Chapter 13
Kellan appeared from the dark trail with his hands buried in his coat pockets. Moonlight caught the grim lines on his face as he approached Reis.
"We have company."
Reis lifted his head. His gaze slid past Kellan into the black treeline as though he could see something moving far beyond the reach of ordinary eyes.
"Who?"
"Gregorat and two other knights."
"You know him?"
"Unfortunately," Kellan sighed. "Orbin's favorite dog. Cruel enough to be useful, dumb enough to stay loyal."
“Bring Lettie inside,” he ordered quietly. “Stay with the girls.”
Kellan found Lettie gathering snow. He bent over and mumbled something unintelligible in her ear, then he crowded a very confused-looking Lettie into the cottage where Mirielle was resting.
Reis leaned against the well with his arms crossed, waiting in complete stillness.
He heard them before he saw them—armor shifting, the heavy footfalls of horses on packed dirt. One of them carried the banner of Ambersaith. Their armor gleamed too brightly against the dirty cottages. Even their horses managed to look arrogant.
"Well now," the large knight at the front announced, "look who came out to meet us."
Reis stalked forward with the grin of a hunter having already trapped his kill.
"You've overstayed your welcome. We're escorting you to the border."
"No," Reis responded. His voice was laced with warning. "The princess is too ill to travel."
"Then strap her to a horse," Gregorat said, grinning.
Something vicious and dark passed over Reis's expression.
All three knights dismounted. Then they looked around the snow-dusted hovel, their lips curling in disgust. Gregorat looked at the single lit cottage.
"Fine," he said, "we will warm ourselves and then leave."
"No," Reis said again.
"King Orbin will want to know his cousin is well. We'll just check and get on our way." Then he continued, "I need to know the princess is actually here."
"She sees nobody," Reis growled a warning.
Gregorat looked at Reis for a long minute, weighing his chances, looking for weaknesses.
The mutt had some sense after all.
He exhaled through his nose and climbed back into his saddle. "We will wait nearby until she is well, then."
The youngest knight looked surprised by his concession but wisely stayed quiet.
Gregorat grabbed the reins. Then he paused.
His eyes shifted towards the cottage. Warm light glimmered faintly from between the old wooden shutters.
Then he looked at Reis and a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth before he turned away.
That was when Reis realized he had a weakness.
*
Reis returned inside, his face grim. Mirielle was sitting in bed nervously rubbing her thumbs.
"They left." He looked at Kellan. A silent exchange happened between them, the kind of connection that came from decades of closeness.
"I think I'll go for a walk," Kellan announced lightly.
"It's the middle of the night and it's bloody cold," Lettie protested, knowing worry crossing her face.
"You worried about me, Lettie?" Kellan teased with a grin.
"I'm worried your stupidity might kill ye."
Kellan smiled genuinely but didn't respond. Instead he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and sauntered into the night air.
"Lettie, you'll sleep in here with Mirielle."
For a moment, Lettie looked as if she were about to protest being ordered around in her own home. But something in Reis's tone stopped her.
"Aye," she nodded before making herself busy with dinner.
Reis turned his attention back to Mirielle. Her head down, her midnight hair covering her face before pooling softly on the bed beneath her.
Something in his chest rose. It clawed violently, beating on his ribs.
Worry.
Gregorat had seen it almost instantly—the smug look when he turned. It was a discovery.
For years he had carved out every soft part of him through war and blood and necessity. He had worked tirelessly, layering himself with iron walls until he had built a fortress of cold steel around himself. Kings couldn't afford weaknesses. Weaknesses got men killed.
So he had none, not since he became a king. He had made himself untouchable.
But Mirielle had found her way through his walls, slipping in like light through a fissure.
He hated it.
No, that wasn't it.
The thought of losing her raised a storm inside of him. A storm waiting to be unleashed by anyone who dared touch her.
Mine.
It wasn't possessive. It wasn't obsessive. It was instinct.
And here was Mirielle rubbing her thumbs. Her worried silver eyes reflecting the firelight turning them molten. She was in a far-off place, her gaze looking through the bed beneath her into another world and his instinct flared.
Reis hated this, the way she folded herself like a hunted thing, the way her mind dwelled on fear. Something had happened in that palace. He knew she had been attacked. He didn't know who or why.
He had suspicions, but he didn't know.
He hadn't exactly lied when he said he would burn it to the ground. He wanted to burn that part of it, erase that part that did this to her. Not the people who were like her family or the things she cherished.
He wanted to destroy the memories, the rooms that had held her, the men that tormented her.
