31. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
T he next morning brought my friends’ departure. Only a single tear tracked down my cheek. I hated goodbyes. I was lousy at them. It was far better to part ways with a wave than to force words to express feelings.
Lyana was a shell of her former self, but she was functioning under her brother’s care. I ensured they had enough coin to settle in a real home and fill their bellies, then wished them Niena’s luck in picking pockets.
I reserved my tears for when I retired to my rooms, in the privacy of my sleeping chambers. Sainte held me as I sobbed, abandoning the pretense of strength. He knew my weaknesses, and I needed him to accept me as I was.
Human. Flawed. Lonely.
Besides my Valahant, I felt truly alone in this castle. Anderz remained an enigma, his motives for wanting me on the throne unclear. Leihim pursued his own desires. Lyana and Ethyan were the only ones who loved me for myself. Everyone else had an agenda, some plot to either see me crowned or killed.
Which was still a possibility.
“Up.”
I moaned, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
“Come,” Sainte urged again, pushing off the bed.
I groaned in protest as he rummaged through a chest near his cot. My head felt fuzzy, and my nose throbbed. My eyes, swollen and burning from tears, didn’t want to face any more pain. Wasn’t saying goodbye to friends enough for one day?
He hadn’t shared much about what happened to him during the ritual. He only mentioned that Nothar wasn’t the god who welcomed him across the Veil, but assured me of his blessing. Then he clammed up, refusing to disclose more. I took it as a warning to be cautious when seeking the gods .
Even Togamar warned they were not all in agreement. If some were actively helping me, I had to assume that others worked against me. I hadn’t considered that before I sent Sainte across the Veil, and guilt reared its ugly head for not going myself.
“Ellie, if you don’t get out of bed…”
I propped myself on my elbows and arched a brow, daring him to finish.
He pointed a sheathed dagger at me, then when he took in my sullen expression, he let out a heavy sigh. “Come, I will teach you to fight.”
Curious, I shoved myself upright, tilting my head. “You think I have a chance?”
“No,” he said, tone flat. “But—while Anderz and the Wolf search for the God Stones, you should at least prepare for the worst. Up.”
I doubted Sainte could teach me to defend myself against a man who practiced with a blade every day for years. Just my luck that my conceited brother didn’t get lazy with his dueling skills.
With a scoff, I kicked the blankets off, then threw my legs over the edge. “You should have asked Nothar where they were,” I grumbled, swaying as I stood.
Sainte grunted and handed me the dagger as I walked past him to my receiving room. It was the most spacious place in my chambers to spar, and we were trying to keep our heads down, avoid wandering about. There was less chance of Adastrus bothering himself to come to my rooms than if he happened upon me roaming the halls.
“A game,” he said, moving chairs against the wall.
I rubbed at my puffy eyes. “Oh, I like games.”
Not that I would win anything that involved blades. I wasn’t terribly competitive, but I was always a willing participant.
“As I expected.”
He grunted as he shoved the table to clear more space. His movements were stiff and sore from the past few days. This morning, he stretched in ways that made my mind wander to forbidden places, but each motion came with a grimace when he moved too quickly.
“Adastrus uses a blade. His is longer than this, but it's close enough.” He unbuckled his belt and slid off a single long, thin dagger, still in its sheath.
I examined the one he’d given me and tried to remove it from the leather hide, but it snagged on some twine tied to secure it in place.
He smirked at my efforts, then retrieved another piece of twine from his pocket, tying it around the hilt. “I’d rather not shed any more blood, if you don’t mind.”
“For once, we agree,” I huffed.
“You’re familiar with a dagger?”
“I grew up with them. ”
I flipped the weapon in the air, catching it with ease. The sheath added an odd weight, but it was still more familiar than a sword or anything else they might shove into my fist.
As the challenged, I couldn’t choose the weapons, but I could set the date. It would be held at the castle’s armory, where there was a stage for duels. The room could hold a large group of witnesses and offered the benefit of being indoors. I’d have to ignore the bloodstains on the floor, grim reminders of my impending doom.
