33. THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-THREE
Mina
“Iwould rather fight a group of raiders again.” I groan into my palms.
Darius’s low chuckle is barely audible over the rain beating against our carriage. The rumble of his chest sends a wave of butterflies through my stomach. I wish he would show this playful side more often, but I’m grateful to be among the special few who get to witness it at all.
It’s the only upside to being stuck inside. We would both rather be riding with our soldiers, but Staefan insisted on us being dry and presentable for our arrival at Olarthe this afternoon. This is our second stop at a dignified house since Brastrova, and I am dreading it.
“Olarthe isn’t the only place you’ll have to hold a salon after dinner,” Darius clarifies. “If it’s any consolation, while you entertain the women, I’m stuck with cigar smoke and the same power-hungry platitudes.”
The concept of a post-dinner gathering is hardly new to me.
We had them in Kalisham, albeit less stuffy.
Everyone would bring a favorite dish to share, along with a wild story or poem to recite.
They often ended in a sword fight with Brijita or a fierce competition over one of our favorite card games.
Relaxation and wine, adventure and inhibitions.
A very different scene from the rigid one Darius described—women and men separating to their designated areas for small talk. At least I will have my ladies with me. They can lead the conversation if things get too dull.
“And here I thought we already suffered together enough.” I rub the sore spot on my lower back. The benches may be padded, but they are unforgiving after the first few hours. Darius never lets on to the pain, but I know his tall frame must be buzzing to escape and move around too.
“The eastern territories are more spread out than the rest of Veloria. Our travel time between stops will get better in a few weeks.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I grumble.
That earns me another low laugh. He nods to where I’m rubbing a small circle on my back. “May I?”
“Oh, thank you.” I turn away from him, surprised again by his thoughtfulness.
We’ve been so busy fine-tuning our plans to return to Kalisham next summer that we managed to avoid any further intimacy. A part of me is grateful for the time to reflect on everything that happened in Brastrova, but it’s getting harder to ignore the ache I feel toward Darius.
The more I get to know him, the more my reasons to avoid growing closer lose their weight.
Darius gently brushes my hair out of the way. He works the tension from my shoulders before moving down toward my hips. The pressure deepens when he gets to my lower back, and I melt.
It feels so incredible that I can’t stop the small moan that escapes.
His deft hands fumble for a moment. Darius lets out a heavy breath, and the carriage grows warmer. I need a distraction or we are definitely not going to be presentable in a few hours.
I risk a glance over my shoulder, and his eyes darken, zeroing in on my lips.
It takes all my self-control not to lean into his mouth, to put his hands on so much more than just my back. I press my thighs together to alleviate the desire.
Darius clocks the motion; his slow smile is downright sinful.
I shoot forward to the opposite bench. Our knees are still touching in the small space, but it’s enough distance to clear my head a bit. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Darius grips the edge of the bench, jaw clenched as if it pains him to keep his hands there.
It’s ironic. His respect for my boundaries only makes me want to tear them down myself.
“We never did resolve our bet.” I mentally curse how breathy I sound. “That is, if you are still willing to make up the difference?”
Darius’s gaze leaves a hot trail down my body as he nods. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. I want to crawl inside his head and heart and sort out which version of my husband is the real one. I want to read him as easily as he does me. I want to know if any of this is real, even though that would be a disaster for our plans.
“Tell me about you and Staefan. He seems to tolerate you better than most,” I tease.
Darius relaxes into his seat, the tension between us easing a bit.
“He’s built up a tolerance over the years.
” His focus shifts to the water streaming down the window.
“Staefan was a young knight assigned to my mother’s palace.
The only one who treated us like people instead of prisoners.
He even went so far as to spar with me in his downtime, critiquing my technique until I could hold my own against him with a blade.
At first I thought he was just pretending to be friendly to report back to the king, but I was wrong.
“My father rarely visited us, but he stopped by one afternoon while Staefan and I were sparring. He was furious to find us laughing, as if my brief happiness was a personal offense. He forced us to fight him, but he didn’t have a wooden training sword.”
Darius grips his thigh, anger lacing his words. “We both walked away with scars that day.”
No wonder so many of his scars healed without treatment. I doubt his father offered him the kindness of a doctor. I want to ask about each scar. Spend days learning their history. They are a map to the man in front of me, and I want to uncover each landmark.
“I cannot imagine how awful—I am so sorry.” I reach forward and cover his hand with my own. He must have been so lonely. “I’m glad you had Staefan.”
Darius doesn’t look away from the window, but he flips his hand over to hold mine.
“We were lucky he didn’t kill Staefan. Instead, he let him stay by my side, his scar a warning for others to keep their distance.
It worked. Staefan may have made an oath to the crown, but not my father specifically.
After that day he swore to protect me. I wasn’t even the crown prince anymore, yet he chose me. ”
Darius flashes me a wry smile. “He’s a fool. I told him as much, but the bastard decided we were friends all on his own.”
