Chapter Thirteen

A white marble bench rose out of the darkness as Daniela rounded the glass walls of Iarnia Palace’s conservatory. She briefly wondered how many couples had snuck out of the ball in order to dally in the darkened glass room, and she even managed a smile, thinking of Luka’s own failed attempt to steal a kiss from Erika Orlov amongst the orchids. A much better kiss had awaited him, even if it meant tumbling down a darkened corridor.

But her smile was fleeting as she sank onto the bench. Cold marble stung her through her silk and petticoats, but her feet were even colder, and her slippers were wet from an unseen, but most definitely deep, puddle between the rows of rose bushes. Her right slipper dripped water and squished with each step. Her toes ached from the cold. Actually ached.

She wrapped her arms about herself, rubbing to keep the cold at bay as best she could. She should return inside, where the temperatures were far above freezing. She should return to her chambers. Helga would no doubt have the fire blazing hot. A blazing hot fire was just what she needed. If nothing else, her feet would thaw.

But at the same time, she didn’t wish to share space with Helga. Why was she agreeing to her servant’s admonishment that Luka was not the man for her? Helga meant well. She truly did. And she’d spent so many years with their family, she was almost like a mother to her. But at the same time, she wasn’t her mother. How could Helga possibly know what man was meant for Daniela? Even Daniela didn’t know what man was meant for her. She’d thought, at one time, Antonin was the only man she could ever love. And with his death, she vowed never to let herself love again. But then came Peter. And while they were happy, she knew, deep down, the love she felt for him didn’t burn white with its intensity the way it had with Antonin. They were close friends, occasional lovers, but neither was the one great love of the other’s life. Peter stood in the shadow of the man who would be king and knew he would always fall short. And she wasn’t the woman of his dreams, either. But that was all right. Theirs was a marriage based on friendship more than love, convenience more than passion, but it suited them both.

And with his death, Daniela resigned herself to being alone. Resigned herself to never feeling the fires of passion threaten to immolate her again. She even managed to convince herself that it was fine, that it was for the best anyway. Alone was easy. Alone was safe. Her heart would never be at risk again.

But then she met General Luka Morovic, and everything changed.

She groaned as she leaned back against the cold marble rail. Why was it every time she acquiesced and accepted that she was meant to be alone, another man came along to prove her wrong? Another came along to jumble her thoughts, torture her senses, and make her question everything she’d convinced herself was right.

Until Luka crossed her path, she was content with thinking every man paled in comparison to the mighty Antonin Vanechka.

She never thought Antonin would pale in comparison to Luka Morovic.

But she was no fool. Miss Orlov was clearly smitten with the general. She would never simply graciously step aside and bid Daniela well in her pursuit of Luka. Not judging by the way she stared up at him. If lust had a face, it showed perfectly in Erika’s reflection, in every line of her body, actually. She had gotten over her shy, demurring side to stake her claim. Daniela sighed with regret as she rose from the bench to skirt the palace until she returned to the western wall of the ballroom. If she’d never agreed to the role of matchmaker, she’d be reminding herself that all was fair in pursuits of the heart. Guilt never would come into play. But she had agreed, and that made all the difference in the world.

Peering through the glass, she pressed her nose into the pane. Finding Luka should be simple. He towered over every other man in the room. The giant. The gentle giant. Her throat tightened. He wanted to be her gentle giant.

She wasn’t wrong. Her gaze sought him out and found him within seconds of peering through that window. The pit of her belly simply dropped. Erika beamed up at him as they danced something scandalously close, and Daniela’s throat crimped shut. Luka smiled down at the tiny, curvy woman in his arms, and he certainly seemed happy enough. That assuaged some of Daniela’s guilt. Erika was the woman he’d originally set his sights on. The woman who would not succumb to his charm and topple into bed with him so quickly. Or would she? Somehow, Daniela had the feeling Luka would be able to charm Erika into any bed he so desired. If he so desired. And why wouldn’t he want to do that?

She didn’t want to think about that, nor did she wish to watch them dance, where they were most likely looking so happy and as if they enjoyed themselves. She didn’t want to see it. Not any of it. She preferred being on the outside. The outside was safer.

At least it was, until Luka and Erika whirled by and she caught sight of the pure joy on Miss Orlov’s face. But seeing it, the last vestiges of her happiness faded as Erika snuggled her head against Luka’s broad chest. Apparently, she didn’t worry much about scandal either. Or she figured Luka was worth any scandal it took to be with him.

Razor-sharp teeth bit into Daniela’s belly. That was no act. Happiness beamed over Erika’s face. And that made Daniela’s guilt even worse. How would Miss Orlov feel, should she learn that, only hours before, the man she desired had been making love to Daniela?

If it were her, Daniela would want to scratch that other woman’s eyes out. A brittle laugh rose to her lips. Erika merely danced with Luka, and Daniela wanted to scratch her eyes out.

She couldn’t watch any longer. The pain was like a scythe slicing at her soul. She turned away from the windows to make her way down along the rear of the palace. It was slow going. The darkness thickened as she moved further from the ballroom. Thick. Black. Heavy. The dark was like a shroud of winter velvet, wrapping itself tighter about her. There had to be another door somewhere along the wing, didn’t there?

Unfortunately, she couldn’t recall exactly where. Where had she and Luka been when he showed her the nondescript entrance? She paused, chewing on her bottom lip as if it would help her remember. Where was the menagerie in relation to the ballroom? How did she get herself so turned around?

