Chapter Twenty-Five
Piris
She stayed, once again sleeping in the prince’s arms. Every second dragged and sped, equal parts happiness and agony, as she stared at his sleeping face in the pre-dawn light slipping through his guest room window. She needed to go, say good-bye and steel herself for being alone, as she always had been. Always would be.
Jarok’s eyes popped open, as if he’d been awake for a long while, and he silently studied her face. A wrinkle marred his golden-brown forehead. “Piris?” His voice was deeper than normal, a rumble crashing about from sleep. It took her breath. She reached up without thought, tracing the wrinkle on his forehead, trying to soothe and memorize at the same time.
Eventually she answered with another question. “Yes?”
He let out a sigh in response, pulling her close and burying his face deep in her hair and staying there for long beats.
It felt like stabbing a dagger through her own chest, but she swallowed the pain and said, “Jarok, it is near dawn.”
His head moved over hers, acknowledging her words even if he did nothing with the information at first. When he did pull back, staring into her with those shining brown eyes, he started to give her something she couldn’t take. “Piris. I promise—”
Her hand at his lips stopped his words as she shook her head no. “Don’t promise me anything, Jarok. Prince.”
When she pulled her hand away, he said, “I love you.” It sounded like a promise on his lips, but she couldn’t deny him those words. She denied him the words in return, even when they burned through her body, so it felt selfish to deny him this.
She said nothing, pulling away to sit up at the edge of the bed. Piris reached for her discarded nightdress and slipped it over her head, the coldness of the fabric matching the cold creeping into her gut. She moved to rise, but a hand clasped hard around her wrist, firm as a metal band. Piris looked over her shoulder, to the tears lingering in those dark eyes she knew she’d dream of every night of her life. It was too much for her, so she shook her head to get the image out, dislodge it so it wouldn’t haunt her.
Because she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t leave without something more, she leaned over to plant one sweet, soft kiss to the prince’s lush lips. Then, prying his hand off her wrist, she exited on swift, silent feet. Piris pretended she didn’t hear the cracked curses Jarok left in her wake, or sense the crack in her own heart growing wider with each step.
She’d dressed in a simple tunic and pants. No need for her to wear more. She was again in Volesion Peak, confined here for her safety and the safety of everyone she loved. The idea of love split her in two, but she shoved it down deep when one of the housemaids knocked on her door, relaying a message from Gem, who was asking to see her immediately.
Piris hurried to her friend’s side, worry for her pushing out the other messy emotions whirling. At least she had a distraction, for a brief time. At least she had Gem for company in the coming days.
“Why are you here?” Gem boomed at her. The woman was sitting up in bed, her face much paler than normal and slightly gaunt, but otherwise good. Her favorite dagger was positioned at her bedside, a request she knew Gem would have made as soon as she felt ready to wield it.
Confused, Piris said, “You asked me to come, Gem.”
Throwing her arms in the air, she huffed out, “I asked the maid to tell you to come see me if you were still here. Obviously you are still here, so again, I ask, why is that?”
Piris’s auburn brows met in a deep V. “I don’t understand.”
Gem leaned into Piris’s face. “Why are you here, in this room, this house, when you should be riding out with my cousin? Who just left to ready the horses, by the way.”
Piris went rod straight from her crouch. “I’m needed here.”
“Bullshit. There is no scenario where you would be needed here, thanks to your swift kick to Engad Monti.”
Piris winced at the reminder. She did not regret what she did, but she also didn’t enjoy having it shoved in her face just then. “Careful, Gem Aurora,” she whispered in warning.
“Oh, careful, is it? Careful? Ha!” The woman scooted forward in bed to get in Piris’s face once again. “I’m never careful, my friend. Especially when it comes to my family. Or when I’m calling out a coward.”
Piris pulled back as if she’d been slapped in the face. “Coward?” she said between clenched teeth.
“Yes. Coward. A coward for breaking my cousin’s heart, and your own in the process, when all you have to do is admit you love the fool.”
“No. No. He’s better off—”
“Oh, you’re Seer Willow now, hm? You know what will happen in the future?”
Piris threw her hands in the air. “I’m no princess, Gem. I am a burden at best, a secret to constantly be hidden and guarded.”