He shares stories of their misadventures, broken up by brief moments of the king’s cruelty. The more he speaks, the hotter the flame in my chest grows.
“Mathias went to war a few years later. Staefan and I were sent to the front lines. I was an expendable heir, and a prince needed to be present in the king’s absence. My father was a coward and a businessman, with no stomach for battle despite his proficiency with a blade.”
His callused thumb rubs absentminded circles on my palm—the soft tickle a balm to my growing rage.
“I think he expected me to die. Hoped, even. In the end that was his undoing. I had tutors before my half-brothers were born, but almost everything I know about war I learned from the battlefield. After that, it was easy to take everything from him. Staefan helped me repay every cruelty. Anyone loyal to my father died that day.”
Tears burn my eyes. The desire to resurrect his father just so I can kill him again pulses through me in steady waves. How dare he treat his own son with such wickedness.
Darius wipes away my tears with a perplexed look. “Why are you crying?”
“Because your father was horrible. I don’t understand how he could treat his own child like that. I just—” I try to ease my venomous thoughts. “You deserved so much better than him.”
Darius claims that tears are a weakness, yet he softens at mine this time. He brings our joined hands to his lips and shakes his head.
“Please don’t waste your tears on that bastard. I don’t.”
I nod and free my hand to wipe my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath to try to calm the disgust burning through me. In and out, until I glance up to find Darius watching me. Not with judgment, but a touch of affection, gone so fast I might have imagined it.
“Thank you for sharing so much,” I say. He paid back the extra time from our bet and then some. “I suppose it’s my turn to owe you the difference.”
He raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, and my stomach does a little flip. I hold up my hand and laugh. “I meant with a few stories of my own.”
“I think we can call it even. But I’d be happy to hear your stories all the same.” Affection slips past his mask again, and a hummingbird takes flight in my stomach.
Before I can answer, a horn blares and the procession halts. The rain stopped sometime during our talk, but the windows are fogged over.
“Sounds like we’re here.” Darius reaches for the handle and pauses. “Continue this tonight?”
His tone is sincere, but we both know how that turned out last time. I shove him toward the door. “We’ll see.”
Olarthe is a quaint territory with no defensive walls.
Large plots of land for various agricultural pursuits are divided among the citizens, with a cluster of shops and community buildings to the south.
We plan to visit the town square tomorrow to give a speech, but for now our audience is a dozen or so.
Rows of rain-soaked trees glitter as the sun breaks through the clouds. The path leads to a large mansion with sand-colored walls that remind me of home.
If only our hosts offered the same comfort. They are draped in fine jewels, waving away the humidity with fur fans. Now I understand why Staefan wanted Darius and me presentable upon arrival. We would’ve walked into battle with no armor.
Dinner is served on a stone terrace outside. The region’s main export is wine, so rows of grapevines and blooming flowers stretch out behind the house. The sky turns a brilliant purple as the sun sets, and the attendants light metal torches to keep the festivities going.
Darius’s hand finds my thigh under the table and squeezes, bringing my attention back to the people closest to me. A woman in bright pink smiles at me expectantly.
“I’m afraid I missed what you said. I was distracted by the air here. It almost smells of honey.”
She beams at me. “No apology necessary, Your Majesty. This time of year produces a wonderful crop of whites and reds. They give off a sweet aroma.”
I sip the white liquid in front of me again. “I assume this wine is one and the same?”
“Excellent deduction,” Sir Chogletch coos from the other side of Darius. Our host for the evening is a large fan of his own product. His pale, rosy cheeks are courtesy of his fourth glass. “Aged, of course, from a crop nearly forty years ago.”
“It’s delicious.” I raise my glass to him and take another sip.
Our plates empty as the conversation flows. My soul dims with each passing minute. A long day of travel and now a long night of seated small talk. I want nothing more than to go for a run or work through these muscle aches, but my obligations as queen can’t be avoided.
Hopefully the weather will permit my first lesson with Urselya later this week. One soldier is a bit disheartening, but the one-on-one time will only help develop her skills faster.
Hamlin graciously agreed to train her in my stead for now. His easy nature and patience make him a great teacher.
Lord Chogletch rises. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, friends and honored guests. If the men would like to join me in the library for a nightcap.”
Everyone with an extra appendage stands, ready to follow our host inside, but they wait on one man to start the venture back toward the house. Darius leans down so only I can hear.
“I know you’re supposed to hold a salon, but you may retire whenever you desire.” Darius leads the others inside as if the home belongs to him.
The knowledge that I have the option to retire whenever lends me a small wave of energy. As soon as the men disappear, Lord Chogletch’s wife, Olive—an ironic name for a vineyard owner—scrapes her chair back.
She wraps a beaded sage-green shawl around her light brown shoulders before waving to the other side of the house. “I’ve prepared my favorite sitting room, Your Majesty. It overlooks the lake on the western side of the property. Shall we retire there?”
I nod. “Lead the way.”
Just a bit longer, and then I will excuse myself for the night. If I can handle an ambush, I can handle anything Lady Olive has prepared.