Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
It was still early; the night sky hadn’t fully surrendered itself to the break of dawn when Owain awoke. The previous night was everything Owain had ever dreamed of. Tasting Orla, feeling her come on his hands and his tongue again and again, it was euphoric.
It had felt amazing to share so much of himself and his life with Orla the previous night.
After telling her about his mother, he felt like he was finally being seen.
As though she was truly getting to know him.
Not the lord or the bastard. Not the warrior or the court politician.
Just Owain. His whole life was a game of wearing the right mask at the right time.
How freeing would it be for even one person to actually see him? To have Orla see him.
Owain was always an early riser, getting up well before dawn most days no matter the time he went to sleep.
That morning, as he readied himself for the day, the memories of the previous night were so powerful he had pumped himself dry, twice, at the thought of her before bathing and getting dressed.
He would have to meet with Chrys and the lords today.
Have to sort out how he could spin not using Orla as a scapegoat as a benefit towards their plans instead of a hindrance.
She was still asleep, sprawled naked on his bed looking every bit the goddess he knew her to be.
It would be a few hours before he needed to meet with Chrys, so he grabbed his glasses and took the opportunity to draw.
He had put a lot of effort over the years to painstakingly hone the craft.
It had begun when he was a boy. His father hadn’t allowed portraits of Owain’s mother in his estate, so Owain had begun drawing her face from memory.
It was easy enough, as her face was his.
They had the same sharp cheekbones, the same long straight nose, though his mother’s was smooth, not having broken it like Owain had, and the same blue almond-shaped eyes.
Over the years, he moved on from portraits and would draw whatever most interested him. Landscapes were a favorite of his.
For all the challenges of his youth, Owain had been a privileged male.
As the bastard born third son of a king, not much was expected of him.
He joined his father’s battalion when he was twenty-one but had never taken being a warrior all that seriously.
For many years, he didn’t see battle, instead acting as an envoy to other kingdoms alongside Aengus.
He had seen every kingdom on the Continent of Esrom and had even traveled into Iridaceae, a place few in the kingdoms got to visit.
Every place he would go, he would draw. Whole canvases filled with images of the purple mountains of Iridaceae, the lush golden fields of Urdhe, and the warm sandy beaches of Mondseer. But now, his muse was a little closer to home.
Pulling out his charcoal and parchment, Owain set to work drawing Orla’s delicate hand and the filigree ring sitting on her middle finger.
He had seen the old bookshop on his trip to the port and suspected they would have the kind of book he was looking for, but as he walked around Imsil, he had also chanced upon a jewelry shop.
The ring looked perfect on her long, delicate fingers.
The emerald and gold bringing out the undertones of her dark skin.
Owain gazed at her hand perched on his empty pillow as if she were reaching for him.
He loved the look of it, her having his ring on her finger.
Well, it wasn’t his ring. Just a ring he had given to her, but he wished it could have symbolized more.
Sweet abyss, he was in trouble; one night of giving Orla pleasure and he was ready to commit everything he had to her.
Though he suspected she had wanted all of him the previous night, it didn’t feel right taking his pleasure. There was too much about him that she didn’t know, and he wanted her to know all of him before they took that step.
An hour passed before she stirred, arms stretching overhead, putting her full breasts on display.
If he hadn’t been shirking his responsibilities for the last several days to tend to her, he would plunge himself right back between her thick thighs.
But he knew the other lords’ patience with him was growing thin.
He had never divulged what he learned about the state of the king’s army, and he needed updates on what strategic allies they could count on after the king’s death.
She rose to a sitting position, gaze falling on him as her face broke into a wide smile. “You’re up early.” She yawned.
“I have meetings to attend to,” he said, rising from the armchair. She groaned. “I was hoping I’d get to taste you today.” The offer was more than tempting. But if he wanted to keep her safe, he had to meet with the lords today.
Maybe this evening he could come clean about some of the parts of his history he kept hidden, and then he could share his pleasure with her. “You have no idea how much I’d love to get back in that bed with you. But I’ll be back later. Will you stay here today?”