But not right now. He couldn't leave her until she was safe in the North, safe in the walls of Rosthein, and he pitied anyone who dared stand in his way.
"Mirielle, look at me," Reis commanded.
Mirielle's attention snapped to Reis, pulled from whatever dark thoughts clouded her.
"You are safe."
*
More days passed and Mirielle had improved significantly. Her steps were surer, her heart was stronger and her weakness was slowly leaving her body. All fevers were long past.
Reis found himself quietly relieved. Mirielle would be strong enough to travel in the next few days.
He returned from scouting. The sun settled low in the sky, bending gold streaks through the Hamlet.
Kellan had tracked the knights towards Drumhaven. Reis walked across the courtyard in grim silence, considering their plan, where they would strike, when they would strike.
Strategy was easier for him. Numbers and tactics. Blood and steel.
Not Mirielle.
Not her flightiness. Not the ghosts that chased her, the haunted look that sometimes entered her silver eyes when she drifted too deep into memory.
He frowned at the thought.
The cottage door stood ajar in front of him. The firelight spilling on the snow.
He opened the cottage door and froze. The bed was empty. The chairs were empty too.
"Mirielle?"
There was no answer.
Panic surged through Reis. She was stronger now, strong enough to run.
He turned, scanning the woods, every sense in him sharpening at once.
Then he paused and listened.
One. Two. Three heartbeats in Lettie's cottage. One lighter than the others, weak, accompanied by the faint uneven murmur that he had quietly grown familiar with.
Still some part of him doubted his ears. He crossed the stone courtyard and slammed open the door.
There she was, sitting in a small wooden chair at Lettie's table, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket with a steaming mug of tea, looking at him like he'd grown horns.
"You weren't in your bed." His voice sounded fractured.
"I... Lettie wanted company."
A shadow passed over Reis's face. "Come with me."
"She's doing just fine where she is," Lettie said with a scowl, clearly irritated by the intrusion.
Reis ignored her.
Kellan looked at Reis in concern as he helped Mirielle up from her chair. "What's wrong?" Kellan asked.
"Stay out of it, Kellan."
"That's funny, something tells me I shouldn't," he called as Reis slammed the door behind him with Mirielle in tow.
They crossed the courtyard quickly, Reis gripping Mirielle's wrist tightly enough that she stumbled trying to keep pace.
"Reis—" she said. Her voice was soft and pleading. Reis didn't seem to hear her.
Reis returned Mirielle to her bed and helped her down. Then he pulled out two long strips of soft linen from his pocket.
"Give me your hands."
Mirielle blinked up at him in confusion. He watched her brows furrow. Then she lowered her gaze and obediently held out her wrists.
He felt his heart sink like lead in his chest.
"For your protection," he said softly.
He knew how hard this was for her, how hard it was for her to be vulnerable. He knew she would hate him for it and what kind of memories it might stir. He could live with her hate but not her death.
Reis began wrapping the linen around her wrists with painstaking care, making certain the bindings would not rub or dig into her skin.
"If I may," a voice drawled from the doorway, "what in the gods' green earth do you think you're doing?"
Reis watched as Mirielle seemed to fold inward at the sight of him witnessing this. Shame washed across her face as she retreated deeper into herself. It twisted something in Reis's stomach.
Kellan stood in the doorway, his mouth gaping as disbelief covered his face.
Reis didn't look at Kellan. He just continued his task.
"She ran."
"She ran?" he asked incredulously, his voice raised in anger.
"There was a battle. She got scared and ran."
"Of course she ran. You're ter-ri-fy-ing."
"She almost died."
There was a pause.
"If you think I'm going to let you do that to a woman..." Kellan warned.
"Stay out of it." Reis’s warning came low and lethal—violence coiled beneath every syllable.
Mirielle tensed beneath his hands.
Kellan’s expression darkened.
“No.”
"It's okay, Kellan." Mirielle's voice was so fragile and cracked she wasn't sure if she believed it.
The air tightened around them.
Kellan gave her a look that was painfully gentle.
Then he crossed the room and punched Reis in the face.
Chaos ensued.
Kellan knocked Reis into the table so hard it splintered. "Are you out of your mind?"
Reis recovered instantly, advancing like a storm given flesh.
“Stay out of it!" he warned again.
“No.”
Reis charged, driving his shoulder into Kellan's ribs and running him into a wall. Kellan grunted but laughed anyway, feral and sharp. “She's terrified of cages," he spat, "and you put her in one.”
Reis’s expression darkened violently. “You think I don’t know that?”