Gem shook her head. “Lies. All lies you tell yourself to hide away. True, there are parts of you you can’t reveal to the entirety of the Winterlands. But, Piris, you’ve hidden yourself away for so long, you believe it is the only answer. It’s one answer, and a shitty one. There are many other ways to be honest about who you are while keeping pieces of yourself for yourself, and those you love.”
“She’s right, my love.”
Piris spun around at the words her mother spoke from the open doorway.
Lady Volesion moved toward her daughter to grip her hands tight. “We did you a disservice—”
“No, Mother. No! You protected me. Did the only thing you could to keep me safe and ease your minds.”
Her mother’s head shook, making the small tears in her eyes dislodge. “We thought so. Our intentions were true, love, but intentions have impact. What we’ve done to you, making you believe you need to always hide, always be secretive in all things. That was not right. It’s not living. I want you to live.”
Piris felt her own tears streak down her face. She wanted to argue, to comfort her mother, but she was stuck, the ideas these two women shoved at her running mad through her head, chipping away at something hard and stony inside her. Hitting the same parts Jarok’s love had started to knock aside.
“I love you so much, my daughter. I want everything good and lovely in this life for you, but you have to want it for yourself too.”
Piris couldn’t believe when she admitted her wants out loud. “I… Gods, I want him. But—”
“No buts,” Gem called from the bed. “You take what you want, like the warrior you are. Grip it tight and defend it with your life.”
“The warrior you are. Always have been,” her mother said, holding her hands and gaze tight.
“What about my magic?”
“You’re smart. So is Jarok. Queen Alene and Prince Ghel and Princess Strella as well. Together you will figure it out,” Gem said with certainty.
More and more chips in her stony wall flew away, leaving a small crack, a window into what could be if she fought for it. Like the warrior she was.
Straightening, she said, “I love you both,” before she sprinted for the door, down the hall, and out the side doors closest to the stables. Hope and possibility burned bright in her, and she’d wield it like a weapon and a shield. For herself and the prince.
She arrived at the stables, winded, and found both Cylian and Jarok there, putting saddlebags on her father’s two fastest horses. Well, two of his fastest horses. The second-fastest horse, a mare a reddish-chestnut color like Piris’s hair, stood looking on from her stall. Piris smiled at herself then, thinking she’d also need to thank her father later for his own brand of encouragement in this fight.
Cylian turned from her to Jarok as they stared at one another, no words passing between them. After several looks, he slowly backed away, out the door Piris had entered seconds before. “I’ll just… wait outside. Shall I?”
Neither answered, too lost in their stare. Jarok whispered, “Piris?” The same searching question from earlier that morning, when Piris couldn’t answer. Now she thought she could. She believed she might be able to be something more with him than a secret to be kept, a burden to be hidden away.
“I love you,” she blurted, without preamble. “Gods above, I love you, Jarok, even though you are infuriating at times. I love that about you too, if I’m being honest.”
The prince snapped to attention at her words and prowled toward her with a predatory glint in his eyes. He took her in his arms, bending her back as he leaned into her face. “Say it again.”
She didn’t mind these types of demands. Liked them, in fact. She took a moment to reach up to his face, stroke the smooth expanse of his beautiful harvest-gold cheek. “I love you, Prince Jarok Borau.”
“I love you, Lady Piris Volesion.” He kissed her, hard and deep but quick. “Does this mean you are coming with me?”
She nodded. “Yes. Apparently there’s a lot of smart people in the palace who can help us figure out how to keep my magic to ourselves while I let other parts of me roam free.”
He gave a wolfish grin, looking down her body. “I do love other parts of you very much.”
Piris barked out a laugh, free and clean, then kissed her prince again.
A throat cleared behind them before Cylian said, “I’m sorry to interrupt. And believe me, I’m happy for the two of you. However, we still need to make haste.”
“True,” Jarok said, worry warring with the love she’d seen shining in his eyes moments before.
“I’ll pack quickly,” she said, pushing her way free of Jarok.
