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Gilbert was such a liar.
As much as he hated lying—and I had only to recall the first night I met him to remind myself of that—he was also a master of manipulation, and misleading others was part of that. He could speak only the truth but twist his words in just the right way so the hearer reached the wrong conclusions. Add to that his mastery of knowing his target and considering all external variables, and he was essentially an evil version of Chevalier.
Which was one of those false conclusions he wanted me to believe, along with the idea that Chevalier was handing expatriated Obsidianites in Rhodolite over to him for punishment.
He’d only mentioned the woman who tried to poison me, but it had been easy to assume she wasn’t the only person, because I already knew there were others. And, to be fair, he probably believed what he implied about Chevalier being too soft to dole out appropriate punishment to a woman.
Of course, I’d learned by now not to take Gilbert at face value, and while Chevalier wouldn’t tell me all the details of his daily political wheelings and dealings, he would answer my questions and correct any misperceptions. And he’d decided it was safe to tell me more about the threat I’d faced just a few short days ago.
A lot more.
Yes, he handed that noblewoman over to Gilbert for punishment, along with the handful of others he, his brothers, and Sariel discovered harboring similar intentions toward me. There were, in total, five active plots to kill me, all instigated by expatriated Obsidianites who all received instructions via crates of what was supposed to be fine Obsidianite wine imported for sale in Rhodolite. Actually, every expatriated Obsidianite family in Rhodolite received those messages. Most discarded them without a thought, having no desire to curry the favor of a government that stripped them of their privileges as nobility and evicted them from their home nation. One, a businessman with whom Nokto already had a solid working relationship, brought the plot to Nokto’s attention. He couldn’t produce any evidence, however, since his wife burned the message as soon as they read it, and he had only a hunch that the one he received wasn’t the only one in circulation. None of his contacts would admit to receiving the same. But he knew the only vineyard in Obsidian was too small to manufacture the amount of wine crossing the border regularly, a detail that had already aroused Nokto’s suspicions, and it was enough to dig deeper.
I was glad I hadn’t known all that before this tranquil evening carriage ride.
Chevalier didn’t say who ordered my assassination, and I didn’t ask. I had a good idea. There was no reason for anybody in Obsidian to want me dead unless this was about the former marriage agreement between Gilbert and me, which would account for timing this right before the engagement ceremony. As far as I knew, only two Obsidianites knew about that marriage agreement. Those two were also the only people with enough power and authority in Obsidian to offer pardons of past crimes and full restoration of land, title, and property to whoever succeeded in killing me. And Gilbert didn't want me dead.
Which left his father. The Emperor of Obsidian.
I didn’t want to know what Gilbert had done in Obsidian to resolve the situation, especially if his father was involved, but I found it interesting that Chevalier’s explanation regarding the punishment of my would-be assassins did not involve Gilbert’s father. He said collaborating with Gilbert delivered a statement and a warning with a broader scope than just my safety. Rhodolite and Obsidian were new allies, but they stood together. A threat to one was a threat to the other.
As stated by the King of Rhodolite and the Crown Prince of Obsidian. The Emperor of Obsidian was strangely silent.
And my impression that Gilbert now wanted me to dislike him made sense. He wanted me to avoid Obsidian.
He didn’t have to go to any extra lengths for that.
But I didn’t want to know, I reminded myself, snuggling into Chevalier’s side as I watched a field of ripening corn pass us by. The green stalks were probably taller than me already. Not that surpassing my height was a monumental achievement.
“So, can I expect a tour of all your brothers’ estates now?” I asked, more than ready to change the subject. “I’ve already seen Yves’ estate, but Clavis has been talking about taking me to see his estate since I was your maid.”
“His will be the last you visit,” Chevalier replied, settling his arm comfortably around my waist. “It’s too close to the border, and he’s too eager.”
I turned away from the window to smile at Chevalier’s sparkling blue eyes. “You’re not jealous, are you?” I teased.
The late summer sun lit our journey as the evening hours passed, bathing the countryside in a golden glow and casting long shadows when we drove through quaint little towns. There was another difficult topic we needed to discuss, that of Nokto’s feverish revelation about his abusive mother, but I put that off until the sunset faded away and left an inky sky dotted with stars. We’d have to cross the bridge again soon. I’d rather fill my thoughts with the twins’ miserable childhood than think about that bridge.
“Chevalier?” I asked after a prolonged silence.
“Sariel would be a better resource for this subject.”
His mind-reading didn’t surprise me anymore, but his statement did. “What?”
“Sariel was our tutor, and since the twins were the youngest, he spent the most time with them. They were very close.”