“I would rather have you in trousers–”
“Would you now?” I taunted, kicking my skirts to free some space around my legs.
His mouth snapped into a frown. “Aye, you’re used to fighting in them.”
“Alas, ‘tis not appropriate for a lady of the court to wear men’s clothing.”
“No.”
“Just as kicking him in the sack will probably be inappropriate as well.”
“There are rules to the rite, Elspeth.”
“And here I thought the most important one was: Don’t die.”
He sighed, then came closer, pointing his long dagger at me for emphasis. “That’s your main priority,” he agreed. “But remember, people will be watching—nobles, dignitaries, ambassadors. If you win by sleight of hand or by cheating , you’ll have to bear that burden.”
“Better that than death. Do you think Adastrus plays fair? He clearly hasn’t thus far.”
“In his mind, he’s already won. Now he plays his political game. Let him,” he said. “Enough. Ready yourself.”
“Can I kick you in the sack?” I snorted, readying my stance as I braced my weapon.
His eyes flitted over my form with a frown. “If you try, you will regret it.”
I laughed, and he lunged.
I yelped as he moved quicker than I expected for a sore warrior, and threw my arm out to block his attack. The sheath of his dagger smarted against my hand as I ducked under his blow.
He backed away, shaking his head. “Tell me why you cut yourself during the Ritual of Blade and Blood.”
I jerked with subtle surprise. “Is that the game?”
That could make things interesting, though if I ever landed a strike, I doubted he’d grant me a chance to ask anything—and I had a great many questions for him.
“Aye. For every hit you land, I’ll give you an answer.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a rare, playful manner. “I would wager you have one or two. ”
My grin widened. I braced my feet once again, wagging my fingers to beckon him, then shrugged. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself anymore.”
“Care for me a bit much?” he asked, stalking closer.
With a haughty smirk, I winked. “You’ll have to land another blow for that answer.”
He took a quick step forward, his strike obvious, and I danced aside, throwing out to parry. He moved with me, grabbing my weapon arm. I spun against him, slamming my head into his chest, then my heel down on his toes. He grunted, and I threw my elbow into his gut, then jerked free of his hold. With a fierce spin, I whipped around, slapping his face with my braid, and raised my dagger to his throat.
“Not bad,” he wheezed.
My triumphant grin was bold and bright, but he smirked, and a soft tap pressed into my ribs.
“I landed first.”
“I let you.”
“Ha!”
I shuffled back a few steps, needing distance to form my question. He lowered his weapon and dropped his arms to his sides, rolling his shoulders as he waited.
“Have you ever loved anyone?”
His impish smirk faltered, as if hiding a flinch. “Loved?”
“Yes.” I kept my playful mask in place, hoping he wouldn’t notice how much his answer meant to me. “You know, love? That fluttery feeling in your heart?”
“There are many kinds,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow in silent challenge.
He was making this far more awkward than it needed to be.
“You know what I mean,” I huffed.
“Yes.”
I blinked at his sudden, curt answer, my smile slipping. “A girl?”
He tsked his tongue against his teeth, then readied his stance. “That’s not how the game works, Ellie.”
“Well, then come at me, Sainte.”
He shrugged, his shoulders flexing as he rolled them, muscles tightening beneath his tunic. I drew in a deep breath, focusing on his movements, aiming to immerse myself in the fight. Any previous scuffles I’d been in were frantic and confined, never paced with calm assessment.
My brow furrowed as he moved with deliberate intent. Sidestepping, I aimed a slash at his exposed midsection, but he retaliated with lightning speed. He deflected my attack and seized my arms, drawing me close. A sharp hiss escaped me as his dagger found its mark, grazing my side.
“Have you ever loved a boy? ”
I gazed into his cool, inquisitive eyes and returned a smirk. “Boy?” I scoffed. “No.”
He emitted a curious hum before releasing me. I spun away, needing a moment of space. With a shaky breath, I mustered a cocky grin before facing him again.
“Girl?” he asked.
