A tall, trim man made his way through the crowd, and everyone quickly moved aside for him. His stride was deliberate, and his bare scalp gleamed in the sun. One of his shoulders held the distinction of a wide gold braid. He stopped in front of Rafe and shook his head, his chin dimpling like an orange, and then just as the captain had when we were out on the plain, he dropped to one knee and said loudly so everyone would hear, “Your Majesty King Jaxon Tyrus Rafferty of Dalbreck. Greet your sovereign.”
There was a collective hush. A few immediately dropped to their knee as well, more officers echoing King Jaxon, but the majority of soldiers hesitated, shocked by the news. It had been a secret—the old king was dead. Slowly the realization took root, and the crowd rippled to their knees.
Rafe acknowledged them with a simple nod, but it was obvious to me that, beyond anything, he wished he could forgo these formalities. While he honored tradition and protocol more than I did, right now he was only a very tired young man in need of rest, soap, and a decent meal.
The officer stood and studied Rafe for a moment, then reached out and gave him a vigorous embrace, not caring that Rafe’s filthy clothes were soiling his fresh tunic and crisp shirt.
“I’m sorry, boy,” he said softly. “I loved your parents.” He let go and held him at arm’s length. “But blessed devils, soldier, your timing stinks. Where the hell have you been?”
Rafe briefly closed his eyes, his weariness returned. He was king and didn’t have to explain anything, but he was a soldier first, loyal to his fellow soldiers. “The captain can answer some of your questions. First we need—”
“Of course,” the man said, realizing his error, and turned to a soldier at his side. “Our king and his officers need baths and fresh clothes. And quarters prepared! And—” His eyes fell on me, perhaps noting for the first time that I was a female. “And…” He fumbled uncertainly.
“Colonel Bodeen,” Rafe interjected, “this was the cause of my absence.” He looked at the crowd, addressing not just the colonel, but them as well. “A worthy absence,” he added with a hint of sternness. He lifted his hand toward me. “May I present Princess Arabella, the First Daughter of the House of Morrighan.”
Every eye turned to me. I felt as naked as a peeled grape. There was stifled laughter from a few young soldiers, but then they realized Rafe was serious. Their smiles vanished. Captain Azia gawked at me, his face flushing with color, perhaps recalling every vulgar word he’d said about Morrighan.
Colonel Bodeen’s mouth quirked awkwardly to the side. “And she is … your prisoner?”
Considering the circumstances, the current animosity between our kingdoms, and my wretched appearance, it wasn’t an unlikely conclusion.
Orrin snorted.
Sven coughed.
“No, Colonel,” Rafe answered. “Princess Arabella is your future queen.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A low growl rolled from Griz. Rafe had usurped his claim. I knew, as far as Griz was concerned, that once he had raised my hand to the clans at the Sanctum, I was queen of one kingdom and one kingdom only.
I shot him a sharp glance, and he clutched his side, wincing as if that had been the source of his untimely noise. But Griz’s growl was little compared to the pall of silence that followed. The scrutiny was smothering.
Right now it seemed that being Vendan within these outpost walls was preferable to being the impudent royal who had abandoned their precious prince at the altar.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, though it surely only exposed more rings of dirt around my neck. I suddenly ached with the trying, ached for a way of belonging that was always out of my reach, ached for Pauline, and Berdi, and Gwyneth to be by my side, to hold me, a tight circle of arms that were invincible. Ached for a hundred things lost and gone, things I could never get back, including Aster, who had believed in me unconditionally. It was an ache so deep I wanted to bleed into the ground and disappear.
But the trying never ended. I stiffened my spine and set my jaw in good royal form. I wedged my voice into something firm and even, and I heard my mother speaking, though it was my lips that moved. “I’m sure you all have a lot of questions, which I hope we can answer later once we’ve cleaned up a bit.”
A thin, whittled woman with severe cheekbones stepped forward, elbowing the colonel aside. Her raven hair was streaked with silver and pulled back in an unforgiving bun. She addressed Rafe. “Quarters will be prepared for Her Highness as well. In the meantime, she can retire to my chamber, and the other ladies and I will attend her needs.”
She eyed me sideways, her thin lips drawn in a tight, tawny line.
I didn’t want to go. I’d rather have cleaned up at the soldiers’ showers and borrowed another pair of trousers, but Rafe thanked her, and I was escorted away with the wave of a hand.
As I left, I heard Rafe order that the guards posted at the gate be doubled, and rotations at the watchtowers shortened so soldiers were always fresh. He didn’t say why, but I knew it was because he feared more Rahtan could still be out there. After so many weeks of looking over our shoulders, I wondered if we could ever stop watching. Would peace ever be ours again?
Deliberate efforts were made to step back and avoid touching me. Because of my filth or position? I wasn’t sure, but as I followed this thin, angled woman, the crowd parted, leaving me wide berth. The woman identified herself as Madam Rathbone. I looked back over my shoulder, but the crowd had already seamed back together and Rafe was gone from my view.
* * *
I was offered a stool in Madam Rathbone’s sitting room while we waited for a bath to be drawn. Two other ladies who had introduced themselves as Vilah and Adeline had disappeared into their own quarters, and began returning with assorted clothes, trying to find something suitable for me to wear. It was quiet and awkward as they shuffled around me, laying garments over chairs and tables, eyeing them for size rather than holding them up to me. That would require more intimacy, and I was still filthy. Their stares were too cautious, and I was too tired to try to make small talk.
Madam Rathbone sat across from me on a wide tufted settee. She hadn’t taken her eyes off me. “You have blood on you,” she finally said.
“By the gods, she has blood all over her!” Adeline snapped.
Vilah, who was probably only a few years older than me, asked, “What in the heavens did they do to her?”
I stared down at my arms and my blood-soaked chest, then reached up and felt the crackling roughness of dried blood on my face. So much Vendan blood. I closed my eyes. All I could think of was Aster. The blood all seemed to be hers.
“Are you injured, child?”
I looked up at Madam Rathbone. There was a tenderness in her voice that caught me off guard, and a painful lump lodged in my throat.
“Yes, but not recently. This is someone else’s blood.”
The three women exchanged glances, and Madam Rathbone muttered a long string of hot curses. She noted the slight drop of my jaw, and her brows rose. “Certainly traveling with soldiers you’ve heard far worse.”
No. Not really. I hadn’t heard many of those words since my days playing cards in back rooms with my brothers.
She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s get all this off of you,” she said. “The bath should be ready by now.” She led me into a connecting room. This was apparently an officer’s bungalow, small and squarely laid out, a sitting room, sleeping chamber, and a grooming chamber. The walls were smooth white stucco, elegantly adorned with tapestries. A soldier set a last bucket of steaming rinse water next to the copper tub and quickly exited through another door. Madam Rathbone dropped a bar across it.