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The next day, Asher did not take soldiers from the Royal Guard or from the Seer’s Guard. His official title was First General of the King’s Armies. When he pulled together a squad of men, they were foot soldiers in the green and brown livery of the King’s army.
He left Bran to the care of one of his captains, who promised to teach the boy the proper care of horses. Bran looked better that morning and was excited about learning how to brush a horse. However, the bruises on his face made Asher’s jaw tighten with anger.
Asher rode his black destrier to his home in the High Circle. Behind him, in neat lines four wide, sixteen pikemen marched. The early morning light caught on their kettle helms and the edges of their long-staffed weapons. He chose them because he wanted people to know that merely being noble would not allow anyone to hide from their crimes. Few things made a statement quite like marching pikemen being led by their general.
For his part, Asher wore simple chain mail and a surcoat of green and brown embroidered with a golden double-headed eagle. He’d been tempted to wear full plate but decided that would be overdoing it.
At his home, one of the soldiers held his horse’s reins while he took four pikemen inside. Giselle and Greenwood sat at the dining room table, eating breakfast.
“Asher!” Giselle got to her feet. “I received your message that Bran was found. Where is he?”
“At the Palace,” Asher said. He grasped the hilt of his sword. “Sister, perhaps you should wait in the parlor while I speak with your husband.” He didn’t want to upset her more than necessary.
“Just tell me that Bran is fine.”
“He’s as well as can be expected.”
“And what does that mean?”
Greenwood, looking pale, got to his feet. “Asher, you’re scaring Giselle. That isn’t good for the baby.”
Asher laid his hand on Giselle’s shoulder. “Bran was injured but he’s fine. I’ll tell you more in a moment. But I need to speak to Greenwood first.”
“What does he have to do with it?” she asked.
“Because he’s the one who hurt Bran. And he’s been hurting him for some time.”
Giselle gasped, turning wide eyes on her husband. “Maurice?”
Greenwood scowled. “The boy has no discipline. I was only doing my duty.”
“By abusing him?” Asher asked. “In my own home?” His voice rose to a shout. He clenched his jaw, fighting to control his temper. “Giselle, please go into the sitting room. You don’t want to see this.”
She fled the room, the four soldiers stepping to the side to let her pass.
“Maurice Greenwood,” Asher said, “by order of King Emmerich, I arrest you for attempted murder and damaging Royal Property.”
“See here now!” spluttered Greenwood. “I did not try to kill the boy. And I will not even acknowledge that last charge.”
Asher strode over, crowding the lord against the wall. “If you had continued beating Bran, you would have killed him. And regarding that second charge: Bran is an apprentice of the Lady Seer. Under Lorstian law, apprentices are the property of their masters. Her ladyship is a member of the Royal Household, making Bran the property of the Royal Household.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Asher balled his hands into fists. He liked to think of himself as an even-tempered man, not prone to displays of rage, but at that moment, he wanted to put Greenwood’s face through the wall.
That must have showed in his expression because Greenwood suddenly dropped his gaze, bowing his head slightly. Asher stepped back.
“Take him,” Asher ordered.
The four men came forward. One of them pulled Greenwood’s arms behind his back and clasped manacles around his wrist. They half-dragged, half-pulled him out of the dining room and out of the house.
Asher crossed the hall into the sitting room. Giselle sat on the couch, her head in her hands. The sound of soft crying leaked out from between her fingers.
His chain mail clinked as he sat beside her. He knew he was more like a father figure than a brother to Giselle. It had to do with the age difference: he was eleven years older than her. Giselle had always trusted him and he always tried to be deserving of that trust. At that moment, Asher felt like the least deserving person in the kingdom. He’d let his sister marry a monster. A boy he had sworn to protect had been harmed right in his home and he hadn’t known.
Asher laid a hand on her back. “I am so sorry. I should have noticed something. And I didn’t. I failed him. I failed you.”
She dropped her hands and sat up. “We failed him. I was home more than you but I didn’t see it, either. Is he really all right?”
He hesitated, weighing protecting his sister and being honest. “He had a nightmare last night. When I asked, he admitted that he has several nightmares about Greenwood, his mother, and other things. He let me comfort him, though, so that’s promising, I think.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Giselle. I hope so. He will be, physically. He only has some bruises.” Asher elected to leave out the possibly broken rib.
“What’s going to happen now?”
“Greenwood faces the King’s justice. I know that the King will support us after that. As will Lady Clara.”
She took his hand. “We’ll face it together.”
“And we will do better.”
