54. Epilogue 2
Nisien
Weeks earlier.
Tir Gelida.
The princess of Gelida fought like she held a grudge against the entire world, right down to the ground beneath her feet.
Naturally, I was enchanted.
She’d spent the time since I’d arrived making it exquisitely clear that the feeling wasn’t mutual.
The short sword she was currently trying to use to separate my head from my shoulders was only the latest evidence.
The first time we met, she found me chained to a dungeon wall, blood streaming down my face to soak my collar, trying not to look too uncomfortable about it.
“You’re either very brave,” she said, arms crossed, “or remarkably stupid.”
That had made me sit a little straighter. I’d been called worse. “Both accusations have been made before.”
Her mouth didn’t so much as threaten a smile.
Then she’d reached out with her magic to test the edges of mine.
I knew how to shield myself from all kinds of intrusion.
But I’d never liked hiding who I was, and some reckless instinct told me she could see right through me—and that she knew exactly what I was holding back.
Part of me hoped she would respect the transparency.
So I let her in.
Her eyes lifted to mine and stayed there for one heartbeat. Then another.
She had a face made for the cold climate of Gelida. Eyes of winter seas, a scowl of sharpened steel, and two faint lines of unforgiving judgment between her eyebrows. Beautiful.
Her gaze deepened, the color of her eyes shifting to stormy ice as she pulled her magic back suddenly.
I made a hobby of noticing what people hoped everyone would miss. The flicker of confusion on her face hadn’t been annoyance. It was the unadorned shock of discovering something she hadn’t expected.
As quick as it came, it was replaced by the practiced, regal expression that I knew all too well from wearing it myself.
Most people would’ve taken every opportunity to study someone they had invited into their home—especially one whose arrival had apparently involved a misunderstanding, several guards, and at least one broken nose.
But Anwen had given a clipped command, turned on her heel, and left before I could decide whether I was amused or offended.
I was, it seemed, an unfortunate necessity. Possibly a nuisance.
That was okay. Patience was something I possessed in abundance. Smile often enough, laugh easily enough, dance with enough neglected daughters of powerful men, and people began to confuse joy with stupidity. Patience with idleness.
A lot had happened since then. Now, the glare she leveled at me left no doubt about her unchanged feelings.
The training yard was cold and gray, ringed with her men. Perfect. Witnesses meant I could give her a credible fight. They also meant she couldn’t dismiss me again without engaging. It might be a technical engagement at best, but in my experience, technical was always the beginning of something.
And damn me, I wanted something.
Anwen came at me again, tight fighting leathers and swinging braid more than enough to obliterate my focus.
I adjusted my weight, letting her find the angle she was looking for.
Ice slicked one corner of the yard where the morning shadows were thickest. I nudged just enough fire through the packed earth beneath my boot to keep my footing. But not enough for anyone to see.
She was fast—faster than she should’ve been, faster than her size suggested—with footwork so clean it made my own look leisurely by comparison. Her strikes were powerful too, and I suspected they’d been honed over years to counter the assumption that she was weak.
I had reach, strength, and enough speed to make the outcome tip in my favor. I was not, however, currently using those assets.
Chivalry had nothing to do with it.
She swept low. I stepped back while she pressed the advantage, driving me toward the yard’s edge. The subtle tension in her men’s eyes told me they hoped for their princess’s victory but wouldn’t dare show it too openly.
I let her push me another step. Considered my angles. Then turned the momentum and found myself closer to her than either of us had intended. Her blade arm was extended to my neck, my hand locked around the narrow strength of her wrist.
Up close, she smelled of wildflowers and the sea. My heart did an undignified little leap, like a startled bird who’d just landed on thin ice, only to realize that it was already sinking.
Focus, Nisien.
My brother had laughed when he told me about Anwen. He’d said she was my type. Now, with her blade at my throat and fury bright in her eyes, I was forced to admit he had a point. She was competent, direct, and more than a little mean.
The combination was catastrophic for my concentration.
With my hand still on her wrist, her gaze snapped to mine. Her eyes contained zero warmth and approximately one thousand thoughts—most of which weren’t complimentary. To anyone watching, we were two combatants contemplating a reset.
“You’re patronizing me,” Anwen hissed. Her voice was a soft vibration directed solely at me.