Before she was fully free, another voice joined them. “No need, my lady.” The pretty healer seeing to Gem stood in the doorway of the stable beside Cylian, holding up two large parcels: a saddlebag and a pack. “Gem and your mother sent a maid to your rooms as soon as you left them. All you need is here.”
“Nosy,” she muttered, but the action warmed her heart. Looking into the bags, she found extra supplies, three of her best daggers, and two sets of fighting leathers. It was good enough for a speedy trip back to the Winterlands Palace. She thanked the healer, who left without another word, presumably back to try to wrangle the healing Gem.
Piris changed from her day dress in an empty stall; Cylian had stepped outside when Jarok had sent him a dark look as she’d taken out the leathers. They were ready to leave in minutes. As they eased the horse out of the stables, Piris taking the swift chestnut mare, they met her mother and father in the yard. Her father gave Jarok a long handshake, their grips tight, before he nodded at the prince with sure approval. Both he and her mother moved to her, hugged her tight.
With a gruff voice laced with complex feeling, her father said, “We will see you soon, daughter. Possibly travel to the palace with the Aurora warrior when she is healed.”
“I’d like that,” she said, knowing it’d been years since either had attended the palace, holding their place as the lord and lady they were. Her moving on, grabbing onto a different life and wresting it in place, gave them a chance at something different as well.
After another hug between the three Volesions, Piris jumped up, threw a leg over her mare, and situated herself in her saddle.
“Ready?” Jarok asked.
“With you? For you? Yes.” She held his eyes as she urged her horse into a quick jump and gallop, shooting forward like an arrow. A laugh whipped through the air, a soft but clear sound carried to her on Jarok’s winds, as he caught up with her, racing with her down Volesion Peak’s central lane.
“You understand what is required, brother,” Ghel asked, his deep-brown eyes fixed on Jarok, who was piecing together all the military information he’d just been given.
“Yes. Of course. I’ve been your second for many decades. I know the outline and need to concentrate on the details now.”
“Good, good.” Ghel grumbled the verbal quirk of the Boraus as he rapped his knuckles on the map-strewn table in the royal meeting chamber. The two princes, one now acting as the king’s proxy and one just given the position of Winterlands general, spent an hour going over logistics of the transfer. The rest of the royal family sat by, the king sickly but still present, helped by the close hand of his queen. Strella sat off to the side, beside Piris, who’d been asked to attend for some reason she didn’t understand quite yet.
Prince Ghel pinned her with his eyes, then rumbled, “Lady Piris, please. Come.” He gestured for her to step forward, pointing at a particular map pinned to the large winter-pine table. She moved to his side, arms crossed as she stared at what appeared to be a floor-by-floor map of the Winterlands Palace.
“I’ll be busy with my general duties now,” Jarok said beside her, “and when Ghel asked who would be able to take over my palace security duties, I said I’d trust only one person with the task.”
Piris whipped her head to her love in disbelief, then down at the map and finally at the other prince at her side. “You agree, Ghel?”
He nodded, sure. “As does my wife, and the king and queen. You’ve more than proven your ability to plan, strategize, fight when necessary. Like Jarok, I’d trust no one else with the protection of my family.”
She swallowed hard, worry threading its way through her joy at the honor. “What of my magic?”
Ghel shrugged. “Magic isn’t required, so most will still believe you a null. But never simply a null. You are a warrior, Piris. The Rebel Slayer. One who already commands respect and rightly so, even if most of the land thinks you possess no magic.”
Rebel Slayer was new. Word of what she’d done had traveled wide. Soldier and guard tongues wagged about such things apparently. She was still unsure if it fit, but it had garnered her much respect from every warrior, soldier, or guard she met in the palace.
By the gods, she could do this. Be this. She wanted to. Sliding an arm around Jarok’s waist and hugging him for a moment, she looked at Prince Ghel, her future king, and said, “I am happy to serve the royal Borau line in any capacity.”
“Good, good,” King Frit called, his voice weaker than before but ringing in the room nonetheless, the final stamp of approval.
“Good, good,” Jarok whispered in her ear, twisting his own arm around her and hugging her in return. The Rebel Slayer and the charming prince, arm in arm.
They had a private dinner that evening in the royal meeting rooms. King Frit lounged, Queen Alene hovering over him like a watchful hawk, as the servants brought in food, then promptly left them alone.
