Chapter 32
Carys
The events from hours before rush back to me as the clock chimes six times and sunlight trickles into my bedchamber.
My body is heavy, weary, and try as I may, I cannot banish the memory of my behavior from my mind.
These incidences are happening more frequently, and no amount of meditation, even with Alys’s guidance, can help me control them. First the spiral, then the rage.
I know what’s next, and I fear the crash that’s poised above me like a dagger.
Blinking, I survey my bedchamber. Someone has cleaned up the godsawful mess I made. I don’t even know what happened, exactly. One moment, I was contemplating changing my drapery, the next I was in a stranglehold of fury.
The Feast is almost upon us, meaning Durvla’s departure is almost upon me. I don’t want her to go; I selfishly procrastinate, putting off the necessary discussion with Iywan. Her talent is wasted in a region specializing in agriculture and wool harvesting. She’s a greater asset here.
It doesn’t escape me that all my friends are in my service or service to the crown.
It’s an obligation. Perhaps it’s the same for Durvla.
She is kind, patient and controlled, creative and logical—everything I’m not.
Yet, I cannot figure out if she’s only kind because soon she can walk away from this godsforsaken palace.
Stop wallowing, an inner voice tells me.
I jump, chilled to the bone.
You don’t need friends.
But I do. Don’t I? … Gods, am I arguing with myself?
To distract myself from my spiraling mind, I leave my bedchamber, and Sir Ren offers me a tight-lipped smile.
In silence, we make our way to the kitchen.
The rest of the staff is on break, and Eefa’s perceptive gaze settles on me as I step into the kitchen.
She knows exactly the kind of mind numbing I need as I tell Ren to stand guard outside the door.
His voice reaches my ears through the roar of my eager pulse while Eefa’s lips are on my neck, her hand grazing my thigh beneath my dress and chemise.
We spring apart as a hunched older woman, who I recognize by face only, waddles into the kitchen.
Taken aback, the woman places one hand on the counter for balance and dips into a shallow curtsy.
Beside me, Eefa is grinning like a fool.
My heartrate refuses to slow down, competing with my mind as it assaults me with a plethora of negative thoughts, though none have any discernible origin.
Without bothering to say anything to either of the women, I sweep out of the kitchen, flanked by Ren who, thankfully, asks no questions.
I don’t stop walking until I’m standing in the infirmary, tears stinging my eyes. Alys rushes to my side, worry etched into her plump face. “Carys?” she asks. “What’s amiss, dear one?”
“I don’t know,” I choke out as I glance around. There’s no sign of Briony, thank the gods.
“Tell me what you see,” she says.
I know this routine well enough, but somehow, I can never remember it on my own. Not lately, at least. “You,” I say.
“I’ll accept that. What do you hear?”
I listen and there’s a gentle flap of the white curtain as wind blows through the window. “The curtain.” I draw in a breath. “I feel my feet in my shoes, the floor beneath. I taste nothing at the moment. I smell … something herbal.”
“What a surprise in an infirmary, hmm?” she asks sarcastically.
I smile weakly.
“Well done,” says Alys. “Lie down. Let me make you a cup of tea.”
On Alys’s suggestion, I leave the confines of the castle to get some fresh air in the late afternoon.
Back on duty, Callum silently follows me outside.
We step out of the stuffy palace and into the cooling air beneath the lavender and orange sky.
As we walk farther from the castle and through the floral archway of the garden, Callum draws his sword with a shiiing that startles me more than the large man who appears in our path.
The stranger is even taller than Callum, with coppery skin and thick, dark blond curls tumbling onto his broad shoulders. Sapphire eyes with a sunburst of brown settle on me. On my diadem.
My heart races.
He steps back, lowering his head. A bronze pin—diamond-shaped with an X intersecting it, a triangular blue-green labradorite gemstone at its center— shimmers on his chest. The royal symbol of Uldarvik.
I hold my hand up to Callum and he lowers his sword.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” says the stranger. “I did not mean to frighten you.” His warm, resonant voice washes over me, his accent thick and melodic.
Callum hesitates but sheathes his sword.
