Chapter 8 Calder
CALDER
Blackwood Estate, Treland
He strides around the back of Blackwood to find a ladder tucked away in a corner. He climbs to the roof and finds the Princess sitting on the shingles, silently observing the city. Settling beside her, he says nothing but lights his pipe and watches the bustling town.
It is not until the sun shifts position in the sky that she finally croaks out her first words.
“It’s comforting, is it not? Watching other people move about their day?”
He watches as a wind gust rumples her copper curls around her face. Heavy bags hang under her lovely eyes that stare off into the distance with an air of hopelessness he knows all too well.
“What discourages you, Princess?” Whose back shall I break?
She remains silent as they observe a young boy, who seems to be the size of her fingernail from this distance, pickpocket three people in the square before diving into an alley.
“When I was a little girl, my father would lift me onto his shoulders and carry me into Blackwood Forest. Beneath the canopy, he taught me how to track. I became quite skilled. We could spend hours watching my favorite mink family together. That was when I began sketching the creatures I discovered. Never once were my talents questioned. If anything, mediating discontent and my drawings provided a welcome change in a family marked by violence.” She rests her cheek on her knees.
Calder is shocked to hear that his Lord Commander has grown into a caring father. It gives him hope that the future is not so bleak. A realization that only confirms his grisly fate should he allow himself to indulge in the only face on the Endless Shore that could shatter his restraint.
“To think I am as old as the unified kingdom. Twenty winters exactly today.”
Gods, I am twice her age.
“The needs of the people compelled my parents to right the wrongs of the country that will one day be mine. Neither Bjorn nor Thora desires the responsibility.”
Her gaze becomes unfocused as she remains lost in thought. He does not interrupt her musings. Instead, he stretches his legs and watches as she nibbles on her lip while considering what to share with him.
And he will wait all day for her.
Just to hear her sweet voice. It is the only aspect the Jarl may savor while still drawing breath.
“Mum always took the time for my petty needs: to listen, praise my sketches, and simply share our days over a cup of her awful honey tea.” Her lips tease a little smirk.
“Pops was most proud when there was an axe in my hand.” Her shoulders fall.
“I thought he understood I preferred the serenity of nature to the blood of combat. Until I overheard them speaking by the hearth after my siblings and I had gone to bed one night.”
She suddenly hesitates. “What am I saying?” She shakes her head with a bitter laugh, giving her features a hauntingly beautiful quality.
Calder chuckles. “I was a young orphan, no more than thirteen winters old, when Sigvid trained me. He would take me wood-cutting in the dead of winter without a shirt. Yet, I couldn’t have survived the brutality of Skalor without the severity of his discipline.”
Her russet curls flutter against the wind.
“I understand being on the receiving end of your father more than most.”
The tension eases from her shoulders, and she peers at the sky. “You are not his child.”
“Fair. I imagine the pressure is overwhelming.”
“He told Mum he was worried about my ability to rule.” She clenches her teeth as if she struggles to express the next part.
“He said my head was stuck in the clouds, that I spent far too much time watching things happen rather than participating,” she wrings her hands together, “and that a ruler who cannot swing an axe is useless. I burned my sketchbooks that night, and the next day, I met Isabel.” She swallows and wipes her eyes.
A warrior, an artist, and compassionate. Where has she been all of my life?
“The Trial was my chance,” she continues, “to prove myself in this family of Drengr. To show that I will be a great Queen someday.” Her eyes squeeze shut. “And then I brought that wretched woman down on all of us. I will never forget Mum’s face–the man who abused her has returned, in a way.”
She finally meets his gaze. “What is my place?”
At my side to save Skalor…no! I cannot allow her to suffer in my kingdom, too.
“Tell me, Jarl Calder, how do I redeem myself? What is my life’s purpose?
If not to be a Drengr or a Queen, then what?
I am nothing but a failure.” Her words catch in her throat, and she glances away.
“I should have fought harder against Isabel! Why was I not strong enough atop that tower? How did I choke?” Her questions rush out more to herself than to him.
“And now there’s no turning back. I must forever live with the knowledge that I wasn't good enough in a true fight to the death. The daughter of Sigvid Thordsson cannot defend herself.”