Ghel sat on a chaise with Strella, snuggled close. The large warrior prince grabbed them food on a shared plate, offering first bites to his small wife. They whispered together in hushed tones but also engaged with others, joking and laughing to keep spirits in the room high. Jarok helped with that, the other prince at her side, an arm slung around her shoulders, holding her close with a firm grip.
Piris loved to see her bonded sister in a family, happy and loved. She’d needed it, with the lonely existence she’d lived with her traitorous father before she came to the Winterlands Palace. It hit her then, like an arrow straight to the chest. She’d needed it too. Maybe in a different way than Strella. She’d never had family issues. But she’d also never extended her family beyond three people: her mother, father, and Strella. She hid. For good reason, she’d hidden herself away, living a half-life of sorts.
Now, however. Now, life was full. Filled with more people she cared for and who cared for her. More people who knew exactly who she was and still cared. Like the people in the royal meeting rooms, who looked at her with laughter in their eyes as they all talked. Like Gem, who was likely with her parents, giving them and the healer sass. Like Lord Cylian and Darin. Cylian had left for business in the Springlands and Marco was already there, but she knew they carried not only her secret but friendship and respect for her with them, close and tight.
Like the man beside her, who’d stopped his jokes to peer into her eyes. It was only then she realized she’d shed a tear or two. “Piris?” he asked. The simple question held so much: memory, meaning, and future.
“I love you,” she said.
Piris looked around the room, which had also grown quiet, more tears threatening to spill. Everyone gave her space, as a good family should. As her family always had. And now she had so much love, so much family, she nearly burst with it.
She felt Strella at her knee before she noticed her friend move toward her. The princess knelt there, concern etched in her stiff posture and small frown. She echoed Jarok’s question. “Piris?”
“Thank you. For all this.” She knew Strella never wanted to be a princess. Never wanted to marry until she had been forced into it, then came to love Prince Ghel. Her journey to the palace started all of this for Piris, all the love and freedom and purpose she now felt roiling inside.
Piris knew Strella understood, because she’d likely experienced the same epiphany at some point. Who wouldn’t, surrounded by the love and honor of the Boraus at their side. The two had always been sisters by bond, but now they shared another bond. Strella nodded, her bright-white smile lighting up the room as she rose.
“All is well,” she said to the others, taking the attention away from her friend and starting a conversation about the plumage of the kestrel perched on the queen’s shoulder.
Jarok’s hand gripped her chin, and he pulled her face to look into his. He studied her a moment, those dark eyes darting over her to make sure all was well. Whatever he saw made his face soften and his eyes burn with some dark inner light. “All is well,” he repeated with a nod.
“Yes. All is now well.”
He hugged her to his side a moment, then thought better of it. Rising quickly, he dragged her with him, gripping her upper arm tight. “We have somewhere to be,” he announced with imperious certainty, daring anyone to challenge his words.
Ghel snorted at him. The king gave a soft, indulgent smile. Queen Alene looked them up and down, as hard-eyed and assessing as the kestrel by her side, before she nodded in turn. Strella heard Piris giggle to herself but had no time to respond to any of it before she was pulled out of the room.
“But dinner, your family,” she managed to sputter out once they were in the hallway.
Jarok spun her to his front, loosening his grip on her arm to band both strong arms around her middle. She landed at his chest, nearly eye to eye, where his light still burned. “I love you, you love me, and we are now free to do as we please. And right now, I’m going to wipe away your tears and make you produce a different, far more pleasurable, type of cry.”
Piris couldn’t argue with any of it. She didn’t want to. She’d argue with Jarok again. Their back-and-forth made her blood boil in a delicious way, and she would never be a pushover for her prince. Right then, however, the idea of being with him, bound to and by him, felt right. As she now felt right.
“Oh, so cocky, Prince.” Tilting her face up, she took his lips. It started soft, sweet, and full of the love she’d come to find surrounding her. Then, of course, it turned far more heated.
Jarok pulled back first. “I’ll show you cocky.” He laughed, the sound deep and full of joy. They walked hand in hand, side by side, and Piris would not wish it any other way.