A tremulous smile crossed her face. Asher kissed her on the cheek.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll bring Bran home after I see to Greenwood. We’ll spend the day together.”
“I would like that very much.”
Asher left Giselle in the parlor. Greenwood was standing in the center of a circle of guards. Blood dripped from his nose, which was also crooked.
“What happened?” Asher demanded.
The sergeant said, “He tripped, General.”
A few soldiers coughed, rubbing at their faces to hide their expressions.
“I did not!” shouted Greenwood. “I demand—”
“Gag him,” Asher ordered. He mounted his destrier. “Make sure he doesn’t trip again, sergeant.”
“Yes, General!” The soldier saluted.
Asher led the way back to the Palace.
***
Mother had gone to bed but Jarrett lingered in the parlor with Father. Autumn was beginning to deepen to the first traces of bitter winter. The fire cast aside the chill. After a week of being careful, he no longer needed to bite his lip when he moved his arm. It was now only another set of scars to add to his growing collection. And now that he knew it wouldn’t hinder him, there was business that required his attention. However, that could wait a little bit yet.
Kendrick took a deep sip from his cup of wine. “Your mother wants to go to the coast for the winter. Or maybe the Sunstruck Islands. For my health, she says.”
“It may do you good.”
“I’ve traveled all I want to.”
Jarrett stuck his feet out toward the fire. “I’m off to Tier.”
“Why Tier?”
“Her ladyship may need to go there. I can’t say more.” Jarrett studied the contents of his cup. “Father, have you ever wanted to be anything other than a soldier?”
Kendrick lowered his cup and turned toward his son. “What’s prompted that question?”
“I’ve only been thinking about it, lately. Is there anything else you’d rather have done?”
“The soldier’s life is one of honor. I couldn’t have asked for better.”
“But why did you become one?”
“My father was one. He expected it of me, as I expected it of you and your brothers. See the four of you now. You’re all serving your country in honorable positions. All good lives. Prosperous and secure. What more could you ask for?”
Jarrett thought about Bruin and his ill-fated romance with Amara. A hollow sensation ached in his gut. Jarrett set his cup down and stood. “I need to meet with—with a friend before I can return to the Palace. I should be off.”
“Before you go, I’ve been meaning to say—” Kendrick’s mouth worked for a moment. “I’m proud of you, Jarrett.”
There was nothing else his father could have said that would have surprised Jarrett more. “Thank you, Father.”
He grunted.
Jarrett left the house, taking long strides to his horse. He wanted to linger a while longer with his father. Hearing Kendrick express pride made Jarrett want to open up about the rest of his life, about the memories that haunted him on occasion. However, he had a promise to keep.
***
Jarrett stepped into The Red Hare in time to see two jesters in green and gold prance around the stage. The audience laughed at their antics. Turning away, he went to the counter, where a barkeep filled a tankard of ale from a tapped keg.
“I need to speak to Mistress Ursula,” he said.
“She’s upstairs,” the man replied without stopping his task.
Jarrett threaded through the crowd. Before coming, he set aside his livery and chose duller clothes. As if thinking about it was enough, the silver-bladed dagger in his boot grew heavier.
Mistress Ursula stood outside of a door on the second floor, one finger to her lips and head cocked as she listened.
“Hear anything interesting?” he asked.
Ursula smiled. “New girl. I want to make sure she knows what she’s doing.”
“How’s it sound?”
“Like a profitable evening. Can I help you, Captain?”
“You can call me Jarrett.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Mistress, I thought I would taste your wares.”
“I have a fine selection. Tell me what you enjoy and I’ll find the girl for you.”
He drew the woman to his side and tucked her arm through his. “I’m an admirer of Amara.” Jarrett guided her down the hall.
“Impressed, were you? When will Lord Bruin be returning?”
“Not for a long time.”
“What happened? He’s not injured?”
Apparently, news of Bruin’s exile and the scandal surrounding it hadn’t reached outside the Palace walls yet. “Nothing you need to worry about. Court politics.”
“Oh.”
Jarrett came to a stop in a corner of the hallway. There were no doors nearby and the floor was deserted. “Ursula, I know what Amara is.”
“I’m afraid I don’t—”
“Bruin told me. There’s no point in denying it.”
Ursula flushed and pulled her arm from him. She planted her hands on her hips. “She hasn’t harmed anyone.”
“But she could.”
“She’s my best girl. If I lose her, I will lose most of my business.”
“I’m sure you’ll make do. Now, you’re going to let me see her and I won’t alert the City Guard that you’ve been giving shelter to a succubus.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Open a slot for a new hire.”
