Epilogue #2
She passed the first floor with relative ease, but from there on, it got complicated in the mid-morning flood of people filling every corridor. What the guards might overlook, the maids certainly wouldn’t.
Where would Amron be at this hour? Definitely not sleeping, he was an early riser.
Working, probably, in his private study or his official one, or somewhere on the first floor with the clerks, or receiving people in the great hall, or even somewhere outside, with the merchants or councilors.
But he wouldn’t be alone there, and she needed to see him in private. Which meant only one place—his room.
The one he’d always liked? The one with blue tapestries? Through the servants’ corridor, turn right, open the door…
“What do you think you’re doing?” A voice behind her back and the unmistakable jab of a dagger somewhere in the vicinity of her kidneys.
She hadn’t heard him, she hadn’t smelled him, she hadn’t felt him. All her instincts were as blunt as a wooden sword.
“I need to talk to Prince Amron in private,” she stammered.
“Really? Why? Who sent you?”
She knew that voice. Deep, rasping, drawing out the vowels. “Telani, is that you? Let me go, damn you, I’m not here to hurt him.”
A long pause. Then, “Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them, or I’ll stick this dagger in your gut.”
She did as he ordered. It was indeed Amron’s secretary, his dark eyes distrustful as always, his nose still broken, his mouth a scowl. But he was clean-shaven for once, and wearing black velvet and…was that a gold chain around his neck? Was that embroidery?
“I’m so glad he found you,” she said. “You look swell.”
“Have we met?” And then, surprisingly accurate: “Liana?”
“Yes. But…how did you know?”
“Because I spent two miserable years of my life searching for you.” The fact that he’d recognized her didn’t make him any friendlier—quite the opposite.
“Talking to every sheepfucker and dim-witted woodsman in Till, riding for miles through the snow with the hunters, dragging that redheaded imbecile who called himself your fiancé out of some cheap whorehouse, only to find nothing. No trace of you; vanished into thin air. Your father was mad with worry, and my lord…you were missed. Where have you been?”
“It’s a very long story,” she said. “Can I see him please?”
He scrutinized her appearance, from the tangled hair and dirty uniform to the dust-covered, sandaled feet. “A wash first, perhaps?”
It was a reasonable suggestion, but the time for reason had run out. “Now, please. It’s urgent.”
Telani rolled his eyes. “Fine. Follow me.”
They walked down the corridor to Amron’s study. Telani went in alone and came out a few moments later. “He’ll see you now.” And then he grabbed her arm. “If you perform your disappearing act again or do anything else to hurt him, I’ll never stop hunting you.”
She shook him off. “Don’t be jealous, Telani, there’s enough of him for both of us.”
The study looked almost the same when she stepped in.
The man standing beside the desk in the pool of morning light, dressed in somber shades of teal and gray, was different, though.
There was a slight roundness to his face she didn’t remember, emphasized by the absence of worry lines at the corners of his mouth.
For once, he looked fresh instead of harrowed.
His stance was different, too, more relaxed, missing that permanently edgy awareness of a fighter.
The eyes, however, were the same: keen, sharp.
“It is you,” he said.
“I heard you were looking for me.” The soft carpet and the thick tapestries swallowed her voice.
“I promised I’d find you later, didn’t I?” His gaze remained glued to her face. “You look exactly the same as the last time I saw you. How is that possible?”
She took a deep breath. She’d made him believe her before, she could do it again. “Because the last I saw you was just a few hours ago,” she said. “Seventeen years ago.”
He blinked. “I don’t understand.”
Stepping closer, she caught her long braid and pulled it over her shoulder, lifting its end towards him. “Look, it’s still tied with that blue ribbon you gave me.”
His fingers examined the crumpled satin, then slid up to touch the hand that held it.
“I would’ve come sooner if I had the choice,” she said. “But what was seventeen years for you was one night for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s a long and complicated tale.”
His hand was wrapped around hers now, gentle but firm, as if he expected her to run away. “I’ll gladly listen to every detail you want to share with me. Will you stay here? Can you stay here?”
“I think my running days are over.” She offered him a pale, woeful smile as she lifted her head. “I’ll stay if you want me.”
There were so many words they needed to exchange.
The story of gods and war and loss, of relentless hope and love.
The story of family, of his mother and siblings and nephews and nieces, of Liana’s father, of betrayal and sacrifice, of abandonment and acceptance.
And then there were the practical things, too, the question of her status, of other women who might or might not have been there, of marriages and relationships and the mundane details of everyday life.
But none of it mattered now, as he stepped closer to her, letting go of her hand only to slide his arms around her waist and pull her in.
If it felt a little rushed, a little awkward, it was because their minds still struggled to catch up with the inexplicable strangeness of it all.
Their bodies, however, refused to be tricked by time and absence. They remembered what to do.
She cupped his face: the angle of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw fitting the curve of her palms perfectly. I know you, the touch said, you’re mine. Her fingers slid down his neck—feeling his wild heartbeat—and under his shirt, to the hidden spot between his collarbones.
A sharp intake of breath, lips curved in a smile of recognition of a memory he couldn’t have had, and yet its promise made him gasp.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” he said. And then he bent down and kissed her.