“It’s worth trying, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with casual grace, crossing his arms. There he was again: the Prince of Nevandia. Holfast saw it too, the potential there, the weight of this discussion, because he regarded both Marai and Ruenen with equal intrigue.
“If you can garner the allegiance of the North and the remaining fae, then I believe we can come to an agreement.”
Vorae and Fenir began to protest.
Holfast held up a hand. “I don’t take pleasure in any of this, but I’m willing to do what must be done. Our people deserve better. Bring the fae here, let us meet with them all, hash out our concerns. Set up your meeting with King Maes and Queen Nieve. If they accept, we will consider putting Ruenen on the throne.”
Marai stood, the relief coursing through her. She placed her hands on the table for stability. “Give us three days and we’ll return.”
“We cannot welcome magical folk onto our lands, Holfast,” Vorae said. “Our people barely have confidence in us as it is. If we let fae live among us here in Kellesar, our people will all defect to Tacorn.”
“I’m not comfortable with this either, Vorae, but we’re desperate. I will do whatever it takes to save Nevandia.” Holfast walked to the side of dais and pulled on a long silk tassel.
A musical bell rang somewhere in the hallway. Avilyard and four guards barreled into the room, hands on their swords. Marai wondered if they heard anything at the door; she was certain they’d tried.
“Please escort our guests safely back outside the city gates,” the Steward said.
Avilyard bowed and waited for Ruenen and Marai to join him. For a moment, no one else moved, then Ruenen bowed grandly.
“I look forward to working with you, gentlemen,” he said and flashed them a wolfish, toothy grin.
Marai gave Holfast a final, stoic glance, then followed Avilyard from the chambers.
Ruenen’s body language was different now as they made their second trip through the city. He strolled confidently behind Avilyard, more so than before, putting on a performance again. People lined the streets; they knew he was someone of importance.
A woman whispered to her friend. “Is he our lost prince?”
“Do you really think he exists?”
“You’ve heard the rumors. Rayghast captured him and he escaped. Who else could that young man be?”
Their mouths fell open as Ruenen passed. He beamed and gave the ladies a friendly wave. One of them blushed and giggled. Marai stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She wanted Ruenen to have this moment.
Avilyard dropped them at the gate. Two guards handed them back their weapons, packs, and Ruenen’s lute.
“Thank you for your kindness, Commander Avilyard,” said Ruenen. “We shall see you again in three days.”
The commander nodded and returned to the office. Marai followed Ruenen, who continued over the bridge, down the road towards the glen. He kept up his confident persona all the way across the valley, past cottages, shepherds, sheep and chickens, and travelers, until they reached the glen’s tree line.
Ruenen ducked behind a thick trunk as he disappeared from sight of the city, then took Marai’s hand and pulled her to him in a tight embrace. His entire body shook against her. He placed his cheek on top of her head, taking long, stuttering breaths. Marai stayed rigid in his arms.
“I’m sorry, please . . . just let me hold you for a moment,” he whispered. His heart pounded against her ear. Her pulse raced in time with his. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you said in there.”
“It was nothing,” she said. Before, this kind of physical touch brought up those awful memories of Slate, but now she remembered Thora’s hands spreading salve across Marai’s skin. Keshel’s arms embracing her when Marai was at her weakest. Hands could bring comfort. Ruenen’s embrace . . . there was nothing taking about this moment at all. It was giving. It was grateful. Marai needed to be that steady stone wall for him. A wall that would never crumble, even when he did.
His arms tightened around her. “It meant everything to me.”
Marai shoved aside the thoughts of awkwardness and discomfort, and slid her arms around him, too. She held onto him like he might slip away into that same dark place she knew so well. She wouldn’t let him. She could not let him fall.
“I’m sorry.” She buried her face into his jacket, taking in the scent of him; tavern smoke, ale, leather, and crisp pine. She held him until his shaking subsided. Until his heartbeat settled, and his grip on her loosened.
When they pulled apart, Marai stared up into his face and what she saw in his brown and gold-flecked eyes took her breath away.
It was affection. Pure, honest, open tenderness. Those were not the eyes of a man looking at his friend.
No, this was a man gazing at someone he lov—
“I hope you didn’t do that when you met with the Steward,” said Nosficio from behind them.
Marai and Ruenen broke apart.
Nosficio leaned nonchalantly against a tree, examining his long talon-like nails. The vampire’s mouth tilted into a silky smile. “How did it go? Are you king yet?”
“We have business to attend to first,” Ruenen said.
Nosficio slowly pulled on black gloves, covering his gray skin. “They didn’t believe you?”
“As a matter of fact, they did,” said Ruenen with a rictus grin.
Marai noted Ruenen and Nosficio’s casual stances. She wasn’t fooled. Both were on high alert in each other’s presence. It was noticeable in the way their muscles clenched, their eyes affixed the other in place. After all, Ruenen had stabbed Nosficio with a wooden stake a month ago. Marai doubted the vampire was over that particular wound, despite being fully healed.
Men. She rolled her eyes.
“We need your assistance,” she said, stepping between them.
Nosficio’s expression flashed with curiosity. He cocked his head to the side and waited for Marai to explain.
“How would you feel about making a trip to see your beloved queen?” she asked.