“Princess,” He reaches over and clutches her shoulder, tugging her closer to his side. She tucks into him, looking at him with that beautiful face scrunched in pain.
“If I stay atop this roof forever, do you suppose the prying eyes of Toftlund will forget my failure at the Trial?”
He sighs, aware that nothing he can say will alleviate her defeat.
“Failure serves as a guidepost, directing us toward our true purposes. Someone you trusted betrayed you during a critical moment in your life. All of Treland can pass judgment on that, but no one will truly understand. Not when the person who should mean everything to you stabbed you in the back.”
He tightens his grip and rubs her shoulder. “That you awoke after she left you bloody and broken to hunt her down and protect those you love is a far greater act of Queenship than I have seen in twenty winters.”
“Such wisdom, Jarl Calder.” She strains her neck to face him. “This is the second time you've talked me off the ledge.”
“I don't want you to fall, Princess.”
The wind whips her curls around. Without thinking, he catches the flyaways between his fingers before tucking them around her ear. Aura flushes furiously, yet she refuses to look away from him.
The despicable acts I yearn to commit on her perfect body would make more than those cute little cheeks blush.
I must get ahold of myself, or I damn us both.
Her pink lips part, and she tilts her head.
Gods, she tempts me like a sinful desire I could never come back from.
“Aura,” he whispers her name once those luscious lips are a breath away, and the urge to drag his tongue along her softness is so great he fears he will crack.
“Calder,” his name breathes from her mouth into his with a yearning he does not deserve from a woman like her.
“Wait,” she tugs away, “who is that?” She demands.
Begrudgingly, he twists to observe the dirt road where three carriages rattle up the hill from Toftlund toward Blackwood.
He growls, feeling an irrational, heightened fury rush to his head at the sight of someone seeking to interrupt their moment. Calder extends a hand to help her navigate down from the roof. He glances at where he sat to find the tiles covered in a thick layer of frost.
She brings out far too much emotion in me.
Whatever this is must end.
He helps her clamber down from the roof, noting her still pink cheeks and darkened gaze even as they enter Blackwood through the back door.
He catches her attempting to fix her curls in her reflection in one of the back-facing windows as if the visitors had interrupted the Jarl and Princess in a state of indecency.
Thankfully, she does not know where his thoughts lie.
“Am I presentable?” She asks him with her hand on the front door knob.
Too much so. “Lovely, Your Highness.”
A crooked smile forms along her lips before she throws open the door, only for a frown to replace her happiness.
“May I help you?”
Calder peers through the windows.
Oh, Briny’s balls, he swears.
“Good day,” Jarl Guy greets her with two soldiers flanking the bottom steps. His breath is somehow visible in the summer afternoon. “I wish to speak with King Sigvid Thordsson. My party has recently arrived from Skalor, and I hoped to finally make his acquaintance.”
Any vestiges of longing lingering with the Princess evaporate, leaving the same eerie tension he recognizes in himself. “My lord, I fear my parents are away. I also believe the King instructed that no one should call upon our private residence.”
Guy claps his hand on his forehead. “Oh, dear me. Now, I recall! Please, forgive my intrusion,” he trails off, expecting her to give him her name.
“Frida.” She lies so spectacularly well that Calder nods his approval.
“Oh,” Guy steps back, straightening his tunic. “I was under the impression he only had one daughter.”
A frigid expression settles over her, and she crosses her arms tightly. “My older siblings are adopted. We all bear the Sigvidsson-Redwood name.” The warning in her voice threatens an unshakeable fury.
“No offense offered, dear. I would like to call upon Princess Aura?” he asks with a glance into the house, this time catching Calder and offering a smirk. “I see my peer is welcome inside.”
“Jarl Calder,” Gods, she can say my name all day long, “is here on my invitation. Besides,” she tosses her curls with such dismissive care that she draws rare amusement from the Iss Drengr’s lips, “he fought alongside my father in the shield wall. He is allowed to take residence in a guest room while staying in Treland.”
“Of course.” Guy grows cautious. “I will take my leave, Princess Frida.”
He could not be daft enough to fall for her lie.
“Excuse me,” Grim appears behind Guy and greets him as Aura lets the door slam closed.