Chapter 9 George makes a choice.
nine
George makes a choice.
It was mid-afternoon when they reached Nowosmont; the sun past its apex and the air warm around them.
George stared at the big mountain to the north of the city as she bounced along on her trotting horse.
She really didn’t feel like going back to the capital, but the Great Assembly would start soon, and she had no choice in the matter.
Father would start asking questions about her absence—if he wasn’t already.
The guards at the city gates asked a few questions about their group’s “trip to the shore,” and Hildy took the lead on responding as George pulled the haughty card and pursed her lips at the legionaries protecting town.
Finally, with a terse nod and a, “Welcome back, Princess,” they ushered her and her team, including a well-miraged Isahn, through.
The tan, paved streets were a lighter shade than when she’d left, and the buildings bolder shades of sea and sky. It was all in preparation for the dreaded annual event. This is the last year, George vowed, tightening her grip on the reins until her knuckles turned white from the effort.
She led them along the western edge of town, directly to Villa Senone, the winter home of Wynnie Doukas’s family. When the familiar hilltop came into view, the residence sprawling across its peak with orchards cascading away, an array of olives and grapes, she turned her face to the sun and sighed.
Luckily, Isahn interrupted her thoughts before George had to decide whether she was happy or sad to be back.
“Gods, this is sprawling. I thought Elio and Greta’s was a one-off. Do you all live in houses like this?”
Burke laughed behind them.
George glanced back, finding Hil sandwiched between the guys, as she so often was, though their trio hadn’t been talking much the past few days.
“No, we don’t. Some of us live at the palace, some of us have insulae in town,” Hildy answered Isahn before going back to clenching her jaw and scowling at the road.
Isahn side-eyed George with a questioning frown tugging on his lips. He’d taken to giving her that look when he wanted to know what something meant, and she found it charming.
“Insulae are apartments, and most of the homes you saw along the way were farmsteads. This is a viceroy’s villa.”
He nodded before resuming his perusal of Villa Senone. It was enormous, though nothing compared to the palace or the fortress.
“Most homes in Domos are like villas but smaller,” she explained. “They’re usually one level with a courtyard. And up here, near the sea, they’re brightly painted, like Wynnie’s.”
“We’re not at the sea, though.”
“We’re close enough. It’s half a day’s ride north, on the other side of the mountain. And that’s Lake Loukeo.” Pointing in the distance, she identified a sparkle of blue peeking through a gap in the hills.
He smiled, pulling her attention to his adorable dimple, before they lapsed into silence. A chorus of insects and horses sang to George, but it was still too quiet for comfort.
“What do your homes look like in Selwas?” she asked out of a persistent need to keep talking to him.
They’d developed a habit of riding together during the past three days on the road.
If anyone had asked, George would have claimed it was to keep an eye on the wily non-prisoner and to avoid the awkwardness of whatever was happening between Hildy and the guys.
“They’re taller, usually, and never such fun colors.
” He pointed at the salmon pink walls of Villa Senone.
“In Selwas, the houses are the way nature made them: gray, brown, and dull. Sometimes, someone’s really wild and whitewashes their place.
Always causes an uproar.” He grinned, blue eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight, and she beamed right back, entranced.
“Courtyards are uncommon. Everything we build is usually just a big, tall rectangle with loads of interconnected rooms. All enclosed. Our winters get too cold. Honestly, we should probably paint like this. It would make the gray months far less depressing.”
Her lips twitched into a smile. The homes had terracotta tiled roofs and brightly painted exteriors in yellow, orange, blue, and occasionally pink.
Familiarity, it seemed, led her to overlook the vibrancy of town, or maybe it was the nature of life in the north that made the colors hard to appreciate.
“Even if it’s ugly, I’d still like to visit Selwas one day.
” She probably would when she was queen for some delegation or other.
But she hadn’t been there yet. Even her father hadn’t traveled to the southern kingdom in decades, instead staying holed up in his blasted capital, behind the walls of his precious palace.
He much preferred to handle international politics by sending the occasional viceroy via official channels, and the frequent mindmolded spy via unofficial avenues.
Isahn chuckled. “I didn’t say it was ugly. The land is beautiful, the houses could use a bit of... pizazz.”
Their traveling party reached the wider portion of the villa’s drive, and they fanned out, riding five-abreast for the final stretch.
The large double doors to Villa Senone flung open, and Wynnie raced outside. Her sleek brown tresses flowed behind her, flapping with the fabric of her stola as she ran toward the group. “You’re here! You’re here!” she shrieked, sandals slapping against the brick drive.
“Wynnie!” Hildy shouted back.
George waved.
“We’ve missed you!” Burke called.
Their mounts reacted differently to the whirlwind that was Wynnie Doukas: Isahn’s pranced nervously to the side, Hildy’s shied away, Dunstan’s reared—but he got her under control—Burke’s horse nickered, and George got lucky with the one who remained calm.
With reins in hand, they dismounted as Wynnie reached them. Gorgeous, as always, she flounced to a stop when she realized there was a fifth member of the group. Planting herself in front of Isahn, she fluttered her lashes, dark brown against her sandy skin.
Provocatively, Wynnie raked her gaze down his body while giving him her look—the one always accompanied by her tongue darting out to swipe her lips and her back arching.
