It’s the purest shade of delicate sky-blue, and it’s wonderfully warm.
I’d almost feel comfortable right now, if not for the intimidating figure walking by my side.
My escort, as Gerent promised.
To my disappointment, he isn’t the elusive Archduke Duthriss. But he’s probably the next best thing; a big, hulking weapon of a man who simply calls himself Kaithar.
That was how he introduced himself. There was no mention of rank or station.
There’s just a very obvious sense that this man is a warrior.
With that physique, he can’t be anything but.
He isn’t wearing any sort of armor or official garb—just a simple black shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves, a grey fur vest, and a pair of leather trousers tucked into worn black boots.
His legs are like tree trunks; thighs thick and muscular, his tight-fitting trousers leaving little to the imagination.
Isn’t he cold?
Evidently not.
His hair is black and tightly coiled, shaved on both sides of his head and arranged in long, neat dreadlocks that are loosely braided together and tied back. His distinctive hairstyle and dark complexion clearly mark him as a Vikurian.
“Did you want to see the inner gardens?” Kaithar’s voice is deep and gravelly, like the rumble of thunder. “There’s a pond with a statue. It’s frozen over now, but it’s still pleasant to look at. I like it better in winter, actually.”
I glance over my shoulder.
Kaithar is the kind of man that most Rahavan women would swoon over. The sort that the noble court ladies would dream about while they act content with their arranged marriages.
But when I look at him, I feel nothing but a mild sense of trepidation.
The Vikurian seems affable on the surface, but there’s a watchfulness about him; a thinly veiled hardness that sets me on edge.
And just now, when I look at him, trying to get a sense of him, I don’t feel even an inkling of a swoon coming on, even though I might have lusted after him once upon a time.
That’s because another man has completely invaded my thoughts.
I remember…
The feeling of his warm lips against my neck. They were unexpectedly soft. Tender, almost. Even though he was restraining my wrists with cold, savage force.
The memory is seared into my mind.
It was so wrong.
Yet it felt good.
A shudder courses down my spine. Kaithar’s dark gaze bores into me.
I try to compose myself. “The frozen pond sounds pleasant enough, but I would much prefer to see the stables. Can you show me the horses, Kaithar?”
“You sure, my lady? The stables are hardly the most interesting place in the citadel. Full of bad-tempered war horses, and the smell isn’t exactly—”
“I know what horseshit smells like. I like horses. Especially the ill-tempered ones. Some of them can be absolute sweethearts if you treat them right. So yes, I would very much like to tour the stables.” I shoot Kaithar a pointed look. “It isn’t something the archduke would be particularly opposed to, is it?”
Kaithar chuckles softly. “Nah. It isn’t.” He stops and turns. “As you wish.” He raises his arm in a sweeping gesture, indicating toward a huge stone wall that runs the length of the courtyard. “Follow me, my lady.”
He starts to walk, heading toward a pair of massive wooden doors. Inset with heavy iron fixtures, they’re punched right through the center of the big stone wall.
This place radiates brutal power. It’s more fortress than palace. The walls are bleak and defensive—as if designed solely for the purpose of war.
Kaithar stops and glances to his left. He cocks his head to one side, as if listening for something.
A frisson of tension courses through me. My senses are stretched taut as my body anticipates danger.
But it’s just a man, appearing at the far gates, dressed in a soldier’s garb and the livery of the Archduke of Tyron. He crosses the courtyard with swift, measured steps, his boots ringing loudly on the stone.
“Sir!” He performs a crisp salute.
“Sergeant Luvan.” Kaithar turns to acknowledge him, sounding a little amused. “For you to be interrupting us on our little stroll… something must be urgent, hmm?”
Luvan doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed. “We have visitors at the main gates.”
Kaithar frowns. “In this kind of weather? Is it those fucking traveling merchants again? Send them away. His Highness doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Luvan’s brows draw together in irritation. He gives me a half-curious look. “Not merchants. A petty noble and his traveling party. Apparently, he’s Baron Lucar Eravus Solisar the Third. He reckons he has some sort of divine right to demand an urgent audience with the archduke. Something about taking his sons back and overseeing his daughter’s marriage rites.” He shrugs. “Don’t give me that look, Sir. I’m only the messenger.”
“Solisar, hm?”
My heart sinks.
Father has travelled all the way here?
And to make it worse, he has the gall to retrieve the boys and abandon me to my fate?
Kaithar glances at me and raises a single eyebrow.
I smile through gritted teeth. “It seems father has traveled here out of concern for my poor brother. He’s probably at his wits’ end right now. Perhaps he’ll calm down if I talk to him first.”
I need to take control of this situation. The last thing I need is for father to mess everything up.
Knowing him, he’ll be anxious to bring Aderick back to Ruen Castle as soon as possible. After all, my brother is the heir; the one that ensures the survival of the Solisar line.
But in order for Aderick to make a full recovery, Vinciel warned that he must avoid any strenuous activity for at least one month. That includes traveling.
Would the Archduke of Tyron even care enough to enforce Vinciel’s orders, or would he just release my brother back into the care of my father and wash his hands of it all?
The Vikurian gives me a strange look. “You’re father’s the one that orchestrated your arrival here, isn’t he?”
My smile is fixed in place like a death-grin. “Rahavan tradition dictates that the patriarch of the family is responsible for arranging a suitor for his daughters.” The words come out cold and stiff, as if there’s broken glass in my mouth. “Now, will you please allow me to speak with my father? I might just be able to spare your reclusive master the inconvenience of dealing with an irate and extremely stressed baron who doesn’t understand a single thing about the current situation.”
“Hmm.” Kaithar’s lips curve a fraction. “Family matters can be a pain in the arse. I know that well enough. Very well, my lady. You have my permission to go and deal with your father. For his sake, it would help if you could get him to understand that he isn’t in a position to demand anything. Whatever privilege he thinks he’s entitled to… it doesn’t exist here, and His Highness has little tolerance for belligerent fools.”
A chill runs through me. I have little affection for my father, but I don’t want anything terrible to happen to him. “Surely, the Archduke of Tyron respects the Code of the Noblesse?” In Rahava, the nobility are forbidden from using violence against one another. Fed up with nobles killing each other over minor disputes, Emperor Duthriss enshrined the Code of the Noblesse into Rahavan Imperial Law.