The Uldaran man is clad in leather, a tattoo along his left jawline, peeking out from beneath his short-cropped beard.
“It’s an antler,” he says, and I tear my lingering gaze from the inked design in his flesh.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” I say, lifting my chin despite the fire in my cheeks.
A low laugh rumbles in his chest. There’s something so at ease about him. His posture has a certain sureness … or perhaps arrogance.
“You must be Prince Odgar,” I say.
His ocean eyes sparkle, crinkling at the sides. “Yes.”
“You’re early.”
The corner of his full lips quirk up. “Indeed. The god of the sea had mercy on our travels. It’s an honor to finally be in your presence, Princess Carys.”
“The honor is mine.” My words are rehearsed, automatic, but his tone is genuine.
Prince Odgar steps aside, getting out of the way so I can continue my walk, but I don’t move.
He isn’t at all like I’d imagined. I’d expected an uncouth brute.
The tip of a battle-ax peeks over his shoulder, and it makes me smile.
Maybe not an uncouth brute, but he’s armed and without a sentry by his side.
Warrior Prince.
“What brings you out here, Prince Odgar?”
“The fresh air,” he says. He lifts his face into the breeze that blows through the garden. “I hold no love for the indoors.”
“I assume you spend the majority of your days … on the ocean?”
A wistful look crosses his face. “I wish.” He glances toward the sky then turns back to me.
Another low, mellow voice rings out from beyond the bushes, prattling off in rapid Uldaran.
The words are as lively as a jaunty bard song.
A man with a peachy complexion and a crooked nose steps into view, his thick, dark brows raising.
“Apologies,” he says in the common tongue when he spots Callum and me.
He’s about Callum’s height, with gentle brown eyes that belie the hard cut of his square jaw.
With a bow, he says, “Forgive my insolence, Your Highness; I was admiring the beautiful view of the lake.” His accent is clipped, the vowels spoken with amplified precision.
My brows furrow. “You are not from Uldarvik.”
“We stole Seth from Ardall,” Odgar says with a playful smirk. “Or rather my sister stole his heart and Uldarvik grew on him.”
The man, Seth, has the integrity to appear bashful. I don’t bother to pry more information from either of them. Beside me, Callum’s hard focus doesn’t waver from Odgar. Suddenly, I feel short among these three handsome men towering over me.
I clear my throat. “Well, Prince Odgar. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Fortress on the Mount.”
“Oh, I am certain I will. Thank you for your hospitality. I will see you soon.” He bows once more, as does Seth, then they step around me to head toward the castle.
I stare at their retreating backs, at the axe strapped across Odgar’s and the sword across Seth’s, before they disappear behind the castle doors. Callum is straight-faced and I remain unmoving.
Definitely not what I’d expected. Maybe my suitors won’t be so bad after all.
On the night before the Feast, I rouse from yet another heart-racing nightmare, Aneirin’s name on my lips, my skin and amulet so hot to the touch that I might as well be on fire.
I blame my mother triggering my memories of him.
It’s ironic since she says she took away my memory, whatever that means.
With my heart hammering, I throw a robe on over my nightgown and hurry out of my bedchamber. I nearly collide with Tiernan, who is on my service tonight so he can rest during the day and be ready to guard me at the Feast.
He turns to me, brows pinched together. “Is something the matter?”
“Everything is the matter.” My voice wavers and I wipe sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “I need a glass of wine.”
He doesn’t question me further, even as his gaze very briefly skims over my attire.
He doesn’t approve of me walking around in my sleepwear, but he nods and walks alongside me.
Only the sounds of his boots and my bare feet against the floor echo in the corridors.
As we walk into the dining hall, it’s not just Eefa there, but also Durvla, sitting across the table from her.
Durvla’s spine straightens when she sees me, but her face is drawn and exhausted. Eefa glances over her shoulder at me, a salacious glint in her gaze.
I avoid her gaze and focus on Durvla, channeling the level-headedness that I lack. “Looks like everybody is in need of wine,” I say with a smirk.
Empty plates sit in front of them.
“Oh, did I miss the cake?” I pout.
“There’s still more,” says Eefa, standing from the table. “Let me grab you a slice and a goblet of wine.”
