Chapter 42
Roderick Bryson
Their letter went over about as well as Roderick expected. He and Anya sat on the steps of a fountain near a rickety cart overflowing with pink and yellow flowers, watching knights swarm the tavern. They decided to stay close in case they tried to arrest the barkeep. So far, nothing yet.
Anya had shifted back, face shadowed in her oversize cloak.
Seeing her in her Lycanian form again made him breathe a little easier. Social cues were difficult to begin with. Taking them from a wolf was a nightmare. He adored the little scrunch to Anya’s nose and eyes as she peered down the street at the tavern.
Folk occasionally looked their way, but Roderick made sure they appeared to be nothing less than starry-eyed lovers.
Easy as pie.
He smiled to himself. I’m going to need to find a new metaphor.
“I don’t see any swords drawn. And they don’t seem too agitated.” Anya continued to tell him about the sentries’ mutterings she had overheard earlier.
“If we’re lucky, they’ll think Henrik is just a sore loser,” he said, stepping up to the flower cart. Just sitting here would look suspicious.
And this shade of pink would bring out the color in Anya’s cheeks.
He plunked a copper half piece into the “honor-system” box and selected the most lively bloom.
“Close your eyes,” he said, kneeling in front of Anya.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
She obeyed, squeezing them shut and covering them with her clawed fingers for good measure.
Roderick brushed a hand through her hair, then slipped the flower behind her ear.
Even under the cloak hood, she was an image of spring, with hair of dandelions and eyes like the sun, cheeks pink, and a grassy-green overdress, with a crisp white shift underneath.
The sudden poet in him likened it to the clouds overhead.
And they had new beginnings on the horizon too.
He pulled back slowly, tracing her jawline on the way.
She touched a hand up to the flower, a slight melancholy smile crossing her face. “Thank you. It reminds me of the spring flower festival. I always wanted to make a flower crown.”
“Why didn’t you?” He imagined her in a whole crown of flowers. It suited her more than diamonds and gold. And in his mind’s eye, she also had a shimmering smile with the blooming circlet.
“It was something only the townsfolk children did. You can imagine my parents didn’t think it a proper activity for a young princess.
Even if it wasn’t a full moon. I’d hear them argue.
‘What if she shifts?’ ‘Or bites?’” She laughed bitterly.
“Well, they weren’t completely off base on the second one…
” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the flower cart.
The knights continued talking amongst themselves in the distance, the words incomprehensible from here, but still unbothered in tone.
“I wish we had met as children,” Roderick admitted.
Anya turned to him. “Why?”
“If I’d seen you then, I wouldn’t have rested until I made you the perfect flower crown. And…I think we would’ve understood each other. If you’d seen my fangs, I know you wouldn’t have screamed or called for the knights.”
“And what would I have done instead?” she asked, eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Probably asked me a million questions. For academic purposes, of course. Maybe even told me your secret. Then we would’ve been best friends.
I’d loiter around the palace gates, just hoping to catch a glimpse of you.
Maybe we would’ve played together in the woods at night, swam at the beach, or watched the stars. ”
Anya yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. “Then what?” she murmured.
He slipped his arm around her, securing her at his side as he lazily wound a golden strand of hair that escaped her hood.
Humming to think for a moment, he continued, “Breaking my back to become the stable boy at the palace. Then a squire, as soon as I’d turned fifteen.
I would’ve introduced you to the horses, so you’d never have to fear them.
Maybe even taught you how to ride. And when I became a knight, I would’ve had no one in my sights but you.
I think you would’ve resisted, at first. But I would’ve won you over.
Rocks on your window, flowers on your doorstep.
Just a lovestruck Centarian knight. And then—”
He felt Anya’s face tilt up in a smile. “And then you’d become my Prince.”
“If you’d have me.” He meant it.
“I’d like that,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek on his shoulder.
Roderick rested his eyes and rubbed her arm up and down, losing track of time between her soft breaths and the babbling fountain, until she tensed tighter than a bowstring.