I blinked in surprise. Sariel had been Belle’s tutor, and now he was mine, but I hadn’t realized he was the princes’ tutor, too. He was only two years older than Jin. “Sariel was your tutor?”
“Not mine.” Chevalier brushed his fingers along my hairline and behind my ear, tucking a few wayward strands into place. “I didn’t need a tutor by the time the king brought him here. And yes, he was quite young. Your age, actually. Prior to his arrival, the king had shown no interest in us, leaving our care and education to our mothers, which was why the twins’ mother had free rein over them.”
That explained a lot.
“What about Jin?” I asked.
“Self-taught. He had no need of Sariel’s tutelage, either, but he provided Sariel with information about our younger brothers so he could forge a connection with them early on. An advantage of Jin’s unsupervised existence was his ability to interact with all of us unrestricted.”
I frowned. “You talk as though you didn’t know your younger brothers.”
“I didn’t. Not well. Leon was a sickly child who spent most of his time in his room; Yves lived in a separate building to keep him from tainting us with his half-Obsidianite blood; and fear of misfortune from the twins and their commoner mother meant I saw little of them, too.”
Yves lived in a separate building? I hadn’t realized the prejudice against him was that strong. And the twins…it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume if Jin had to manage on his own, so did the twins' mother. She’d had to teach herself how to act and speak as royalty, raise twin boys to be princes, and face heavy criticism from superstitious, judgmental people who didn’t want her or her children around. Which didn't excuse her actions, but it did make them more understandable.
Chevalier’s chuckle couldn’t have been more inappropriate.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, unamused.
He shook his head. “Yves, Licht, and Nokto had a tendency to burst into tears when they saw me. I believe Yves did that with Sariel as well until Sariel bribed him with cookies.”
I pursed my lips, reluctant to admit that was humorous. I could picture a young Chevalier with the same piercing glare that intimidated most people, reducing his youngest brothers to tears with a single look, and I could picture a little Yves crying at the sight of Sariel's thin smile. What I couldn't picture was Sariel offering that little blonde boy cookies.
“Cookies?”
Chevalier nodded. “On Jin’s advice. My advice was for Sariel to focus his attention on Clavis instead of attempting to teach me, and the result was Clavis following him around like a duckling, calling himself Sariel’s apprentice.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at that image. “Well, that was nice of you, but I’ll bet Clavis got on Sariel’s nerves.”
“Sariel was more concerned with correcting the deficits in our upbringing than allowing any of us to get on his nerves,” Chevalier replied. “The camaraderie you see among us now is all because of Sariel and Jin’s efforts. It was Sariel who convinced the king to move Yves into the palace, and he was working to wrest control of the twins from their mother as well. Had he arrived a year earlier, that unfortunate incident may have been avoided.”
‘Unfortunate incident.’ A nine-year-old Licht murdering his mother the night before his birthday to save Nokto from her. 'Unfortunate incident' was putting it mildly.
“Nokto said Licht used to laugh and smile all the time,” I said quietly.
“He did. I had little to do with them, but they were both loud, energetic children, much like your neighbors’ boys, and it was difficult to avoid them completely. I’ve yet to meet anyone with emotions as vibrant as Licht’s. After their mother died, Clavis used to say it was as though Licht left his emotions somewhere and forgot where they were, but he’s simply directing them inwards instead of outwards.”
Hooves struck wood, and I stiffened immediately, all thoughts of the twins vanishing from my mind. The bridge. We were going back to the palace, I reminded myself, feeling Chevalier’s arm tighten around me and resisting the urge to bury my face in his chest. This was the second time I’d crossed this bridge on the way back to the palace since that horrible night, and the second time I’d crossed it with Chevalier. I didn’t have to hide, and I didn't have to be afraid. There were no shadows of strange men lurking on the hillside, no puddles of blood shining in the starlight, no slashed throats and sightless eyes—
Chevalier leaned forward and opened the window to the coach box. “Stop here.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed, my heart pounding out of my chest. The carriage jolted to a nauseating halt.
“Chevalier…” I said weakly.
He leaned away to open the carriage door and leaned back to kiss me on the cheek. “Please.”
Why did he have to use that word? Chevalier never said ‘please.’ I was the one who said ‘please,’ and he always respected my request when I did. I couldn’t say no. Especially since he was waiting for my reply, and I knew if I did say no, he’d close the carriage door and we’d be on our way back to the palace.
Would that be so bad?
Couldn’t I just avoid this bridge for the rest of my life? Take a detour whenever I wanted to go west? Pretend this bridge and that miserable night never existed?
Run away from the fear forever?
