Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ROSAMUND
I stop at the summit of the gentle hill, Valen halting beside me. His indrawn breath sounds way too loud, while I can’t make any sound. I’m… elated, of course. Finally, we’ve reached the end of this perilous journey through the woods and meadows. My future lies within sight.
But I’m nervous. All this time, all these years, I’ve been telling myself stories about this moment, like a mother telling her child soothing tales before they go to sleep. Brave knights. Kind men. Happy endings.
This wasn’t how I was supposed to arrive. The plan was to arrive in a carriage, dressed in my finery, with my trunks filled with my favorite things, and my trusted servants and friends. Kier. Bert. Perhaps Della.
Not disheveled and filthy, arriving on foot from the woods and led by a werewolf, with nothing in my name. No trunks. No gold. No books and knick-knacks to make me feel at home in this new place.
If he takes me in. If he still wants to marry me.
Of course he does, I chide myself. You can’t lose your faith in people because of what your family did. Give him a chance.
If he gives you one first. That would be a good sign, right?
Gritting my teeth, I make myself move. “Shall we, then?”
“As you wish,” Valen says, sounding as somber as if he’s heading to a funeral. He’s obviously unhappy with me marrying Lord Eorl. He’s suspicious of him.
It’s not helping my uncertainty. But moving forward is the only way.
We climb down the hill and cross a grove of ash trees. My feet ache, and the cold wind keeps blowing my long hair into my eyes and making me shiver. Valen has released my hand and is walking just a few feet ahead, clearing the path for me.
He’s such a gentleman for a werewolf.
He’s such a perfect man. Such a catch.
Stop thinking like that. He isn’t meant for you.
It hurts.
Stomping against the hard ground sends shocks of pain up my legs, and it helps clear my head.
I will do what I came here to do. It will be great.
This will be my happy ending. Deviating from my path would never be a good idea.
This is my story. I outlined it in my head so many times, pictured scenes and heartwarming moments.
I pictured my wedding. My future children. Cozy days and warm nights. I can’t let this… childish infatuation with a fae take it away from me.
Feeling more level-headed, I follow Valen out of the grove and across more meadows where deer dart through the wreaths of mist. We finally see signs of civilization again—distant farms, enclosures with cattle and horses, the remains of a small cart, cultivated fields, and black apple tree groves.
Some trees are familiar from back home, some I’ve never seen before.
Another clue to my cluelessness about the wider world.
By now, Valen seems to have regained his stride, the strange, slow pace he’s kept all day giving way to speed and purpose.
Soon enough, the manor rises in the distance, over the low, rolling hills and fields.
It’s a huge structure, at least three stories high, with a steep roof and towers at each of its four corners.
It’s built of red stone, a splash of crimson and black set against the muted brown and green landscape.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the manor.
Valen grunts something unintelligible in reply. He’s reverting to his barbarian werewolf ways, I think, and I almost laugh out loud. It’s not funny, though. I don’t want the return of a stressed-out Valen, a Valen in pain, lashing out with teeth and claws, making sarcastic comments full of rage.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. I focus on my feet, my scuffed shoes covered in mud, the hem of my dress painted in it, until a sound has my head coming up sharply.
“Wait. Do you hear that?” I lift a finger. “Goats bleating. There’s a herd nearby.”
He turns and gives me a flat look. I mean, right. With his enhanced hearing, he probably heard them from miles away.
“It means people are nearby,” I continue lamely.
Feeling ill at ease around Valen is a horrible feeling.
He’s made me feel so comfortable these past few days.
I’ve never felt as good in my skin as I have with him.
Easy in my bones and flesh. Confident in the words I speak and my reactions.
I hadn’t realized how restricted I’d always felt before.
How ill-fitting. Walking on eggshells, both for myself and for the sake of others, overcautious and knowing I’m always in the wrong, no matter what.
He makes me feel accepted and valued. Makes me feel perfect.
A shade of sorrow passes over me at that realization. The sorrow of a future loss, even if it hasn’t yet come to pass. An anticipated homesickness for a home you have only glimpsed.
Valen feels like home.
It’s a hell of a realization, and I work hard to bury it back where it came from as we make our way in the direction of the noisy goats. I’ve fought so hard not to feel anything for Valen. Now the floodgates are open, and how does one close them again?
A dog is barking, and it suddenly appears, leaping out of the grass and snarling at us. I jerk back with a gasp, and Valen goes very still.
“Whoa, my friend,” he says softly. “Don’t bite, okay? We’re friends.”
The dog keeps barking up a storm, though, snapping at Valen, until the goatherd joins us. It’s a wizened, old man dressed in shaggy clothes and a cloak, a leather bag slung across his chest.
He blinks at us, his mouth agape. “Who in the hells are you? You’re trespassing on Lord Eorl’s lands, this is a crime punishable by—”
“I’m his betrothed,” I interrupt and watch his mouth flap some more without a sound.
“And I’m her bodyguard,” Valen says, not missing a beat. “We are guests of honor. So will you rein in this hellhound of yours and lead us to the manor?”
To his credit, the old goatherd doesn’t question Valen’s definition of us as “guests of honor” and my claim of being Lord Eorl’s betrothed.
In the state we are both in, bedraggled and filthy, Valen bare-chested, and barefoot, me with my hair down and tangled and dirt smudged all over me, well… You get the picture.
My guess is that he’s half-blind. It’s the only explanation.
He turns around and goes, calling his dog to his side, and we follow him down trails through the fields, finally reaching a road with wheel ruts that seems to lead straight to the manor.
It’s still some distance off, and after a while, the goatherd takes his leave of us to take his goats to their pen.
He’s probably also shedding all responsibility in one stroke, in case we turn out to be villains looking to harm the owner of the manor.
We keep walking down the dirt road in silence, avoiding patches of mud and pools of water. The manor looms ever larger, and I fight the nerves rising to choke me.
This is it. We’ve made it. We’re here.
When we round a bend and see it just a stone’s throw away, I feel giddy. Dizzy. I slow to a stop, and Valen turns to face me.
“All right, Princess?”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” I whisper without much thinking. But it’s true. He can’t call me that in front of other people. It’s too affectionate. Too intimate.
His expression closes down. “Of course.”
“I remember what you said about assumptions. We shouldn’t stand close together. Or hold hands.” I press said hands against my dress, the sadness swamping me. “We should keep our distance.”
“You’re right. That’s what we’ll do.” He’s still gazing at me, expectantly. I don’t know what else he thinks I’m about to say.
“Let’s go, then,” I finally mutter.
“Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I mean it, Rosie. They may question you about your time with me in the woods, about your honesty, about your family. Do you have your story straight?”
“I don’t have to worry about that. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He nods, his jaw clenching. “I know, but people are strange creatures and are eager to find fault with everyone. Remember that.”
Pressing my lips together, I start walking, moving past him and toward the manor. “That’s the way of the world. But thank you for the reminder.”