a necklace perhaps, but no design feels right enough.”
He couldn’t remember when Clía would have had the chance to pick up a crystal in the middle of a forest, but he shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d found a way.
Ronan stared at the object in his palm. He had never paid much attention to jewels, but he couldn’t deny there was something about this one that caught his eye. Much like Clía.
He suddenly knew exactly what to use it for.
“I think I have an idea for it—a surprise Clía would appreciate. Do you think she’d mind if I took it?”
Sárait shook her head. “She’s all but given up on it now. I say go for it. But if she does get upset, I had no part in this.”
“Of course.” Ronan grinned.
He left the room and made a detour to the Caisleán blacksmith. The forge resided near the training arena, so that the armory could be maintained and replenished as needed. He made his request to the smith and was pleased to learn that his idea was a brilliant one. Clía was going to be thrilled.
As he was exiting the forge, Ronan overheard two voices by the arena—Kían’s friends, MacCraith and Quinn.
“He acts like he’s high king of Inismian, expecting everyone to bow to him and him alone,” MacCraith said. Ronan had never heard the man so animated.
“He’s done a lot for this kingdom. He saved countless lives,” Quinn replied.
“But he’s not my king. My loyalty is to Queen Sláine of Liricnoc first, then the Scáilcan king. I’ll listen to Kordislaen’s orders, but if he interferes with my letters again, he’ll regret it.”
“How do you even know they were tampered with? Or that it was him?” Quinn’s voice was calm, but there was an impatience underneath. As if this wasn’t their first time discussing this.
“I know how wax seals look after resealing them; I’ve seen them plenty of times before.
At first, I thought perhaps it was someone at Queen Sláine’s court, but it’s happening to all my letters, even the ones from my husband.
It must be someone at Caisleán, and he’s the only one with the power to order such a thing. ”
“ó Faoláin!” Kían called, walking toward him. The other two went quiet, realizing they weren’t alone. “I thought you and Clía finished your training for the day. Looking for some more fun?”
Ronan never knew what to do with the Oileánstran lísoir’s familiarity. They reminded him of Domhnall, the person Ronan least wanted to think about lately.
He crossed his arms. “I’m not staying; I had to stop by the blacksmith.”
“Next time, then.” Kían kept smiling.
Ronan couldn’t help the hint of a smile that rose on his own face. They were relentless. “Next time.”
On the walk back to the main building, his mind kept circling what he’d heard. Ronan had no reason to distrust MacCraith before this, but Kordislaen had ordered him to report anything of concern happening on Caisleán’s grounds.
For Ronan’s entire life, he had followed Kordislaen’s plan for him. He wouldn’t ignore an order now.
With a sigh, he changed his course once more and went to look for the general.
***
KORDISLAEN WAS IN A MEETING WHEN RONAN FOUND HIM. Knowing better than to interrupt, he remained outside the door and waited for it to end.
When it was finally over, and the warriors had departed the room, Kordislaen addressed him.
“Captain ó Faoláin, this is a surprise. Come, walk with me.” He began to move, and Ronan followed.
They made their way through the halls, other warriors giving them a wide berth. “What’s the reason for this visit?”
“I have information, sir,” Ronan replied.
Kordislaen smiled. It was a subtle expression but a pleased one all the same. “Go on, then.”
Ronan explained what he’d overheard, and any doubt he had over bringing the matter to the general was silenced when Kordislaen nodded.
“You did well, telling me this. I’ll have it handled.”
A small kernel of guilt turned Ronan’s stomach. “What will you do?”
Kordislaen looked at Ronan, eyes appraising. He was deciding whether to trust him, Ronan realized. Or whether to chastise him for the unnecessary question. It wasn’t the place of a warrior to question their general.
Something must have won Kordislaen over, because when he spoke, his voice was understanding.
“What you did is not insignificant. It’s these very actions that ensure the safety of everyone here; a soldier is only as useful as he is loyal.
Don’t fear—his baseless rumors and careless threats are minor in the grand scheme.
While I could make an example of him, sometimes it’s better to keep those we suspect close and maintain a watchful eye.
Should he eventually choose to do something greater than slander, then I will not hesitate to act.
“You have my gratitude, Ronan, and will be rewarded greatly for it.” Kordislaen rested a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. The action was almost fatherly. “You’ve proven yourself to be exactly what I had hoped you would become.”
With that, the general left Ronan, to return to his schedule. And that small shred of guilt was long forgotten, replaced by a hesitant but glowing sense of pride.