Chapter Thirty-two

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Cera’s voice raised an octave with each word.

The young maid shrank away from her.

Cera winced. She hadn’t meant to intimidate the girl.

Trikser bristled at her side, growling, so that didn’t help matters, but she wanted to know where Jorrin.

Now.

“I saw Lord Aldern leave.” The maid studied her shoes.

No. I can’t be too late.

She closed her eyes as her heart dropped to her stomach. She hadn’t trusted Jorrin enough to listen to him.

It was all her fault.

Her chest constricted, and she swallowed back a sob.

Cera ignored Trikser as he whimpered and nudged her hand.

No.

He’d left because of how awful she’d been to him.

Cera wouldn’t get a chance to tell him what a fool she was . . . tell him that she loved him and she’d be honored to be his wife . . . his Duchess of Greenwald.

How could Jorrin have left her?

Serves you right.

“When did he leave?” Cera demanded.

She’d been behaving abhorrently to all of King Nathal’s servants.

Wouldn’t be surprised if they all thought she was becoming one of the bossy, shrewish ladies she despised. They were probably all whispering horrible things about her.

She’d never treated any servants this badly in the past.

“Several hours ago, milady.”

Cera had been looking for Jorrin everywhere. When she’d left the king’s ledger room, she’d gone to his room. Jorrin wasn’t there, so she’d sought out anyone and everyone to ask if he’d been seen.

This maid was the first who had seen him.

She growled, and the maid’s eyes widened.

Trikser, still standing behind her, also growled and the maid took an involuntary step back.

“I’m sorry,” Cera said after forcing a deep breath.

Calm down.

She chanted it, as well as thought-sent to her bondmate.

Trik’s hackles were raised down the length of his spine.

Cera needed to control herself, for both their sakes.

The maid nodded, but her eyes didn’t leave Cera’s bondmate.

“Cera?” a female voice distracted her and she whirled away from the young maid.

Tears burned her eyes, threatening to spill over yet again.

Taking the chance to escape, the maid shirked away, but Cera made no to move to stop her.

Aimil strode toward her, dressed in a beautiful dark blue gown, simple yet elegant, the color usually representing South Ascova. She had a friendly smile on her face until she saw Cera’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

Her tears cascaded, and Cera wiped them away.

Trikser whined and bumped her hand with his nose.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, patting the wolf’s head and meeting her friend’s concerned gaze.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll be fine.” Cera’s voice was shaky.

I have to be fine.

She’d have to find some way to get over Jorrin.

Her heart throbbed as more tears welled and spilled.

“It doesn’t seem so,” Aimil whispered, stepping forward to hug her.

Cera wrapped her arms around her friend as a sob she couldn’t swallow escaped.

When she could compose herself, Cera pulled away from the other girl and wiped the tears from her face. Again. “I’ve made a mess of things, and now it’s too late to fix it.”

“Tell me what happened.” Aimil’s tone was a gentle order.

“Not here,” she said. “We’ll go to my room.”

Cera wanted to plop on the large bed and sob until she couldn’t anymore. She sat on the edge instead, Trikser jumping up and lying at its center as if he owned it.

Aimil gave a small laugh and Cera managed a half-smile at her bond.

“Where’s Isair?”

“I left her at the barracks. I only came up to the castle to see Tristan.”

“Tristan Dagget?”

Her friend nodded, a softness in her expression that made things click in Cera’s mind. Her fellow Senior Rider had been betrothed since she was a baby.

The two families had signed an agreement upon Aimil’s birth. Her friend never really talked about the situation, or the man.

She’d accepted her duty as the daughter of a duke, and still had two more turns until they would marry, when Aimil turned twenty.

Why hadn’t Cera realized her friend’s husband-to-be was someone she knew and liked?

She had no idea Aimil had a fondness for him.

Cera liked the healer very much. He’d be good for her friend. They were both gentle souls. Sweet. “Are you happy?”

“Yes, I love him. I have for some time.” Aimil’s face lit up, her dark eyes shining as she talked about her love. “I’m sorry I never told you and Ansley. I wasn’t hiding him or anything. Things moved fast when we started spending time together, and you or Ansley were always gone, or I was. I wanted to tell you together, and then, well . . .” What she left unsaid was that Varthan had happened. Aimil winced.

Cera grabbed her hand and squeezed. “It’s all right.” She smiled, trying to ignore envy and heartache. She didn’t want to think about Varthan or losing her family, but then, she didn’t want to think about Jorrin, either.

“Shouldn’t you be happy, too? Tristan told me I missed quite a bit during the feast the other night. You’re betrothed now, too, right? I was hoping to meet the new Lord Aldern today. I was on a run with some new recruits, or I would’ve been here the other night. I’m sorry I missed it—” Aimil trailed off when Cera bit her bottom lip. “What did I say? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s ruined, and it’s all my fault.” Sniffling, Cera shook her head.

“What are you talking about? Tell me what happened.”

Meeting her friend’s dark eyes, Cera nodded.

The whole story tumbled out, her tears cascading when Aimil cringed at what she’d said to Jorrin.

Aimil hugged her though, and Cera was glad she didn’t offer any criticism or berate her for the awful things.

“I don’t understand why it’s too late to fix it,” Aimil said.

“Because he left. I hurt him, and he left. He was never comfortable here, anyway.” Shoulders slumped, Cera crushed her eyes shut and forced a breath.

“Cera, Lord Aldern didn’t leave, at least not permanently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tristan and Sir Leargan Tegran asked him to accompany them on a ride. If I know my Tristan, he wanted a chance to get to know both your Lord Aldern and Sir Tegran better.”

“What? Are you sure?” Her heart stopped.

“Yes. The stable boy told me when I arrived. I decided to wait up here for Tristan, since I have no message runs today. I was actually on my way to find you . . . then I ran into you in the hallway.” Aimil shrugged, smiling.

“He’s not gone,” Cera whispered. Her heart tripped over itself. “It’s not too late . . .”

“You’d better hope he forgives you.” Her friend’s voice was stern.

Cera blinked.

“I’ll not live with you at Greenwald if you’re unhappy all the time.” Aimil waggled a finger at her.

“What do you mean?”

“No one told you? Tristan will be Lord Aldern’s Second. When we wed, I’ll be coming to Greenwald. I want to see you happy with Lord Aldern, like I’ll be with Tristan.”

Cera smiled genuinely. Leargan had mentioned something about Tristan, but she hadn’t asked him to clarify. “I’ll be happy, Aimil. I love him.”

Her friend grinned.

Cera hugged Aimil. “Thank you.” Hopping up, she surprised both her wolf and her friend.

“Where’re you going?”

“To the stables. I have to talk to him as soon as they return. I’ve a lot of groveling to do.” Cera made a face, but her heart lifted.

Maybe it really isn’t too late . . .

“I’ll go with you. I want to see Tristan first thing.”

They exchanged another smile.