Ursula scowled but she forced her face to smooth out into a wanton mask. She pressed herself against Jarrett. “Surely I can change your mind.”
He smiled and tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. “You can’t. It’s your choice, Ursula. I can have this place crawling with City Guard in less than a candlemark.”
“I can have my men throw you out.”
“I’m Captain of the Seer’s Guard. Trust me when I say you don’t want to do that.”
She scoffed. “Fine. But you’re going to pay for the privilege.”
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t going to have her before you finish her? Or after, if that’s your pleasure.”
Disgust churned Jarrett’s stomach. He shoved the woman aside and strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time.
As he reached the top floor, he met a shaky, pale man stumbling his way across the hall. Jarrett grabbed him and guided him into a chair on the landing. The man, with a placid, euphoric expression, stared off into nothing. Amara’s latest victim.
“Stay here,” Jarrett instructed. The man gave no indication of hearing.
Jarrett left the man, feeling a sick fear crawl up his throat. He hadn’t intended to face a well-fed succubus.
He opened the door into her rooms. A few lamps burned on the table. More light spilled from the open door of the bedchamber. He heard water splashing. Jarrett closed the door and bent, drawing his dagger. He slid it up his sleeve to hide it until the last moment.
“Ursula?” called Amara from the bedchamber. “Don’t fret over Liam. He’ll be right as can be come morning.”
With slow steps, he crept forward.
“Ursula?”
Amara stepped in front of the doorway and the light illumined her nude form. She was beautifully proportioned, with large, pert breasts and gently sloping hips. Her dark hair spilled along her back to her waist. Jarrett’s mouth went dry as desire turned his knees weak and sent blood southward.
“Oh, hello.” Amara smiled as her eyes gazed into his. “You couldn’t stay away, could you? No matter what Bruin said. Well, come along. We have all night; we shouldn’t be wasteful with our time together.”
Even through a part of him screamed, he walked to her with slow deliberation. Amara ran her hands up his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed against him with a sigh.
“Oh, you’re of a nice size, aren’t you,” she breathed, moving her hips in a way that sent a shock of pleasure through him. “I can already tell this will be fun.”
She drew him down for a kiss. His free hand slid over her bottom to press against the small of her back. She tasted sweet and dark, like honey and blackberries. She began undoing his belt. Breaking the kiss, she nipped along his throat. He groaned.
“You’re a succubus,” he said. “I can’t.” But he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t, how her being a succubus had anything to do with, well, anything. His hand moved from her back to tangle in the wealth of her hair.
“Being one comes with perks, darling.” Amara bit his earlobe, followed by a flick of her tongue. His belt dropped to the floor. “It will feel like nothing you’ve experienced before. Think of another woman, if it helps.”
An image of Clara blossomed in his mind, her pale face scowling at him. The image sent a shock through him, pulling him out of Amara’s magic. Jarrett slipped the dagger into his hand and shoved it through her ribs, into her heart.
Amara screamed. Smoke rippled off her paling flesh. The stench of rot rolled off her. Jarrett gagged as he backed away. Amara’s hair fell out in clumps. For a brief moment, confusion filled her features.
“What happened?” she asked. Her voice sounded breathy, different. “Where’s Mervin?”
The light faded from her eyes and the skin of her face dried, pulling her lips back into a rictus of death. She fell to the ground and her body broke apart into dry bones.
Jarrett trembled. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he sucked in air. He throbbed with the need to expend his desire. He didn’t move for a long few moments as he took deep breaths and regained control of himself. When he did, he buckled his belt and fetched the dagger from what had once been a young woman.
Liam still sat in his chair on the landing.
“All right, you,” Jarrett said, helping the man to his feet. “Let’s get you home.”
“I heard a scream,” Liam said in a foggy, faraway voice.
“We’re in a brothel, man. You’ll hear all sorts of noises here.”
Liam laughed and, in it, he heard an echo of Amara. Jarrett descended the stairs one heavy step at a time.
***
The summons came in the middle of the night, two days after Jarrett’s visit to Amara. Jarrett stumbled from his bed, still half in a dream of seeing Bruin and Paula off at the edge of Bertrand. They were being escorted, together, to Arvent in the back of a wagon. In reality, he didn’t say anything to Bruin, other than give a nod. But in the dream, Bruin kept asking what happened to Amara, and Jarrett was too ashamed to reply.
The shame baffled him.
Jarrett squinted at the page in his bedchamber, whose lantern nearly blinded him. “Lady Clara needs me?”
“Yes, sir. And in your best uniform. Right away.”
“Is she hurt?”