There it is.
George sidestepped closer to Isahn and raised a brow at Wynnie.
“And who is this?” she asked coyly, biting her lip as she ogled him.
George considered answering, but he spoke first, “Lord Isahn Yaranbur, Earl of Midlake, at your service.”
George’s pulse quickened, and she didn’t mean to do it, but she felt her top lip pop on one side as her nostrils flared.
She hadn’t expected to react that way—or maybe she had. This was Wynnie’s modus operandi after all: move in on every single man with a pulse. She hardly gave George and Hildy a chance to see if said men might, possibly, not want to stay single.
George loved Wynnie. They’d been friends forever, playing in the palace, getting up to hijinks around the capital.
But as they got older, Wynnie’s confidence grew.
She learned to use her charms in a way George was never fully comfortable with.
It wasn’t disgust she felt toward Wynnie, just jealousy.
She wished she could feel that good about herself.
She wished she was lithe and beautiful and never had a hair out of place.
It often took a mirage for George to feel comfortable enough in her skin to make her appearance do work for her.
“You must tell me how you came to join the traveling party,” Wynnie gushed at Isahn. “Maybe fill me in on what you know, while we’re at it.”
Isahn blinked stupidly as he rumbled a wordless response. And George hated it. She really, truly, hated it.
“I’ll update you,” George spoke up. “Come, we’re tired from travel. Let’s settle in. Maybe bath time? No men allowed?”
“Fantastic idea,” Hildy piped in.
Wynnie’s eyes flicked to Isahn for one last lingering glance before she turned her attention to her female friends. “Yes, there’s so much you have to share.”
As they walked toward the house, Wynnie signaled to a few waiting stablehands who came running to take away their mounts.
“Burke, Dunstan, will you be dears and show our new friend to one of the guest rooms? Be sure to let me know where he lands, if you wouldn’t mind.” Wynnie winked.
George’s stomach decided that was the perfect moment to flip over and fill her throat with burning bile.
It wasn’t long before they found themselves alone in the expansive baths. George wondered if Isahn would consider this bath house “divine” too.
Most certainly. She smiled to herself, appreciating the turquoise tiles.
“My father’s back in the capital already.” Wynnie had submerged herself in the tepidarium’s pool so nothing but her head remained above water.
They’d opted for the largest room with the most comfortable temperature; it was most conducive to a long swim and even longer chat. Typically, they’d move through the baths from hot to cold, but not that afternoon. The girls needed to lounge.
“Did my father call him in?”
“Not officially, but with your absence, he thought he should be inside, well ahead of the assembly.”
Hildy nodded. “That’s wise.”
“Yes, and he’s going to keep our cover going. Well, your cover—I’ve been here the whole time. Bored out of my mind!” she lamented before dunking herself entirely.
“I’m sure you kept busy.” George laughed.
“We really should get our holiday story straight, before we head back into the palace. I doubt he’ll ask more than a passing question, and even then, only if the right company is around and he wants to seem interested in my life.
But we can’t be too careful.” George didn’t need to specify that she was speaking of the king, they all knew it.
Wynnie, who’d resurfaced, and Hildy nodded.
“Tonight, when we’re with the whole group?” Wynnie offered.
“Perfect,” Hildy replied.
“Speaking of the whole group. Tell me everything, where, how, and why did you bring me that stunning earl?”
“He’s not for you,” George snapped, and her cheeks immediately heated.
Hildy smirked.
Wynnie pouted as she bobbed up and down on the seat built into the pool.
Hildy dunked while George apologized—in her own way—“I don’t know why I said that.”
“Please, Georgie.” Wynnie waved her off with a smirk. “It’s fine.”
George gritted her teeth, ashamed by her insecurities.
She wasn’t sure if Wynnie was apologizing for trying to claim Isahn, or if she was saying George needn’t apologize for snapping.
The princess had a feeling it was the latter.
She’d expected this, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
It’s not like she had any sort of claim on the earl.
If anything, he should hate her for imprisoning him.
He didn’t seem to.
“How’d you find him?”
The women shared the story, with George detailing the abduction, and Hildy covering some of the questioning. Even though a pushy voice in the back of George’s mind urged her to share the details of her few private conversations with Isahn, she held back.
These were her closest friends, but she rarely had the opportunity to carry something close to her soul that hadn’t been tainted by the horrors of life under her father’s reign.
She wanted to keep this to herself for a time.
It would be useful in officially staking a claim and getting Wynnie off Isahn’s case, but she wasn’t even sure she should.
She’d seen the way the earl responded to her friend’s flirtatious greeting. George didn’t own him. If he wanted Wynnie, she’d swallow the bile that threatened to rise into her mouth with each rapid pulse of her heart, and she’d let the viceroy’s daughter have the earl.
“So, what does he know?” Wynnie finally asked, once the tale had been told.
“Who we are, that my father keeps people enslaved in ‘the capital,’ and that I fully intend to be queen by the time next year rolls around.”
“Oh.” Wynnie snapped her dark gaze to Hildy, who always had a plan.
“We need to fill him in on the rest. Agree, Princess?”
George sighed, running her palms up and down her thighs. When Hildy addressed her by title, she meant business.
“I agree. It’s time to tell our new friend about the true capital.”