My head flew back with a bark of laughter, then I wagged my dagger. “That’s not how the game works,” I mocked.
His lips pressed together with a nod of understanding. He would wait until the next–
He charged with a quiet grunt, and I gasped as he snatched my wrists, shoving me against the table, pinning my weapon to its top. His grin was wolfish and predatorial as he loomed over me, hips pressed hard against mine.
“I thought we were playing with daggers!” I snarled, struggling to free my hands.
He scoffed, a mirthful, throaty sound as he yanked my dagger from my fist and tossed it aside, then tapped his own against the hollow of my throat.
“So, girl?”
“No,” I hissed.
“Never loved then, eh? Never gave your heart away to have someone mistreat it—leave it shattered in pieces?”
“Oh no, I didn’t say that.”
My lip curled in a snarl. He found this amusing. He got all the answers he wanted while I was left wanting.
“You want to know?” I asked.
Something flickered in his eyes, hungry and dangerous.
“I loved a man once—dreamed of him every long, lonely night. I lay on that cot, surrounded by kids who hated me, with a woman in the next room who saw me as a burden—and all I cared about, all I thought about, was him.”
He blew out a breath, and a flicker of some strange emotion danced across his features. Was that jealousy?
“And you claimed to have only kissed a few boys.”
“Oh, I did far more in my sleep.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. All playfulness melted from his expression, his teeth bared in a grimace.
“Do you want to know, Sainte?” My tone dropped to a raspy whisper, a wicked smirk lifting my cheek. “What we did in my dreams?”
“I’m sure you’ll spare me.”
My barked laugh was bitter. He started this conversation. I would not let him get me riled just to walk away from it. I was done with him playing with my feelings. In a few days, I would meet my end. I didn’t have anything to lose .
“Oh, no—I wouldn’t. I would tell you everything he did in great detail. Every touch, every lick that burned me with pleasure—”
His breath came fast and his hand tightened over mine. I snatched it away and shoved his chest, though he didn’t back off.
“—everything I did to him.”
“Who,” he growled. Anger seeped from him like venom, slow and insidious, as he leaned close to intimidate me. “Name him.”
“You.”
He jerked as if slapped, his grimace melting into a frown.
“It was you, Sainte. I loved you. Always have. There’s never been anyone else. Every boy I kissed, that I let touch me—I was looking for you.”
He clenched his jaw as his eyes danced between mine, searching for a hint of deceit.
“No one ever lived up to the feeling you gave me when I dreamt of you.”
He choked out a bitter laugh. My smile sweetened, my anger and hurt fading, giving way to something dangerous. He hadn’t pulled away. Still pinned, his hips pressed to mine, I resisted the urge to move against him, to give in to that need burning low in my belly.
“Your turn, Valahant.” My palm rested at the center of his chest, feeling his steady pulse beneath my touch. “Who has won your heart?”
He shuddered, then his guard snapped in place. Funny how when we talked about me, he was an open book of bright green jealousy, but when it came to him —he shut me out.
“She did not win it.” He closed his eyes as if in pain—as if the words were being torn from his throat. “She didn’t have to.”
My heart raced.
Me.
Let it be me.
“What’s the lucky girl’s name?” I whispered, my touch trailing to his warm cheek.
His brows drew tight, and he groaned, turning to press his lips against my palm. He loosed a long sigh, then met my gaze, holding it as if it anchored him.
“Elspeth.”
My breath caught, frigid and burning all at once, as my heart pounded a chaotic beat against my ribs. I could barely breathe, barely think. “Me?”
“Only you.”
His hands slid to my hips, fingertips grazing my backside, searing me through my dress. His grip was a claim—I was his, and he was mine.
I wasn’t wrong .
He wanted me—loved me.
My fingers threaded through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his face close. His grip tightened, eyes flicking to my lips.
This was nothing like the boys I kissed.
This was Sainte. Strong, steady, loyal. With him, I had nothing to lose. He knew me at my worst and my best. And yet—because I loved him, cared for him, this was beyond nerve-wracking. I couldn’t mess this up.
