“Lord Zarsha of Nandel is here to see you, Your Highness,” Ellin’s steward announced just as she had finally given up pushing food around her dinner plate. She had had all her meals served to her in her rooms today, unable to face more people than absolutely necessary. She’d eaten a few bites for breakfast, and maybe a third of her lunch, but after her meeting with Semsulin, eating more than a mouthful of dinner was beyond her. And a visit from Zarsha would not improve her appetite.
“Shall I send him away?”
Ellin sighed and pushed her plate away. Whatever her feelings about him, Zarsha had likely saved her life last night, and he’d been hurt in the process. She would have expected such danger to strip away his masks and reveal the ugliness she was convinced lay beneath, and yet he had acted selflessly and without thought for his own safety. Sending him away seemed…churlish. Or maybe just childish.
“I’ll meet him in my sitting room,” she said. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
“Very well, Your Highness,” her steward said, bowing.
Ellin pushed back her chair and took a moment to examine herself in the mirror. Though she’d barely eaten, she checked to make sure there was no food stuck between her teeth and adjusted the brooch that held a soft black brocade shawl around her shoulders. Her ladies were hard at work putting together a mourning wardrobe for her, but so far the shawl was the only piece of black she owned. She used it to cover the dark purple bodice with silver embroidery that was far too festive for the occasion, and instead of wearing an evening gown, she wore a utilitarian gray wool traveling skirt that was too warm for the temperate autumn weather. She dabbed away a sheen of perspiration on her forehead and considered removing the shawl altogether. She doubted Zarsha would be offended.
But in the end, she opted to keep the shawl despite the heat. Zarsha might not be offended by her lack of mourning attire, but she was unwilling to disrespect the dead.
Zarsha had his back turned, examining the titles on a shelf of books, when Ellin entered the sitting room. He wore what for a man of Nandel equated to evening attire: a granite-gray doublet over black breeches. A belt of earthy green brocade was the only nod to color, and a large gold signet ring was his only adornment.
He turned to face her when he heard her footsteps. A barber had shorn away most of his blond hair—no doubt so that a healer could have better access to the gash on his head—and his face looked even more severe and angular without the softening of his habitually untidy locks. She had always found the blue of his eyes cold, but the sympathy in them this evening made him look much more approachable.
He bowed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss, Your Highness,” he said as he rose.
A lump instantly formed in Ellin’s throat, as it did every time someone expressed condolences. She wasn’t sure she’d fully absorbed the loss yet, because every time someone mentioned it, it was like being slapped in the face with reality. She swallowed hard.
“Thank you, my lord,” she forced out past the lump. “And thank you for what you did last night. You might very well have saved my life.”
She expected the arrogant ass to preen at this mention of his heroics, but he surprised her by waving off her thanks.
“I did nothing special. And if I’d acted sooner, or more wisely…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head, his eyes downcast.
Ellin remembered the king bellowing for everyone to remain in their seats while Zarsha tried to urge them to flee into the building. “There was nothing you could have done.”
“I should have tried harder.”
Ellin was surprised to find herself sympathizing with Zarsha, which was an entirely new sensation. It was possible he was continuing his long tradition of putting on a performance to suit his audience, but rarely had those performances included any hint of vulnerability. It struck her that while she had always thought that, like her loathsome cousin Tamzin, Zarsha’s charming demeanor and handsome face hid a rotten heart, she had never actually seen any evidence to support the idea. Tamzin let slip the occasional glimpse behind the veneer—Ellin couldn’t understand how no one else seemed to notice—but with Zarsha, she had merely assumed the ugliness was there.
“You saved me,” she reminded him. And she was going to reward him by going back on the marriage agreement he had reached with her father. She’d led Semsulin to believe she was still mulling over the question of whether to take the throne, but in truth she knew it was the only reasonable decision she could make. She could never live with herself if she refused the crown and thereby gave Kailindar and Tamzin an excuse to start a war. She was ill-prepared to lead a kingdom, and she harbored no illusion that hers would be an easy rule. Her uncle and cousin might not immediately march on the capital to wrest the crown from her head, but she imagined they might both be on the lookout for an opportunity. Especially Tamzin. Every step she took, every word she uttered would be under the utmost scrutiny, and a single mistake could lead to disaster.
