Chapter 11
Arla’s heart didn’t stop trying to leap out of her chest for long hours after she had left the king. She retired to her rooms, locking the door firmly behind her and pacing until she was sure the soles of her boots were about worn through.
Her breathing came too quickly, her ears filled with a rushing that wouldn’t abate.
You’re fine. He doesn’t know.
But she didn’t believe her own lie, because there was no way she could have hidden the blanching of her face or the way her words stumbled off her tongue when he’d asked if she despised them.
Of course she did.
She did, she did, she DID.
But she couldn’t breathe a word of it. Not here, not now, not whilst she was still on a job.
The invitation for dinner arrived and she excused herself under the pretence of a headache. Hark would certainly see through the lie. Orson would continue to think her rude. Only the prince might miss her presence.
Arla finally managed to tamp down the fluttering feeling in her chest, but it was hours after dinner would have finished.
She took to wandering the hallways again, wondering if she could con the guards into letting her see the palace diamonds.
She wouldn’t try it, not tonight – too many guards and she didn’t have enough patience to do it in a way that would not cause a ruckus.
She found herself heading in the direction of the library, the lure of a book and somewhere far away from prying eyes was too comforting to resist. She didn’t pause before slipping inside and closing the doors softly behind her.
It was a beautiful place, all worn, polished wood and creaky floorboards. A fire roared in the hearth of a magnificent fireplace, the mantel so beautifully carved she almost found herself believing in magic.
She ran her fingers over the spines of old books, some of them embossed with those funny symbols, and the dragonhart she’d seen on the books in her room.
She breathed in the air, the scent of ink and ancient parchment washing over her in a familiar way.
This was better. She could catch her breath here without feeling as though she would come undone.
‘We should stop meeting like this, don’t you think?’
Arla spun, cursing herself for not checking she was alone.
Reuben’s eyes settled on the blade in her hand and he let out a low chuckle.
‘My apologies, Lady Reinhart. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
She swallowed thickly. Reuben was without his princely perfection tonight. Instead, his hair was ruffled, as though he’d been dragging a hand through it; gone was the doublet and expensive shirt. Tonight, he wore loose black trousers and a shirt that hadn’t been pressed free of wrinkles.
‘No, you’re fine. I … wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. It’s late.’
It was. She’d watched the sun set and the moon rise before she finally ventured out of her rooms. It seemed the prince shared her restlessness.
‘It is,’ Reuben said lightly, turning and stepping closer to the fire where a small wooden table sat between thickly cushioned armchairs. ‘I assume someone like you knows the rules of chess?’
Arla couldn’t help but follow him. ‘And what do you mean by someone like me?’
Reuben laughed again and a grin began to split her lips at the sound of it.
‘Someone who is far too clever to let a thief beat her at a game of cards in the market.’
A rushing filled her ears and her heart started that erratic rhythm again.
‘Relax,’ Reuben said. ‘My father doesn’t know. I doubt he knows the market even exists – or if he does he pretends not to – but walls talk and the guards even more so.’
Reuben moved a black knight. She followed with the white pieces laid out in front of her.
‘Why didn’t I know about you? Your people don’t even speak of you.’
‘Because,’ Reuben said, moving a piece and knocking out one of her pawns. ‘I’ve always been a secret. My father didn’t want Hadalyn to know of my existence in case they should try to kidnap me. My mother was all too keen to keep up the ruse, if it meant she got to keep me close.’
‘So, what, the people believe they have no heir? Surely that makes your father look weak?’ Arla took the knight he had first moved.
‘Oh, they know there’s an heir,’ he said lightly, his tone too full of secrets she wanted to unpick. ‘But the details have always been on a need-to-know basis. I don’t know what Hadalyn’s been told, or what is generally believed over there.’
As far as she knew, the people of Hadalyn had no knowledge of a Kastonian prince, but perhaps the king’s most senior advisors did – they must do, surely – though Cyrus had never spoken of it to her.
Why hadn’t she thought of it?
‘Tell me about your mother,’ she said softly, breathing around the lump in her throat that formed at the memory of her own.