“It’s him,” she whispered, digging her claws into his shoulder.
“Who?”
“The Winter Prince.”
Roderick peered over his shoulder, keeping his arms tightly wound around his mate.
The statue in Traansa was hardly an exaggeration of the Prince’s form.
Admittedly, he was a handsome Were. He wore a midnight tunic with silver embroidery around the hem, with a matching cape clasped at his collarbone.
A mane of golden-brown hair fell loosely around his square jaw, framed by a clean-cut beard.
A gold-feathered eagle perched on the rear of the horse atop a thick wooden roost. Its harrowing eyes locked on Anya.
The market crowds evaporated like dew. There was little reverence or excitement for the Prince’s presence. Only fear.
With a harsh kick to the flank, the Prince goaded his white steed forward. He trotted the square, surveying the crowds with his head on a slow swivel. The knights followed, silent and obedient.
“I know you’re watching…Princess Anya of Valeria,” the Prince said, his voice hauntingly calm.
Roderick averted his gaze. His hold on Anya tightened.
She’d insisted on signing the letter in earnest, that any kind of deception would only turn the Winter Prince against them.
Hopefully the Prince was simply being cautious now.
The steady clop of hooves grew louder as he drew closer and closer. “I admire your candor. I simply wish to meet face to face.”
Panic surged in Roderick’s chest. Anya’s heart raced against his, matching his own.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“No,” he protested. But when he looked into her eyes, gold and glinting with determination and love for her people, he knew it was inevitable. And so did she.
He adored her for it.
And he despised the world for it.
He kissed her, indulging his delusion in the soft caress of her lips and the rise and fall of her breath for just a moment longer.
Then duty called.
The Prince rounded the flower cart, towering over them. The knights drew their swords in tandem as Roderick and Anya rose to their feet and lowered their hoods. Anya’s fingers twined with his. He gave them a reassuring squeeze, praying it wouldn’t be the last one.
“I am Princess Anya of Valeria.” There wasn’t any waver to her tone. She was every bit the diplomat she was raised to be. Raised. Not born to be. She was born to chart the stars, to spar until her lungs gave out, to dance and sing in the moonlight. Not this.
Anything but this.
Anya Delemond
After nearly a decade of navigating politically-charged social situations, Anya liked to think she could tell between faux friendliness and a genuine gem from a mile away.
But the cryptic way the Winter Prince appraised her as he approached made her stomach twist. The quirk of his lips, the knowing rise to his brows…
it was like he’d been presented with a most pleasing gift.
Once the Prince was upon her, he bowed, kissing the back of her free hand with practiced gentility.
She was used to the gesture in high society, but not from anyone of a higher status than her.
Still, she played the part of the perfect Princess, responding with a polite smile and tip of the head.
Roderick, on the other hand, stayed rigid as a board beside her.
“I never knew the glacial wall hid such beauty,” the Prince said, releasing her fingers with a lingering touch.
A smart remark about who exactly put that wall there fizzled on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. Better to get off on the right foot.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, gritting her teeth.
The Prince’s cape dragged along the polished floor as he turned to Roderick.
His eyes trailed from Roderick’s mouth to Anya’s neck.
An oddly satisfying blush rose to her cheeks when his eyes landed on Roderick’s fang marks.
She wanted the Prince to see them. She wanted the whole world to see the bite that freed her heart from its chains.
Without a word to Roderick, the Prince mounted his horse and extended a hand to Anya. “Come. We can discuss trade over dinner like civilized folk.”
The steed huffed, scraping a hoof against the cobblestone. She could already tell this horse was nowhere as gentle as Cyan had been. And if there was anyone she dared to ride with, it was Roderick.
“I would prefer to walk, Your Highness.”
That surprised the Prince. He blinked pointedly, then retreated his hand. “If you insist.” Instructing four knights to escort them, the Prince rode ahead.
She did insist. Anything to stay beside Roderick a little longer.
But it didn’t last.