Zarsha acknowledged her words with a dip of his chin. “More than nothing, I’ll grant you, but less than I should have.” He moved a little closer and looked her up and down. “You are unhurt?”
“I’m fine. And you?” She peered at the place on his head that had been bleeding so copiously the night before. There was an angry red line visible beneath the thin fuzz of blond hair, but the healer had obviously done a fine job closing the wound.
Zarsha reached up and touched his head, fingering what would be a long scar when it had finished healing. “I owe my life to your healers,” he said. “I’m told my skull was cracked and there was bleeding in my brain.”
Ellin gasped. She had blithely assumed that because he had regained consciousness by the time they were pulled from the rubble, he hadn’t been that badly hurt. She’d practically dismissed him from her thoughts and hadn’t even had the decency to ask after his health this whole day. Her callousness shamed her.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I had no idea.”
He shrugged as if it hardly mattered. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Your healers took good care of me, and I’m told a man looks better with a few battle scars.” He gave her a crooked smile and stroked the line on his skull.
This was just the tone of flippant amusement that had never failed to rub her nerves the wrong way over the last few weeks of his visit here in Rhozinolm, but for some reason she found herself returning his smile—and not having to force it. The smile quickly faded as she imagined telling him she would not abide by the marriage agreement. She could leave it to Semsulin, but after all the effort Zarsha had put into courting her, the least she could do was deliver the bad news personally.
Zarsha sobered just as quickly, the smile fading from his lips as some grim emotion clouded his eyes. “Coming so close to death…” He shook his head. “It changes you. Changes how you look at the world.”
Ellin knew she had come close to death last night as well, though not as close as Zarsha. She had no sense that it had changed the way she looked at the world. In fact, her mind could barely grasp how close she had come to dying along with the rest of the royal family.
“May I sit?” Zarsha asked.
“Forgive my manners,” she said, waving him toward a comfortable armchair by the fireplace and taking a seat across from him on a tufted velvet settee. She should have told the servants not to light a fire tonight when she was draped in a heavy shawl and wearing a wool skirt, but her mind had been elsewhere and it had never occurred to her that she’d find herself sitting in front of that fire. Perspiration gathered under her arms and below her breasts.
Zarsha sat, and the flickering light of the fire carved interesting shadows into the angles of his face. He really was quite nice to look at, even in his decidedly drab dinner ensemble and with his now unfashionably short hair. Surely he would have no trouble finding a suitable bride, one who would find his good looks, good connections, and good humor appealing enough to brave the wilds of Nandel. In fact, Ellin should put some serious effort into finding an alternative marriage for him. She was the only eligible woman of the immediate royal family, but perhaps marriage with another noble house would be enough to help induce Sovereign Prince Waldmir to renew the trade agreements.
“As I was saying,” Zarsha said, “almost dying has changed my outlook on life.” He met her eyes, and there was something in his gaze that trapped her so that she could not look away. “I know you have always been against our marriage.”
She flinched and finally broke his gaze. She had tried her best to play the part of the dutiful daughter, to keep her objections to the marriage between herself and her father. She had bitten her tongue more times than she could count to stop herself from sniping at the man she’d been destined to marry, and she’d laughed—or at least smiled—at many a joke she didn’t find the least amusing. But she couldn’t say it was a great surprise to find she hadn’t hidden her feelings as well as she’d hoped.
“It’s all right,” Zarsha hastened to say. “I assure you my ego can handle the blow.”
For all her embarrassment, she felt her lips tip up into a smile. “Are you certain? I was always under the impression you were rather protective of it.”