Reuben was silent for a moment, and when Arla looked at him there was a pain in his eyes that mirrored her own. ‘She deserves more,’ he said quietly. ‘She has devoted herself to my father, and all she has received in return is a loneliness I think will be incurable.’
Arla almost felt sorry for the queen.
Almost.
Until she remembered who Arabelle was. The queen, too, had been complicit in the attack on Hadalyn.
‘At least she has you,’ Arla said gently.
‘How could that ever be enough?’ Reuben was studying her, a frown deepening the lines of his face before he cleared it of all emotion.
‘Tell me, what’s the deal with you and Hark?
Do you really hate each other as much as you make out?
I can tell you despise Orson for real, but Hark? I haven’t made up my mind yet.’
Ah, now this she could answer honestly.
‘Hark Stappen has a unique brand of arrogant self-importance and a penchant for getting on every last one of my nerves.’
Reuben barked out his laughter, accidentally knocking the table so Arla had to intervene to prevent the chess board from tumbling to the floor.
‘Yes,’ Reuben managed to say, ‘he does have that effect on people, doesn’t he.’
She felt the corner of her lips tug upwards. So the ambassador had a reputation for his infuriating presence, then. At least it wasn’t solely directed at her.
‘I don’t imagine Orson is much better. It’s a miracle that bastard hasn’t tried to gut me in my sleep.’
‘What went on there?’ Reuben asked, swiping another one of her pieces from the board.
‘He tried to go up against me for leader of the King’s Guard. He lost. I became King’s Assassin. Cyrus sent him here as ambassador to stop us fighting. Nothing else to it.’
There was more to it. Orson had made her life a living hell when she’d been in training – had revelled in the torture she endured during the six days – and it had taken that knife through her palm to prove just how serious she was.
The scar was worth it for the look on his face when Cyrus granted her a title.
‘That’s why he spends so much time getting close to my father. Wants a job at the top of the army, I bet.’
Arla stilled for half a second. Orson should be no more than civil to Elrod – he was only an ambassador, after all. He should still be loyal to Hadalyn.
Then again, Arla wouldn’t put it past him to switch sides. She’d always known him as a slippery bastard.
She was growing tired, her eyelids dropping with the heat of the fire. She was hardly watching the board now.
‘Don’t you wish sometimes you could escape. Go anywhere in the world where no one can find you?’ the prince asked.
It was a dream that often tempted her.
‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.
‘Because, what’s the point in staying somewhere you aren’t wanted?’ Reuben said, his eyes lost in a faraway look. ‘My father thinks me weak – not cut out to represent this kingdom. I think if it weren’t for Mother I’d have run a long time ago.’
There was a vulnerability to the prince she should be exploring, figuring out, so that she could use it to her advantage. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She’d never had many friends, always finding relationships too difficult, too complex when she saw others making it look easy. But right there, cosily playing chess by the fire in the library, she thought she might have made one.
‘Checkmate,’ she uttered softly.
Reuben stared at the board and then at her face, as if he’d only just realised they were still playing. Something flashed in his gaze then, and that vulnerability she had seen seconds ago began to harden over.
‘The storm is meant to be worse tomorrow. Another few days before it breaks, the guards were saying.’
Arla couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach. She needed to leave. Days ago.
But Reuben was looking at her again, that charming grin finding its way beneath her skin. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night?’
A soft smile parted her lips. ‘Yes, you’ll see me tomorrow.’
* * *
It was five days before the storm passed, which made ten since she had left Hadalyn. It was too long. She should be on her way back home by now.
She had spent her evenings with Reuben in the library, laughing over games of chess and discussing books that made her heart sing.
She’d grown to like the prince – had somehow separated him in her mind from the atrocities of Kastonia and its king.
She hated that there was a part of her that would miss Reuben when the sun finally rose and she could set off for the border.
Hark seemed all too desperate to be leaving, but as she strapped her weapons back in their rightful places, Arla was surprised to find she couldn’t summon that same desperation.