Ordinary pride wouldn’t have elicited such an accusation from her. There was frustration beneath it. Confusion too, if I wasn’t flattering myself.
I wasn’t patronizing her at all. But this tiny, fierce woman wasn’t ready to hear that I wanted to pull her close. That I wanted to kiss every nasty thing she wanted to call me off those plump lips and find out exactly how long it took that scowl to reappear after she was done with me.
I cleared my throat and tuned my voice to the one that said I have nothing to hide while my mind sorted through four different next moves.
I whispered, “If I wanted to patronize you, I would’ve offered you an easy victory. But as you can see,” I let my eyes drift to the watching men, “I’m offering you a useful opponent instead.”
I smirked. Which, admittedly, didn’t help.
Her answering expression suggested she was itching to drive the pommel of her sword into my face.
“Stop holding back,” she ordered, sharp and exact as a cut from her blade.
While I had the chance, I studied what I could of her aura up close.
Anwen’s certainty about my intentions didn’t read as a guess.
She looked at me as if I’d said one thing aloud and another thing somewhere she had no business being.
She hadn’t told anyone about her magical specialization, not even Isca, but I had a growing suspicion it gave her certain benefits…
“As you wish, princess,” I said eventually. This close to her, I couldn’t stop heat from entering my smile.
She noticed, and that only made her more furious.
Which only made me more excited.
It was a vicious cycle.
I stepped back. This time, I let her see a little more of what I could do with a sword.
Anwen adapted to the fight faster than I’d expected and forced me to adjust twice, which was once more than most people managed. The second time her eyes flashed in triumph, and for one glorious second, she smiled.
In the end, the difference in reach and strength decided it between us. She disengaged cleanly in a loss rather than pressing a losing position. Though the tight line of her jaw told me she was already planning the moves for our next match before she’d finished handing off her gear to an attendant.
“Tomorrow,” she said, which was neither an invitation nor a dismissal. Yet it was the most she’d offered me since I arrived.
“I’ll look forward to it,” I said.
Her men fell in around her as she walked away. Unfortunately, she didn’t look back.
Yet I couldn’t seem to look away. I watched as her breath plumed out into the cold, mist dissolving into nothingness, and I had the absurd impression that I was watching myself leave her.
The whispers, the clash of steel, the charged silence between us—all gone with a single exhale.
She had sheathed her blade, and with it, whatever interest I’d managed to earn.
I didn’t want to be so easily dismissed. I wanted to be under her skin like she already was under mine.
She had no idea.
Anwen was going to be extraordinarily difficult. Already suspicious of every move I made, resistant to every overture, and almost certainly two steps ahead of anything I tried by conventional means.
I was, against what my twin would call good judgment, delighted by the prospect.
Which would’ve been merely inconvenient, if winning Anwen’s trust were the only reason I’d come to Gelida. A marriage between us could bind her claim to the throne, quiet the men who believed a woman couldn’t rule alone, and secure a peace our kingdoms had never managed before.
War was already moving toward us. The letter tucked inside my jerkin had set my pieces in motion before the first blow landed.
The Assembly thought it understood the board.
They thought Gelida was a fractured kingdom that could be taken easily.
They thought Darreth locking its borders was merely caution. They thought Larethia was isolated.
But they’d made the same mistake as everyone else. They’d forgotten about me.
I allowed myself to smile. They could regroup and make plans. I’d made mine first.
I returned my training gear and walked back toward the castle. Frost clung to the fence rail beside me. I brushed one finger over it as I passed. Steam rose in a white cloud.
Thankfully, no one had noticed.
Had to let some of the tension out. That sparring session certainly hadn't helped in that regard.
Ahead of me, Anwen reached the corner of the castle. The last thing I saw before she disappeared was the rigid set of her shoulders. She was inflexible. Stiff and resistant to everything, even my famous charms.
I’d been dismissed by kings. By generals. By my own father on too many occasions to count.
Somehow, her doing it was worse. And still, I was already looking forward to tomorrow.
Before I could bring the Assembly to its knees, I needed the trust of one rage-filled brunette who had every reason to believe I was secretly just another man come to claim her throne. She had no idea what a dangerous man looked like when he was on her side.
Anwen would make me earn every inch of ground. And I was already enjoying the campaign.
The End