My stomach is at odds with itself, between the nightmare I cannot remember and the fact that in less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be meeting my suitors.
“On second thought, just the wine, please,” I interject.
Eefa smiles and uncorks the wine with a pop that echoes in the empty, otherwise quiet dining hall. “And for you, Major Kilkenny?” she asks, turning his way.
He sets a no-nonsense gaze on her, and she giggles.
“I thought I’d try,” she says with a shrug. She winks at him, but he doesn’t react.
My head swivels back and forth between Durvla and Tiernan.
My stomach curdles for many reasons. Gods, I hate the jealousy that rises in me like a tide at any given moment, for no purpose other than to be there.
I have zero romantic interest in Tiernan, and yet …
I hate that he may have an interest in someone other than me.
Our relationship was forged five years ago when he saved my life.
I’m uncomfortable in my own skin as I recall the sacrifice he made for me.
He could’ve lost his own life. He’s been an unwavering boulder in many storms throughout the years.
He’s been kind and patient, even though I constantly tease him for being broody and a stickler for the rules.
If he has feelings for Durvla, I should be happy for him.
Just like I should be willing to let Durvla go for the sake of her own happiness.
“Carys?” Eefa’s standing beside me with a goblet of wine outstretched.
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat as I take the goblet.
I intend to just sip the liquid, but it’s gone within seconds.
I plop into a chair and demand a refill.
I don’t stop drinking until my mind slows down, even as Tiernan protests each goblet.
My limbs grow heavier, until I am warm, sleepy, and blissfully unbothered.
“I shhhgotooo my shamber,” I say, bracing my hands on the table to stand. I turn the words over in my head and chortle. Am I slurring my words? “I mean … my shamber …” Concern draws Durvla’s brows close, but Eefa laughs along with me.
“Princess, I think you’ve had enough,” says Tiernan, suddenly at my side. He grasps my arm, and I pull back.
“Unhand me, you brute. Just because you shaved my lie does not make me mine—yours.”
There’s a mixture of amusement and worry on his face. He presses his lips together.
“Do you find me funny, Sir Killian?” I frown. “That’s not your name. I know your name. The knight who prefers Major.” I sing the last phrase.
“Come on. Up you get,” he says. He turns toward Durvla. “Would you mind helping me get the princess back to bed?”
Then suddenly Durvla’s at my side. It takes a bit of hoisting to get me out of my chair, and even then, my legs are like pudding.
We start to move, but it is more like I’m being dragged.
“This is not the way to fleet a princess,” I protest. My tongue betrays me with each word.
“I can walk by my own.” I tug my hand away and stagger several steps forward before Tiernan catches me. “My hero. Again.”
Durvla and Tiernan continue half dragging me to my bedchamber in silence.
“Do you regret the ar— the aaar—the a-rrow? Fugin ’ells, that word’s hard to say!”
Deep lines form in Tiernan’s forehead. “That was years ago. And you are drunk.”
“I don’t get drunk. You’re drunk!” My legs give out and I squeal, but Tiernan scoops me into his arms. I rest my head against his shoulder. “Teran, I don’t want Durvla to go. She’s very lovely.”
Tiernan keeps his focus ahead as he walks. Rude. I put my hand on his head and force it toward me. His brows shoot toward his hairline.
“Your eyes are also very lovely. If we get married, our looks will be shildren.” I frown. Not what I meant to say. At all. “I mean our shildren will be—”
“Princess, with all due respect, you should stop talking.”
“I make the commands around here, Major.” I salute.
He smirks and keeps walking. I grow sleepier with each step until my back sinks into a soft surface. I lay against my pillows and caress my sheet. Durvla appears out of nowhere. “Oh, hello! Where have you been?”
She smiles at me. “By your side the whole time.”
“Oh, you sweet dove.” I pat her hand. For a moment, I close my eyes, but they fly open again of their own volition. “Broody knight?” I call out. “Where are you, broody knight?”
Tiernan looms over me. “Yes, Princess?”
“Good night.” I pat his face and he flinches so hard that it makes me laugh. The bed welcomes me like a giant hug and tugs me into the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in ages.