No. I didn’t want that. I’d always hated being afraid, and Chevalier didn’t want me to be afraid, either. If I had to face this bridge, there was no better time than now. With Chevalier.
I swallowed bile and nodded reluctantly.
His arm left me, and he stepped out of the carriage, turning back to offer me his hand. Mine was trembling as I placed it in his. I thought my knees would go out from under me when my feet touched the ground, and he must have had the same thought, because his arm was back around my waist to support me before that could happen.
It was quiet. Outside of the frantic beating of my heart against my ribcage, the soft huff of a horse, the slightest jingle of metal in its traces as it lifted its head, it was quiet.
I used to love the quiet. I used to love the quiet here. But it was quiet that night, too.
The grass had drunk in the recent rain and replenished its youth, each blade soft and springy under my heels, heels that weren’t conducive to walking on an uneven surface. But it was almost flat here, making the journey physically easier for me, anyway. The river whispered its babbling song, filling the stillness left by the vacant evening breeze as we traced the base of the hill and wandered along the riverbank, avoiding the incline leading to the dark little houses just visible over the crest. My old home was there, if I cared to look, which I didn’t. I hadn’t been back there since that night. I’d thought about coming to visit the Stotts during the daytime, thought maybe I could handle that now. My racing pulse said otherwise.
Something rustled the grass nearby. I sucked in a quick breath, and then there was a gentle plop in the water, and then silence.
A toad. A simple toad.
“Ivetta,” Chevalier said.
“Let’s—just sit here.”
Every breath was excruciatingly difficult, drowning out the river’s song in the over-loud whoosh of air in my ears, in and out, in and out, rushing with the blood to my head. Chevalier kept his arm tight around me as we sank down to the grass. I squeezed my eyes shut and huddled into his side, inhaling his scent of roses and telling myself I was fine, I was safe, and I had no reason to be afraid.
“This was a mistake,” he muttered, wrapping both arms tightly around me. “I’ll take you back.”
“No! I—” I took a deep breath and shook my head, eyes still closed, face still buried in his chest. “Just—just a minute.”
He didn’t reply, and he didn’t move. I took a slow, deep breath, and then another, focusing on his heartbeat, on the warmth of his embrace, on his fingers threading rhythmically through my hair, and gradually, slowly, I noticed the cool blades of grass against my ankles, and the hushed burbling of water, and the panic began to fade.
How many times had I sat out here at night, wishing he were here, holding me like this?
I sighed and loosened my fingers from his jacket, dropping them to brush across the grass at my side. Another breath, and I turned my face, resting my cheek on his chest. If I opened my eyes, I could see the river. Did I want to open my eyes?
The river’s song was the same. The same flow, the same murmur, the same relentless journey, following the path it had to follow with no complaint.
I took another deep breath and opened my eyes. The dark water shimmered in the starlight, a reflection of the moon broken and scattered across the surface. As beautiful as it always was. As it always would be.
This was why I came out here at night.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
There was the breeze. Not even a whisper tonight, just the slightest movement of air across my cheek, ghosting over my skin like Chevalier’s breath, too weak to ruffle my hair or the grass. I inhaled it with a shuddering breath. I used to do this when I had nightmares, when the only way to calm the panic was to curl up in a ball here in the grass and let the river soothe me the way Mother used to do. Her song changed. The river’s didn’t. One tune, one steady strain of music, subtle but strong.
“This is a nice spot,” Chevalier commented, his low murmur blending with the flow of water.
I nodded. “Licht said the same thing. The night he found me out here while he was on patrol.”
Silence fell again, broken only by the burbling water, the occasional rustle of grass, a plop triggering tiny ripples across the surface here or there. That night faded away. The pain and the terror were memories losing their grasp on my reality. I slipped out of their fingers and relaxed into Chevalier’s side. The bridge downstream from us was just a bridge. There were horses there, waiting for me, but they were hooked to a royal carriage, driven by the coachman Chevalier assigned to me months ago, pointed east, to the palace. No blood. No bodies. No gag over my mouth, no ropes cutting into my wrists. Not even the taste of bile in the back of my throat.
There wasn’t a moon that night. There was one tonight. Full and bright, casting a silvery glow that edged every blade of grass and glinted from the gold metalwork on Chevalier’s clothing.
“We should go back,” I whispered.
Chevalier’s arm remained around my waist as we walked back to the carriage, and I snuggled into his embrace when we were sitting in the carriage again as it jolted into motion. He kissed the top of my head and held me close. I closed my eyes and listened to the dull clip-clop of hooves on packed dirt, felt the carriage rocking gently side-to-side, and whispered, “Thank you."25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5pwRGJMKHN