She shook her head. “I have… I planned to head into town for a bit today.”
That was surprising, Orla avoided being anywhere as crowded as the city if she could help it. He walked over and cupped her face, taking her mouth into a deep, searing kiss.
Looking into her eyes, he told her that the butler would be up shortly with her breakfast. “Stay safe, Orla. And send a missive if you need me,” he said, giving her another quick kiss before he headed for the door.
* * *
He knocked once on Chrys’s door before entering. Chrys had never been a morning person. Though, usually that was because he would get so deep in his cups each evening that the male lost all semblance of time. Sure enough, Chrys was getting out of bed, brown hair tangled, eyes puffy with sleep.
Chrys’s room was much smaller than Owain’s due to Chrys’s status.
Even though he was Advisor to the Heir Presumptive, the kingdoms still treated him like a bastard.
The room consisted of a simple bedchamber and washroom.
The bed was small with a silver brocade duvet and large pillows.
There was a chest at the edge of the bed, opened to reveal Chrys’s clothes and an assortment of weapons he had thrown haphazardly inside it.
Owain walked over to the bedroom window and pushed open the heavy fabric curtains.
Chrys’s room was on the opposite side of the hall from Owain’s and overlooked the courtyard entrance to the palace.
A decent place to watch the comings and goings of the various court attendants.
Chrys hissed at the brightness now streaming in through his window.
“You couldn’t have waited until I was dressed? Or at least until I had my first glass of ale?” He rubbed his hands over his face before heading over towards the washroom.
“We need to talk before our meeting with Lord Patrin and his lot.”
Speaking of the Edamish nobles, Owain saw Lord Allium and Lord Calix walking together towards the palace entrance. Curious that they should be out this early.
“Now? Now you want to talk?” Chrys entered the bedchamber, now fully dressed in his black leather armor.
He crossed the room to sit on a small settee near the window.
A side table held an opaque glass bottle full of a liquid that Owain was sure wasn’t water.
Chrys took a long gulp from the bottle before turning back to Owain.
“You are my oldest friend, Owain.”
“I’m your only friend,” he retorted.
“Fine, my only friend. So please hear me when I say, this… fondness you have for her is going to get you killed.”
He took another long gulp as Owain stiffened at his words. This wasn’t the first time Chrys had expressed this sentiment, but this time, there wasn’t anger in his voice. If he didn’t know any better, Owain would say he heard fear in his friend’s voice.
“What have you heard?” Owain had feared that his show of affection for Orla had outed his feelings for her, but he had driven the fear from his mind over the past few days of spending time with her, hardly leaving her side.
“I don’t need to have heard anything. Nearly the whole palace saw how frantic you were, carrying her in here like she was precious to you.” He gave Owain a pointed look.
Orla was precious to him. More precious than anyone had ever been in his life. Chrys didn’t say it, but he knew it too. Chrys knew him better than anyone, and he knew Owain would never lose control like that, in front of so many enemies, unless it was for something, or someone, important.
“But,” Chrys continued. “As you know, I’ve been impersonating the messenger imp where I can, and I’ve all but confirmed what I think you already know.
It was the Edamish nobles who orchestrated that attack on Orla.
And for some reason, they are using runes to help them.
” Owain had suspected as much. He was moving too slowly for their liking.
And Calix had witnessed Owain’s affections for Orla in the hall the day she was attacked.
The use of runes was concerning. Runes were rarely used in any of the kingdoms except for older buildings like the palace, and even then, they were only used to heat water in the pipes or power certain types of complex magic.
The only place where runes were used in abundance was along the border between Iridaceae and the other kingdoms on the continent to keep Elves out of the magic lands.
Someone using them from Edam was curious.
“You think it was a test?” He could tell what Chrys was thinking. A day after Owain kissed Orla, and the same day that Calix saw them together, she was attacked. That would be a hell of a coincidence.
“One that you failed miserably,” he said dryly, offering the bottle to Owain. Owain took a long swig, his mind reeling.
Fuck. This was worse than he thought. Owain looked back at Chrys who was averting his gaze.