“No, sir.”
He stared at the boy while his mind tried to work out the message. “And she wants me in my best uniform?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, sir. Do you need help?”
“What? No, I’m fine. Go tell her I’m on the way.”
After the boy left, Jarrett fumbled for flint and tinder to light the candles in the room. When he had enough light, he washed his face and gulped back a left over half-cup of cold, bitter tea. Emmerich had suggested the stuff to him. It tasted too acrid for Jarrett but it cleared away the last dregs of sleep.
Why does she want me in a dress uniform?
Digging through his wardrobe, he found it, the one meant for state occasions and ceremonies, with silver epaulets and extra silver embroidery along the cuffs and hemlines. The tunic felt itchy and stiff against his skin. Pulling it on made his arm ache. The stitches had recently been removed but the pain remained. The healers said it would pass with time and use.
He exchanged his usual scabbard for a more ceremonial one, covered in complicated designs of silver filigree. Thank the Mother he’d thought to polish his boots earlier. Or would it be yesterday now? He dragged a damp comb through his hair and fingered the stubble on his chin. He rather doubted Clara would want to wait for him to shave.
Outside Clara’s door, he frowned at his men. “Do you know what’s going on?”
The two guards shrugged. Sighing, Jarrett pushed through the door and halted in wonder.
Clara glowed. At least, that’s what his sleep-addled brain first reported to him. She wore a brocade and cloth of gold gown in the old style. The skirt flared from her hips, splitting down the middle to reveal the white and gold silk undergown. Two cords, one gold and the other white, wrapped loosely around her hips and tied into a love knot. The long ends dangled to the hem of her dress. Her hair was brushed out in mahogany waves.
Melody held a jewel-encrusted coronet. Stars stood along the coronet’s band and the diamonds in them caught the light. Along the band, roses wrought from carnelians and yellow topazes glittered.
“Close your mouth, Jarrett,” Clara said.
Blinking, he closed the door. “What’s going on?”
“What do you think?”
“Either you’re getting married or I’m having a strange dream.”
She rolled her eyes. “The first one.”
“To Emmerich?”
“Who else? You’re not about to pledge undying love, are you?”
“But the marriage hasn’t been approved by the Council.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
Jarrett’s mind raced, trying to catch up with the moment. “And, in your vision, there will be war if you marry Emmerich.”
“Aye.”
“And your son—”
“I remember the vision, Jarrett.” She smoothed her hands over her bodice. Each finger twinkled with a jeweled ring.
He ran a hand through his hair. “If you were to fall into a pond, you’d drown.”
She laughed. “Imagine wearing it.”
“Where did you get those clothes on such short notice?”
Clara glanced down at herself. “Emmerich already had them made.”
Emmerich’s confidence truly knows no bounds, Jarrett thought. He took both of her hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Clara nodded. “I love him. And he and I are going to face the consequences together.”
“You couldn’t take a better man into battle.”
Her hands tightened on his. “And you’ll be there, too? In the battles ahead?”
“Are you expecting me to go somewhere?”
“There’s nothing holding you to me.”
“I’m the captain of your guard.”
“Captains come and go.” Her gaze dropped. “You left once.”
Jarrett sunk to his knees. He drew his sword from his scabbard with a ringing sound. With the flat of the blade on one palm and the hilt against the other, he offered it. “My lady, my sword and my life are yours until the stars fall and the Child reshapes the world.”
Slowly, Clara took the sword. “The last man to make this oath said it a little differently.”
“Everyone says it a little differently.”
“I don’t remember what to do next.”
“You can say, ‘Arise and receive your sword but your life I shall keep’.”
“Arise and receive your sword but your life I shall keep.”
Jarrett stood. When Clara handed back this blade, he bowed, took her hand, and kissed it. She smelled like lilac and sandalwood. “Who last made this oath to you?”
“A former slaver named Haggard. He betrayed both me and Emmerich. He was killed.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sure it’ll end better for you.”
He sheathed his sword. “I hope so. How are we going to get you anywhere in the Palace? You shine like the sun.”
“We’re going to use a cloak and the passageways Emmerich told me about. He drew a map.” Clara bit her bottom lip. “Emmerich waits for us in his private chapel.”
“He has a private chapel? The man doesn’t attend services. Does he even know how to pray?”
She shrugged. Or made a vague motion with hands and shoulders. Her clothes appeared too heavy for such a movement.
“Well, we should go before you get second thoughts. If you run away, the King will have my head. And my entrails.”