It was just the kind of cutting remark she’d often stopped herself from saying, but far from being offended, Zarsha laughed with what sounded like genuine humor. “It’s true, I am, but then I’ve got such a lot of it that I will hardly miss the small gouges your disdain puts in it.”
She tilted her head to the side and regarded him with no small amount of curiosity. She’d expected him to puff up with indignation at the suggestion that he was egotistical, and here he was not only agreeing with her assessment, but poking fun at himself. He grinned at the surprise on her face.
“I am well aware of my flaws, Princess, and am not afraid to face them. Most women seem to find me charming, but I know you are not among them.”
Ellin squirmed and looked away. She was not as comfortable acknowledging her own flaws. And if she were being perfectly honest with herself, it was hard to say how much of her dislike for Zarsha was genuine, and how much was merely a general anger that he was not the man she wished to marry. Not that she’d ever thought she could marry Graesan. Bad enough that he was illegitimate despite his father having gifted him with his name. But his mother had been a lowly maid, and his father’s support and name would never be enough to overcome such a birth. He had ascended as far as he could when he became her master of the guard, and when he married, his bride would be of the lowest orders of nobility. Certainly not a princess royal.
“What I’m leading up to here is that I will not hold you to the agreement your father signed,” Zarsha said.
Ellin’s jaw dropped in a most unladylike fashion. She hadn’t known where this conversation was going, but she certainly hadn’t expected it to be here. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what my brush with death made clear to me,” he said. “I don’t want to marry a woman who doesn’t want to marry me.”
Ellin opened and closed her mouth a few times, stunned. She’d been dreading telling Zarsha that circumstances had changed such that she couldn’t honor the marriage agreement. Not because she feared hurting his feelings—as smooth and facile as he was, he had never tried to pretend he was madly in love with her. His courtship had less of a sense of romance and more that of a business transaction. But she feared that like Tamzin, his true character would peek out when he was thwarted. And now, rather than turning on her, he had offered her a release from their engagement without any prompting from her. She was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’d been unfair in her assessment of his character.
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
He flashed her another crooked grin. “All I ask is that you refrain from bursting into joyous song. Beyond that, you may say whatever you like or nothing at all.”
She laughed, feeling like a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It was really true. She didn’t have to marry him and live in Nandel, after all. She didn’t even have to accept the crown to escape the fate that she had so dreaded. Zarsha had given her an easy way out.
“Thank you,” she said, the words feeling distinctly inadequate. Freedom from the marriage contract hardly spelled an end to her troubles, for she would have to marry as soon as possible after her mourning period was finished, and she doubted she would find any man pleasing when her heart had already been given to Graesan. But at least she wouldn’t have to upend her life and move to Nandel, where she would be considered little better than her husband’s property.
“Well, now, don’t be too grateful just yet. I still have every intention of winning you over.”
“What?”
“We are a good match, you and I, for any number of reasons. I would like a chance to convince you of that without your family forcing your hand.”
So, he wasn’t entirely setting her free, after all. But since she had no intention of letting her kingdom devolve into war because she was afraid of taking the throne, a marriage with Zarsha would always be out of the question. Semsulin would no doubt expect her to announce her intention to take the throne to him and the royal council before informing anyone else—especially a foreigner—but she saw no reason to allow Zarsha to keep believing there was a chance.
“I’m afraid a match between us will be impossible now,” she told him. “You see, I am the only legitimate heir to the throne.”
He smiled. “I am aware of that.”
She blinked. “You are? But…”
“Dearest Ellin, ours was always intended to be a political match. I would hardly come to Rhozinolm without a clear understanding of the political climate. Which means I am aware of the line of succession and what last night’s tragedy means. You are the only person who can claim the throne without causing an immediate war.”
Ellin wondered if she was the only person in the kingdom who hadn’t grasped that fact from the beginning. Then again, she had lost her whole family the night before and had herself escaped a brush with death. It was no great surprise that her mind had not leapt to examine the political ramifications in the immediate aftermath. When she became queen, she would have to develop a habit of strategic thinking.