He halted a breath from my lips, tensing as his teeth ground tight. What he battled with, I didn’t know. In my experience, every other man would gladly take a woman thrown at them…
But Sainte wasn’t just any man.
“Kiss me.”
Anxiety widened his gaze, despite his cocky grin. “And if I don’t live up to your dreams?”
His breath brushed against my lips, and heat coiled and bloomed as butterflies took me by storm.
“You wouldn’t have to try hard,” I whispered.
“And if I was saving this for my wife?” He ducked close, speaking against the corner of my mouth.
I sucked in a sharp breath and dug my fingers into his neck, letting him feel my need. “Then marry me.”
I doubted he would have frozen any faster if I had stabbed him in the heart. He pulled away, and a quiet ache settled deep at the loss.
“Don’t say that.” A rough edge, full of hunger, consumed his tone.
“There will never be anyone else.” I tugged at him, desperate to pull him back to me.
He remained stiff and resolute, features set into a stern frown. “You’re a princess.” His voice cracked as he stepped away, hands falling to his sides as if he woke from a dream.
“I’ve always been one.” I fought to keep my words steady as he freed me from the table in every way I didn’t want. “Nothing has changed.”
With a staggered breath, he turned, shaking his head. “Elspeth, you’re a princess. You’ll get betrothed to some heir or king out there, forging alliances.”
“No, Sainte. My brother will kill me soon,” I spat. “I’m not going to marry anyone! I have a few fleeting days to live out my pleasures and desires before I cross the Veil, never to know a husband, let alone a man.”
He turned on his heel, his face set into a mask I didn’t recognize. “And if you live? If you rise to the throne? I’m only your Valahant, Ellie.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair, giving it a tug as if the minor pain would ground him.
“I would give you everything.” He closed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe his words. “Anything, but you don’t know what you’re asking. ”
My breathless laughter drew his gaze back to mine. My fists propped onto my hips, missing the heat of his touch there. “You think I could wed anyone else? You must be a fool. I’m full of dreams and delusions—such as marrying for love. I would never marry for an alliance, Sainte.”
“You will be queen. Your marriage is a weapon, a shield.” His voice pitched higher. “You want me. I would please you. But for gods’ sake, Ellie, don’t brandish marriage about like it’s worthless.”
A subtle, quiet realization whispered in my heart.
Sainte would never take this lightly. The notion was instilled and embedded so deep within him. Men typically didn’t remain chaste until their wedding night, unlike women who had to out of necessity or else they might bear a bastard child.
But a man?
They could walk off with no remorse, no responsibility.
Men never waited—but he did. He offered his body to me after waiting for so long, promising himself to his future wife, holding himself to that standard. He was willing to throw it away for me—while in the same breath, berating me to raise my standards.
Sainte didn’t think himself worthy of marrying me, and yet there was no one else. Not a soul in this world could measure up. He was the only person who was worthy.
He offered me his virtue in exchange for me not wasting a marriage of value.
As if his virtue had no value to anyone besides him.
I would show him, prove his worth.
And yet…
When I failed the Rite of Combat, I would die, and so would he. We would never share that passion with one another.
A heavy ache settled over my heart. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t watch his face as I refused his offer.
“No,” I growled, turning my back on him. “I won’t accept you without marriage.”
“Elspeth–”
“I make a wager,” I snapped, braving his stare. “I am slated for death. If, by some divine miracle, I survive, I ask for your hand.”
Slow shock slackened the anger on his features. “You’re foolish,” he breathed.
“So is everyone in love.” A sad smile lifted my lips.
“You could command me.”
“To lay with me? Wed me? To command you would be to rob those things of their meaning,” I scoffed. “You talk of my marriage as if it is the only thing that bears significance. Well, that’s a lie. Your choices have value, Sainte.” I took two hurried steps to his chest and settled my palm on his cheek before he could pull away. “Choose me.”
His eyes snapped shut, as if in protest of his internal struggle.
“If I survive the rite,” I whispered, “choose me.”