Harmony, who, with her sister, wore pale yellow, draped a golden veil over Clara’s head. Both maids grinned, excitement tinging their cheeks with pink. The veil fell over Clara’s face and along her back. Small silver threads had been worked into the gossamer muslin, giving it a shimmering appearance. Melody placed the crown onto Clara, holding the veil in place. Once it was secure, the ladies-in-waiting dropped a large grey cloak over her and pulled down the hood.
“I can’t see anything,” Clara said from the depths.
“Don’t worry.” Jarrett put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll guide you. Melody, if you could get the door. Harmony, you have that map? Good. According to this, there’s a secret door in your workroom, Clara. Let’s go before anyone points out how terrible of an idea this is.”
From the cloak, Clara made a sound like a cross between a sigh and a giggle.
***
Fear and excitement sizzled through Clara. Her heart thrummed as fast as the wings of a trapped bird against her breastbone.
Jarrett’s arm around her shoulder kept her steady, grounded her into the moment. She couldn’t see any further than the ends of the deep hood. Combined with the veil covering her face, Clara felt her face warm and sweat prickle her brow.
They navigated a rabbit’s warren of corridors and echoing staircases to Emmerich’s private chapel, at times using hidden passages Clara hadn’t known even existed.
Chapels peppered the Palace, established by the whims of courtiers, monarchs, and, on occasion, the devout. The Royal Wing, apparently, contained its own chapel, tucked away on a far side. Clara hadn’t even known of its existence until Emmerich sent a chest and a sealed message through a page, instructing her to make herself ready. Within the chest were her wedding clothes, made to the approximation of her size. Melody and Harmony barely had to do anything to make them fit well.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Could the future be changed? Of course it could. Clara remembered the barrage of visions she used to see when Emmerich went into battle, how the ending varied with each choice of the combatants. Mother had given her a book written by a Seer and it stated that there were events that act as fixed points in time, like stones anchored into a river bed. Those events couldn’t be changed. Other events were like loose stones, pushed about by the whims of the water. One only needed to know how to direct the flow.
An image of the baby with black hair, bloody and screaming, flashed through her mind. Was that a fixed point?
Jarrett stopped and removed his arm. “We’re here.”
Harmony and Melody lifted the cloak away and Clara drew in the cool air. She fanned the veil against her face. Two lamps burned on either side of the closed chapel door.
“It seems I’m the bridal escort.” Jarrett adjusted his collar. “Shall I knock or do you want me to rush you to the stables? Heartsblood won’t forgive me for interrupting his sleep but he’ll get over it.”
Clara tried to smile. “Knock before I lose my nerve.”
“As my lady wishes.” He banged his fist against the door.
Harmony smiled. “Don’t lock your knees, my lady.”
“Why not?”
The doors swung open and Clara froze.
Even through the gauze of the veil, she saw a hundred flickering candles set into sconces and stands, filling the chapel with a soft glow and warmth. Emmerich and a presbyter faced the doors, their backs to a statue of the Mother and Child dressed and crowned as royalty. Emmerich eschewed the cloth of gold tunic and trousers she saw in her vision. Instead, he wore a suite of plate armor embossed in gold. He did not wear a helm. A blood red cape flowed from his shoulders, brushing the floor. Asher, also in ceremonial armor but embossed in silver, stood to the side as Emmerich’s escort. His curly blond hair flowed freely to his shoulders. Niall sat at Emmerich’s feet and she wore a braided gold chain.
Jarrett tugged on her arm. Clara fell into slow step beside him. With the first shock passed, she saw Bran and Lady Giselle, as well as Master Frederick and Mistress Jocelyn, members of the Council, standing in the pews. They bowed to her as she passed them.
They came to a stop and Jarrett released her arm. Clara felt weightless and ready to fall without the support. Her ladies drew her veil back, pulling it over the coronet. Emmerich held out his hand.
She thought about running away. Jarrett might have joked earlier but he would follow her. Because of his oath, he would go with her. She could go to Tier, find her brother, and live her life there. Clara could start over.
She took Emmerich’s hand.
What came next—the chants of praise to Mother and Child, the declarations of intent, and an admonition from the presbyter about the seriousness of the marriage covenant—these slid past her in a fog. When the time of the vows came, however, the situation came into sharp focus.
The presbyter held out a short silver cord. Clara took one end. Emmerich took the other.
“I, Emmerich, son of Roland, King of Lorst, take you, Clara, daughter of Egbert, Lady Seer, as my wife. I swear upon my life and honor to protect you, to honor you, and to love you all my days.” His jaw flexed. “And I also swear to protect our children from all threats even if it should cost me my heart’s blood. Let this be heard and witnessed.”