“If you know I will be taking the throne, then you know I cannot marry you.”
He sat back casually in his chair, not in the least perturbed by her logical objection. “I know there will be pressure for you to marry within your own kingdom. But I also know your kingdom is badly in need of the trade agreements Nandel can offer and that the best way to secure them is by marriage.”
“But not by my marriage,” she argued. “When I marry, my husband will become the king, and neither the royal council nor the people would accept a Nandel-born king. I will make it one of my highest priorities to secure another—”
“You do understand the late king and your father would never have agreed to this arrangement if there were another way to secure the trade agreement. There are few fathers outside of our own principality who would be overjoyed to send their daughters into Nandel. I’m not unaware of the disadvantages of my homeland for the fairer sex.”
“Surely there must be some other way. The agreement is beneficial to both Rhozinolm and Nandel, after all.”
Zarsha nodded. “Ten years ago when the original agreement was signed, it certainly was. But then ten years ago, the prince’s daughter was not married to the heir to the throne of Aaltah. So you see we already have a buyer for as much iron and as many gems as our principality can produce. There’s little inducement for us to continue reserving some of our product for trade with Rhozinolm. Only a marriage of the highest order could possibly lead the sovereign prince to consider renewing the trade agreements under the current generous terms.”
Ellin’s heart sank. She hadn’t even taken the throne yet, and already she saw the seeds of her destruction taking root. If she couldn’t secure those trade agreements, her rivals could seize on that failure to challenge her rule.
“Because you are to be queen,” Zarsha said, “ours obviously cannot be a conventional marriage, and you cannot live in Nandel. But I can live here. I’ve found myself quite fond of life in Rhozinolm and am less eager than you might think to return to my homeland.”
There was a faintly ironic grin on his lips. Ellin supposed it wasn’t any great surprise that someone who had grown up in the harsh and forbidding land of Nandel might be seduced by the comparatively free and easy ways of the court in Rhozinolm, although most Nandelites she’d known were more apt to sneer than be seduced.
“Be that as it may,” she said, “I’m sure you understand that the people would never accept a foreigner as their king.”
He nodded. “Especially not a foreigner who hails from Nandel,” he agreed. “We would have to create a situation wherein I would be named your prince consort instead of king.”
“You must be joking,” Ellin said, although she could clearly see that he was not. “I may not be an expert in law, but I know it is not legal for a woman to reign as sovereign in any permanent capacity. Rhozinolm must have a king, and if I don’t provide one by marriage, there are two eager claimants waiting in the wings.”
Zarsha shrugged. “Then if we are to marry, we will have to change the law.”
She shook her head wonderingly. “That is impossible.”
“I think you’ll find it surprising how many things are possible when you wear a crown on your head. And because you have a year of mourning before you will be expected to marry, we shall have time to make a great number of seemingly small and harmless changes that will eventually lead to the outcome we desire.”
“You desire, you mean,” she retorted. She should have known it was too good to be true when he’d offered her that tantalizing glimpse of freedom.
“I meant what I said. I don’t want to marry you if you don’t want me. But while I don’t expect time to cause you to love or even desire me, it’s not impossible to imagine it might cause you to desire our marriage.”
He rose from his chair, but Ellin remained seated, wondering how her life had become so complicated so suddenly.
“Take some time to investigate the possibilities,” he said. “You are far more clever than most people realize, and perhaps you will be able to find a solution that escaped your father and King Linolm. If you do, then I will speak no more of our marriage or of the steps we should take to make it possible.”
He stepped forward, and before she had a hint of what he meant to do, he had put his hand on her shoulder in a most familiar manner and given her a firm squeeze. The expression on his face told her the gesture was meant to be comforting, and he let go immediately when she tensed under his touch.
“Whatever you choose, I can be your friend,” he said. “I suspect you will find true friends exceedingly rare once you take the throne, so do take advantage of those you have.”
Ellin could think of no clever reply as Zarsha bowed low and then left the room.