I had gotten some of her history as we talked to other people. She was from what was now Cameroon, and she came from a family of scholars. She had met Cassius when she came to the palace with her family. He had walked by, she said, some of the most beautiful women in the world to reach her.
She had been bowing, and when she straightened, he was there, staring down at her with heat in his eyes.
“He took my very breath,” she confessed with a deep sigh.
Five years later, Carice, a courtier brought from what was now Wales, had arrived at the palace and mesmerized everyone who laid eyes on her.
“She’s very pretty,” I said to Nerilla from where we stood beside a wide column, looking at Varic and his father as they welcomed Cassius’ former courtesan and his son, Chryos.
Carice’s eyes were the color of the ocean, deep blue-green, and her bright, fiery red hair fell thick and wavy to the middle of her back. Her peaches-and-cream complexion was flawless; her lips were full. She had an hourglass shape, with lush curves, and her smile was as lovely as her lilting laugh. I got it. I could see what had so enthralled Cassius. She was a captivating woman. But the thing was, Nerilla, with her high cheekbones, her expressive eyebrows, glowing sepia skin and infectious laugh, was far more beautiful and alluring.
“He was enthralled with her,” she told me from her side of the pillar, both of us watching Carice laugh and take the king’s hand as Varic hugged her son.
Chryos looked like a teenager to me, though he had to be at least two-hundred years old. He more closely resembled the king than he did Varic, similar build, and his eyes were pale blue, a shade lighter than his mother’s, and whereas Varic had finely cut, sculpted features, Chryos would never be as beautiful. And worse, Nerilla said, he’d never be a prince.
“Can I ask something awful?” I turned to look at her, my hands on the smooth marble of the column.
“Of course,” she answered, facing me, her hands splayed on the column as well.
“Did Cassius want to replace you as the next in line, and crown her instead?”
“I asked him that once,” she said, sliding closer, her head tipped as she regarded me. “When we were certain I was barren, I told him he could. I gave him permission, because Chryos would be in line for the throne were he not an illegitimate son.”
“And?”
She turned and leaned back against the column, and I moved around in front of her. “I told Cassius that even though Carice came from nothing and I was nobility, still, he was the crown prince; he could do as he pleased.”
I waited.
“First he yelled,” she said, her eyes lifting to me, smirking, “because how dare I give him permission for something he could do without asking me.”
“Sure.”
“But then, after a bit, he confessed that he had concerns.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he died, and then if something were to happen to his father, then Chryos, as heir to the throne, would become king, and his mother would be his regent.”
“And he didn’t like the thought of that.”
“He didn’t,” she said thoughtfully. “And I’ve come back to that conversation many times over the long years. At first I believed that he was trying not to compound the insult after he left my bed and my arms, but I realize now that, though his passion for her was endless and consuming… he didn’t trust her.”
I crossed my arms, staring down at her. “How do you not trust somebody you sleep with?”
“I certainly have no idea.”
“Do you think Varic will name Chryos as his heir?”
She scoffed.
“What?”
“Oh heavens no,” she said, squinting up at me. “He’ll find a surrogate to carry his child, and that child will be his heir.”
“Why not name Chryos?”
“Chryos is his brother’s child, not his,” she explained. “He has not been raised by you, and that, I suspect, is what Varic will want.”
“Well, at least we have more time now,” I said, not sure how much I should tell her or that she could simply sense.
“Agreed,” she said kindly. “You smell like a royal. Like Varic. So I suspect that he’s done something, hasn’t he?”
“Did Cassius change your blood?”
She nodded.
“Did he change Carice’s?”
She shook her head even as tears welled up in her eyes.
I took her face in my hands, and she slid hers around my wrists, not looking at me as tears slipped from under her thick lashes.
“Look at me,” I demanded, my voice low and gruff.
She lifted her head, and her gaze rose to meet mine.
“He fucked her, but he loved you,” I said, being intentionally harsh, wanting her to hear me, because I suspected that she had known the truth for a long time but not accepted it.
Her face crumpled. “His love didn’t keep me company in the night; his love didn’t clutch me to his heart.”
“Varic told me he was with Cassius when he died.”
“Yes,” she barely managed to get out.
“What did Varic say when he came back?”
She shook her head.
But I knew. I just did. Because it made sense. “He told Varic he planned to change things.” It wasn’t necessary for her to validate my words, because I could tell from the tears rolling down her cheeks how broken she was, how gutted, how bereft, that I was right. “He wanted his mate back.”
She was shaking so hard.
“He wanted you.”
Her breath was choppy as she struggled for control.
“You’ve been strong for so long.”
“He just wanted to come home,” she cried, dissolving in front of me. “Varic said Cassius wanted to come home to me.”
But it was too late as he lay dying.
“I wear Varic’s seal around my neck,” I husked, needing to give her whatever comfort there was. “Do you wear the one your prince gave you?”
In answer, she reached inside the scoop-neck collar of her dress, and on the same kind of hammered gold chain I wore around my neck, at the end of hers was a similar etched stone. Mine was carnelian, hers was amethyst. They were close, not exact because they were made by hand, not machine, but the intent was the same, the wolf of Maedoc gracing both.
“It’s okay,” I rasped, choking on the words, the emotion surging through me, the tears unexcepted as I leaned forward and grabbed her.
Her sobs were muffled by her face pressed tight into my shoulder as she broke down. Centuries of pain held inside, longing, yearning, the promise of what could have been.
I couldn’t imagine. More to the point, I didn’t want to.
Holding her tight, trembling as I tried to give her every drop of strength I possessed, I was so thankful when we were both enfolded in strong arms.
Varic was there, solid, powerful, leaning the two of us into his chest, holding tight, breathing slowly, in and out.
I finally lifted my head and turned to look at him.
Instantly, his hand was on my cheek, smoothing tears from under my eyes. “As I’ve said before,” he rumbled, “you’re far too softhearted to be the consort of a prince.”
The words were there, on the tip of my tongue, because the fear was pounding inside of me, suddenly there when it had never entered my mind before.