The small gathering, presbyter included, replied, “Heard and witnessed.”
Clara cleared her throat. “I, Clara, daughter of Egbert, Lady Seer, take you, Emmerich, son of Roland, King of Lorst, as my husband. I swear upon my life and honor to—” She glanced at the presbyter. Women, traditionally, swore an oath of obedience. “I swear upon my life and honor to protect you, to honor you, to love you all my days, and to obey you as I see fit. I also swear to stand by you against all threats even if should cost me my heart’s blood. Let this be heard and witnessed.”
There followed a pause.
“Heard and witnessed.” Jarrett’s voice boomed through the room, followed by a less enthused repeat from the audience.
The prayers and blessings came but Clara paid them no mind. Any moment, she was going to awake and chide herself for an insane dream. And what came next—what if she became pregnant? She couldn’t go to Tier while carrying a child. And how could she explain a baby while their wedding remained a secret? What if members of the Council rebelled against the marriage once it became known? How would it be made known?
Emmerich kissed Clara, knocking her back into the moment. His armor felt warm against her chest. Everyone applauded.
The presbyter took his leave first. Clara expected him to admonish her for the change in words of the traditional vow but he only wished her many years of joy.
Master Frederick bowed. “When this comes forward for vote, I’ll throw my whole weight behind it. I still don’t know why this couldn’t wait, however.”
“Certain events are about to happen quickly,” Emmerich replied. “I thought we’d do the most important task first.”
“I understand, sire.” From the crinkle in his brow, that appeared to be a lie. “I apologize I didn’t have time to find a suitable gift.”
“Gift giving can wait until later. Your support is more appreciated.”
He bowed again and left, Mistress Jocelyn going with him. Bran threw his arms around Clara and held on tight for a long moment. She dropped a kiss on his head.
“How are you?” Clara asked Giselle, her face drawn in quiet and solemn lines.
“I’m as well as can be expected, my lady,” she replied. Taking Bran’s hand and looping her other arm around Asher, Giselle left in quiet dignity. From what Clara had heard, Asher forced Greenwood to sign a document that stated he would pay back Giselle’s dowry. Asher planned on accepting Giselle’s child into the family, giving it his name so that it wouldn’t be a bastard. It was a strange situation but the best for the circumstances, Clara thought.
Clara looked around for Jarrett but he was already gone, probably back to his warm bed. Disappointment rippled through her. He was her dearest friend; she would have liked—well. She wasn’t sure what she would like, other than to have him remain behind, if only for a few moments. Harmony and Melody paid their respects and hurried out.
Movement from the farthest corner of the chapel drew her attention. A man and woman stood from their seats and came over. One was a woman in dark grey tunic and trousers who regarded the world with a distant gaze. The man, about Emmerich’s height, was brilliantly garbed in white, gold, and deep red. His red hair was braided and draped over his shoulder. Around his neck, he wore a gorget depicting vines and a spreading tree. He also looked familiar but Clara couldn’t place him.
The woman bowed low, while the peacock gave a more shallow obeisance.
“Clara,” Emmerich said, “allow me to present Prince Gentius of Galeen and his sword-arm, Zenobia.”
“My lady,” Gentius said, “I offer to you congratulations and my most heartfelt wishes for happiness. May you have a dozen children and live to see your great-grandchildren.”
Clara laughed. “I don’t know if I want that many.”
“I don’t know of a single woman who would, either, but it is the traditional wish.”
“Thank you, then. I’ve never met a female bodyguard before.”
“It is not so uncommon in Galeen. I am told women here do not learn the sword.”
“Not all women,” Emmerich said, smiling fondly at Clara. “There are exceptions.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Gentius said. “I have a wedding gift.” He turned to Zenobia, who, from the depths of her cloak, drew out a small box. Gentius took it and held it out to Clara.
She accepted the box. Tree branches full of nesting birds were carved into the pale wood. She opened it to reveal a brilliant star sapphire, as big as her palm.
“Mother Above,” whispered Emmerich. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Gentius smiled. “We call it Persephone’s Heart. The Tierans thought it lost but, in reality, one of my ancestors stole it from their treasury. We’ve kept it locked away. I brought it, intending on giving it as a token of appreciation if we signed a treaty. But I think this is more appropriate.”
Clara closed the box. “Thank you.”
The pair bowed again and left. Only Clara and Emmerich, with Niall, remained. Niall pushed her head against Clara’s hand.
Pretty, shining lady. Niall’s voice came through Clara’s mind on a breeze.
