“She was lucky to have you as a daughter,” Arabella chimed in, firm even in her kindness. “Your loyalty to your mother and her care is something to be proud of, Camille, even as you grieve her death.”
Loyalty? Camille considered the word as she swallowed the hard lump in her throat.
Had she always been loyal? No.
No, there was a shining moment where she hadn’t been loyal to her mother at all. She’d been beautifully selfish for once in her life. Camille had been willing to throw her mother’s opinion away, to abandon her twin, for a shot at a future with her coyote.
And that moment taught her the most valuable lesson of her life: the only people she could trust were her kin.
It was her mother who whisked her away from San Francisco as soon as Camille confessed about the pull. It was her mother who held her as she cried, her viciousness subdued in the face of her daughter’s acute agony. It was her mother who helped her find ways to purge herself of him, to free herself of the painful grip on her instincts, to move on when it felt impossible.
Guilt was a sour taste in her mouth as she remembered Viktor’s hands on her skin, his husky words in her ear. She’d promised her mother that she would get away from the Solbournes, not fall prey to the pull the moment it reared its head again.
I am trying my best. It’s not my fault Viktor decided it was his business.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you, Arabella. I appreciate it.” Summoning a smile, she waved a gloved hand in the universal gesture of moving on. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” Arabella laid a hand on her son’s arm. Glancing at him, she said, “We were pleased to receive word that you had begun negotiations again. We were concerned that your cousin's recent marriage would have changed your mind.”
“The sovereign hasn’t banned unions.” Camille watched their faces closely, looking for any signs of true discontent. While she liked the Noors, she was a Solbourne. Her awareness that someone might try to feel her out for information, or even as a potential ally against her family, was always high. “He merely decided it was time we stopped pretending that our strategy is working. That doesn’t mean all of us will be as lucky as he is in love, however.”
Arabella nodded, her expression inscrutable. “True. There were unions before the moratorium.”
“They have a valuable place.”
“Certainly.”
Cyrus’s voice, soft and smooth, drifted from the speakers. “I know that if we joined our families there would be great financial and social benefits, but… I hope that our union would not be only about that.” He swallowed. “I enjoy your company, Camille. It would be an honor to be your spouse.”
Camille’s heart ached as she watched Cyrus' blue skin flush a darker navy. His expression was wary but hopeful, making the ache in her chest worse.
Gods, Cyrus was a good man. Thoughtful, kind, decisive when he needed to be. He wanted to love someone as much as she wanted to be loved.
So how come, when she looked at his dear, handsome face, she only felt a twisting sense of unease in her gut?
There were no butterflies. There was only the steady feeling of friendly warmth and guilt.
“Thank you, Cyrus. I want that as well,” she managed to reply, though the words tasted like ash in her mouth.
She did want that. Just… not with him.
Cyrus’s smile was wide and shyly pleased. He shared a look with his mother, who simply nodded and gave his bulging bicep a small, affectionate pat.
“If there cannot be fate, then there must be affection,” Arabella proclaimed. “Otherwise I would not have agreed to negotiating a union at all. We have not had much need of them in the past.”
“Yes, I know that your family has been very lucky.” Almost absurdly lucky, in fact. Of the last four generations, only a handful of the Noors had produced offspring through a union. Glory had blessed them again and again with elvish consorts, making the necessity of a loveless agreement moot.
Arabella nodded. “We have, and I was prepared to let my son find his way naturally, but…”
“I insisted.” Cyrus reached up to touch his ear — a nervous habit she noticed all the way back when they first met in the vineyard years ago. He looked at the camera through his long, curly lashes, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “I know we’re not consorts, but I like spending time with you.”
“I enjoy spending time with you, too, Cyrus. You and your family.” She forced a smile and, out of sight of the camera, fisted her hands so tightly the seams of her gloves creaked. “Now, let’s talk about what you might want out of a union. I want to be sure our needs are compatible as well as our personalities.”
Cyrus rubbed his ear again. “Well, I’d like for us to live together, if it wouldn’t bother you too much. I’m not a city person, though, and I worry that will upset you.”
Gods, he’s such a sweet, honest soul.
“It wouldn’t upset me,” she firmly replied. “I don’t particularly like the city. I prefer to live in the countryside if I can.”
“Would you keep the vineyard?” Arabella asked.
“Only if I were contracted with someone who didn’t wish to live together.” Someone like Epifanio, though she wouldn’t know that for certain until they met. “Otherwise, I would most likely leave it to my brother and his consort to run. It wouldn’t do well without someone consistently on site.”
“You would give up the vineyard to live with me?” Cyrus peered at her, his eyes wide.
“I would, yes. It’s better for children to live in one place consistently, anyway.” Besides, she wasn’t as attached to the wine making business as she seemed. Camille enjoyed it, certainly, but it had also been her mother’s choice of pastime — one that she’d forced on her daughter. It wouldn’t be too great a hardship to leave it behind.
Cyrus and his mother shared a look. Turning back to the camera, Arabella said, “Well, perhaps you would be interested in taking over some of our wine operations. We would not want to uproot you from everything and give nothing in return.”
Camille was touched by the gesture. Her voice was husky when she said, “That is… very kind of you. Thank you.”
“Of course,” Cyrus insisted in his soft, serious way. “I only want to make you happy.”
Again, guilt twisted her up. Guilt over her slip-up with Viktor. Guilt over her potentially dangerous choice to pursue a union at the cost of her offspring. Guilt that she could not think of a future with Cyrus without imagining Viktor in his place.
The guilt hadn’t been so bad when she spoke to Elio, but that was a purely business arrangement. Speaking to Cyrus, Camille was aware that it was personal. He liked her. He might even have feelings for her.
It should have made things easier, perhaps bring her a measure of relief, but it didn’t. Instead, it just felt much, much worse.
Chapter Fifteen
“I knew you were seeing someone!”
Viktor stabbed his fingers through his hair, pushing the wet, freshly washed strands back from his forehead like it might give him some illusion of style. “Benny, I swear to every god listening, I will throw you out of this den if you say one more word.”