Her brows rose. “She can talk?”
“Aye.” Emmerich grinned. “Until now, she only spoke to me.” Emmerich took her arm and led her toward the door. “And you are a beautiful, shining lady.” He held out an arm. “Shall we?”
***
As they drew closer to Emmerich’s private rooms—and his bedchamber—Clara’s stomach tightened. At this rate, it was going to come free and fly out of her throat. A thousand worries about the future rolled through her mind like storm clouds boiling through a dark, autumn night sky.
Emmerich held open the parlor door for her. Heat flushed her face as she walked past him. Niall trotted off to her raised bed, sliding in between the covers and turning around so that only the tip of her nose was visible.
“Do you mind helping me?” Emmerich gestured at his armor. “I could get this off on my own but it would be quicker with your assistance.”
As Clara raised her hands to undo the straps, she noticed slight tremors going through her fingers. She licked her lips and focused on the buckles and ties. The expensive, intricately embossed armor came off as easily as any other set of plate she’d seen before. Not that she was an expert by any means.
It didn’t take long before he stood in his black trousers and arming doublet. He took the coronet from her head, followed by the veil. He carefully set those items on a nearby table.
“Should we do this?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t know what we’re going to face, exactly, or when. I know what I saw but the timing of it, I couldn’t grasp. Maybe we should wait until after I’ve gone to Tier.” She felt the heat intensify on her face. “What if I become pregnant tonight? Mother said women can become with child after their first time.”
He took her hands between his. Desire tightened the skin around his cheekbones and his skin felt hot against hers. “I will not make you do anything you don’t want to do. However, there will always be a threat of one kind or another. If not now, Clara, when?”
“I want our son to be safe.”
“And I swore tonight I would do everything in my power to ensure that. Now, do you believe the future can be changed?”
She took as deep a breath as her corset allowed. “Aye.”
Emmerich bent his head and kissed her with the delicate pressure of a butterfly’s wing. “I love you with all my heart and I would die for you.”
“I would rather you lived for me.”
He chuckled and kissed her again. Clara noticed a warmth curling in the space between her legs.
“Will it hurt?” she whispered against his lips.
“It can.” A third kiss, this one firmer. “But I will be gentle. I fully intend to take my time and make sure you are comfortable and ready.” A tremor went through him. He traced the pulse of her throat with the tips of his fingers. “Mother Above, Clara, I’ve wanted you for so long. Please. May I?” He slid his hands onto her hips. It was a pressure she was familiar with but it felt heavier this time. Full of meaning, promise, and no turning back. Even through the layers of cloth, she could feel his heat. His fingers flexed.
“Aye.” Her voice, barely above a whisper, caught on the end, as if stopped short by the mix of fear and desire roiling through her. With trembling hands, she undid the lover’s knot belt and cast it over the chair with his armor.
Emmerich moved behind her. In slow motions, he began unlacing the back. After the last ribbon was untied, the outer gown dropped away from her in a shell. Clara felt so light, she nearly fell over. He tossed it to the side and began working on the first of three undergowns.
“Damn, woman,” he growled as he worked on the last one.
“You ordered it made for me,” she shot back. Bickering helped to ease the tension in her shoulders.
“If I had thought ahead, I would have had you wear your chemise and nothing else.”
Clara laughed but the noise stopped in her throat as he began pulling on the laces of her corset. She hadn’t worn the corset for months, choosing instead to have her gowns cut and sewn in such a way that they lent support to her bust. However, because of the nature of her wedding clothes, she had to wear it. As the pressure against her ribs lessened, her heart beat quickened.
He put it aside and Clara shivered in her lacy chemise. She wrapped her arms over her chest.
“I’m not lovely under this,” she said. “I’ve tried creams and they’ve helped but—”
“I know you have scars.” He turned her. “They don’t matter to me.” With quick movements, he shed the arming doublet.
Clara swallowed. His chest and shoulders were broad with a small collection of hairs over his breastbone. A thicker line of hair ran from his navel, disappearing into his trousers. Along his ribs ran a jagged scar. She touched it with hesitant fingers.
“That happened while taking Candor,” Emmerich explained. “I’m really proud of that one, more than the others.”
“You’re proud of your scars?”
“Aye. They mean I survived.” He cupped her chin with one hand and leaned down for another kiss.
Slowly, she swept her hands around his waist and pressed them against his back. She felt his muscles move beneath his hot skin as he gathered her against him. Desire swept from her shaking knees up through her body in a blaze. Clara tightened her hold on him. The kiss deepened. The world narrowed. It became only them, embracing, in the center of their love.
***
Jarrett left the chapel while Master Frederick offered his congratulations. Clara appeared dazed but when her eyes went to Emmerich, joy alighted on her face like the first traces of dawn. Jarrett didn’t want to meet eyes with her. He was fairly certain the expression on his face would ruin her moment.
As for Emmerich—he stood like a man who just conquered the world and his eyes kept returning to Clara. Jarrett rather doubted he noticed the Captain of the Seer’s Guard left without wishing the new couple good fortune.
It started on the walk to the chapel. A sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t understand what it meant until he offered to spirit Clara away. When the words spilled from his mouth, he was horrified to find earnest hope behind them.
As he watched the ceremony unfold, witnessed the real love, the emotion engulfed his gut. It demanded to be named and Jarrett could only give it one name.
Jealousy.
He closed his chamber door behind him.
During the exchange of vows, when Clara altered hers, he almost let the silence remain. But a perverse desire to be her support even as he bled on the inside prompted him to speak up. He wished he hadn’t.
Jarrett paused just inside his small room.
Two armchairs sat catty-corner to each other, a table between them and a small fireplace before them. A wardrobe stood against the wall and beside it, the stand holding his armor. At the foot of a bed barely big enough for two people was the chest that had contained his personal belongings since he first joined the army.
A soldier’s room. Tidy and ready for inspection. The room of a man who could quit it at a moment’s notice. A room for a man who didn’t share it with anyone and never would. Serilda’s voice in his ear: Damn, Jarrett, you’re better at cleaning than a housewife.
He remembered taking his wild southern woman into his arms. She was almost taller than him.
Caught up in the memory, he whispered his reply to her: “Then I’ll stay at home and you go earn our living.”
Jarrett focused on the trunk. It reminded him of that spring day when his mother made him promise to never break a vow to a woman.
My lady, my sword and my life are yours until the stars fall and the Child reshapes the world.
Anger and despair cut through him in a burning line from heart to soul. Crying out, he kicked the table. With a crack, it flipped and sent a flagon of wine crashing to the floor. Jarrett strode to the armor stand and threw it to the ground. Tears blurred his vision.
“Captain?” came a muffled voice, followed by a knock on the door. “Are you all right?”
“Go away,” Jarrett shouted, spit flecking from his lips.
No reply. He shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes and breathed.
When did he fall in love with her?
Was it when he first saw her in a Palace hall? She was accompanied by one of Marduk’s cronies. Shoulders slumped, she stood near a wall as if she wanted to vanish into it. But her eyes hinted at a quiet strength.
Was it when she announced her plan to go into the mountains alone and send Jarrett back? He had been infuriated and frustrated but it was hard not to admire her courage. She knew the risks of going on alone but did it anyway, so Emmerich could have more resources to fight Remus.
Or was it during a thousand little moments when the stubbornness fell away and Jarrett saw the real Clara?
He dropped his hands. It didn’t matter. It was too late. She never saw Jarrett as anything other than a friend, and never would. No doubt, Emmerich was sealing the marriage at that moment and Jarrett hated him with his full will.
Where did this leave Jarrett? As just a soldier, bound by an oath to protect her. An oath that would make him stand and watch another man love her.
A pain he thought he would never know again lodged in his heart. It was the same pain he felt while watching the life fade from Serilda’s eyes. He’d thought his heart had died that day. Oh, if it only had.
He kicked the trunk. Wood splintered as it fell onto its side, the lid popping open. Various sundry items—cloaks, books, clothes—fell out. Five neatly folded letters caught his eye. Jarrett slowly picked them up. Clara’s letters. Letter writing, even between friends, could be intimate and perhaps the only intimacy to ever exist between him and Clara.
With careful hands, he repacked the trunk, fingers tracing the broken wood, and tucked the letters down in the bottom. One day, he would have the courage to read them.
Jarrett turned his armor over in his hands. If he had stood up to his father and chosen a different path, he would have never met Clara. And how much “less” his life would be for it. And if he had never made the oath, he knew in his deepest self that he would still remain by her side. An unspoken oath of the heart was just as binding as an oath proclaimed.
He lifted the stand and set the armor to rights.
He loved Clara. There was nothing he could do about it. He would watch her be happy with another man and bear his children. Jarrett would die protecting her. However, he would probably have to stand and watch her be happy with another man for the rest of his days. It sounded like a minor level of Hell. Yet, it was the only way he could show his love, by being her soldier.
That was tomorrow, though. Tonight, he would get blind drunk and curse his heart and the secret it now bore.