Damn it. She was on the wrong side of the palace. The cold bit into her with sharp fangs, and she wrapped her arms about herself to ward off the chill. It didn’t work. She shivered, her fingers going numb as she stumbled even further into the darkness.

The ruined silk slippers on her feet offered no protection as she ran off the garden path and stepped onto frozen earth. She winced. Before long, her feet and ankles ached from the cold, and her muscles were actually sore from the shivering. Ice crystals gleamed like the gemstones in her tiara to embellish the tops of her slippers. Damn it all anyway, where was any door?

Then a small light cut through like a beacon, and she almost cried with relief. The lantern hung in the archway leading to the stables. Now she could right her bearings.

Thankfully, the side door was unlatched. Warmth stole over her as she eased around the door, and her slippers made unnerving squelching sounds against the carpeted runner. She paid them little heed, hurrying down the corridor toward the servants’ staircase. She didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into someone from the ballroom, as the sounds of the party spilled out into the corridors. How would she explain to either Stefan or Kristian why she’d ducked out and then gone for a walk in the frozen rose garden?

As she neared her room, her heartbeat finally slowed. Her fingers and toes ached as they thawed, and it felt as if the tip of her nose was encased in a chunk of ice. She could only imagine the state she presented, and it wasn’t at all surprising when she threw open the door to her chambers and Helga jumped up from her chair by the fire. “What on earth happened to you?”

“I’ve no wish to discuss it.” Daniela marched to the fire, where she promptly sank to her knees and then winced as the moisture from her slippers seeped into her skirts. Oh well. She didn’t care one way or the other if the gown was ruined as well. Everything else already was, so what was one silly dress? Besides, the odds of her wearing it again were fairly slim. She didn’t care if it was ruined. All she cared about was getting warm and thawing out.

The heat from the fire licked along the backs of her fingers, still so stiff with cold. She held them as close as was comfortable, even as Helga draped a shawl about her shoulders. The chaperone stood there, arms folded over her wide bosom, staring down. “What happened, Mrs. Bertalan?”

Without looking away from the flames, Daniela replied, “I told General Morovic he could not court me.” Her voice sounded as she felt, flat and void of all feeling. Exhaustion bit into her even as her flesh thawed and the achiness died away. Still, she held her hands toward the flames. “And I’ve made certain Miss Orlov will be forever happy.”

“You will see that this is for the best.”

“Why do you think so?” She tore her gaze from the dancing orange flames to peer up at Helga. “He made me happy. I think I made him happy as well. So why are you so adamant that we are completely wrong for one another?”

“He is a man. They are happy with any woman in their bed.”

Hopefully, Helga didn’t see how her words made Daniela flinch. “I do not believe that.”

“You are young, Mrs. Bertalan. You are still naïve.”

“Naïve?” Daniela lowered her hands to her thighs, letting the warmth seep into her through her skirts and petticoats. “I’ve been married, Helga. I was the Crown Prince’s lover. How on earth can you say such a thing with a straight face?”

“Because you were a child when you and Antonin”—Helga’s cheeks bloomed pink, and she cleared her throat. “And you and Peter were married only a few years. You do not know men. Do not know what they are capable of. And General Morovic is a warrior.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Helga sniffed. “Men such as him, powerful men, know no other life. They are cold and calculating, interested only in the next conquest. And General Morovic is a dangerous sort. Miss Orlov would do well to tread carefully around him, for he would most likely break her neck for the slightest of transgressions.”

The thought of Luka laying hands on a woman in order to do her bodily harm was so ludicrous, it was all Daniela could do to refrain from snorting. Not the Luka she knew—the man who kissed her and held her so tenderly, who cradled her in his arms and murmured words of love in her ear. She didn’t doubt he could kill a man with his bare hands, but she couldn’t imagine him ever harming a woman. Ever.

“Why are you so hateful toward him?” She turned back to the fire. “You know nothing about him, aside from his size, and yet you make such terrible accusations.”

“I know his sort.” Helga bustled away from the hearth, back to her iron and the chemise draped across the table. “A warrior is a warrior.”

“He is different.” Daniela brought her hands near the fire once more. Had anyone noticed her absence? Had anyone missed her? And how did Luka explain her disappearance to her father?

Tears blurred her vision, softening the flames until they danced like fluttering silk scarves before her eyes. Come morning, she would take her leave of Iarnia Palace, would most likely never return. It would be too difficult to come back. She’d misjudged just how powerful her memories were and how difficult it would be to return there. She’d never be strong enough to come back. Not ever.

When Antonin died, she’d secluded herself in her chambers for weeks. She had to mourn privately, as she was not his wife when he died, although she mourned him as if she was. And all around her gave her a wide berth for that grief. Although Antonin had been betrothed to Kristian Petroviya at birth, she was thought to be dead, and he never sought to commit to that betrothal. It wasn’t until King Andrei’s health worsened, and for reasons a bit more nefarious than a simple arranged marriage, that Kristian was found and brought to Vasek. As far as anyone knew, Antonin planned to ask Daniela for her hand.

She stared at the fire. In some ways, she faulted Stefan for her loss. The meeting with the Cossacks had been his idea, as he preferred calm discussion to the chaos of war, and when it seemed there was to be a Cossack uprising, his instinct was to sit and try to talk it out. Ordinarily, she would have agreed, but this meeting was a lie. A lure meant to draw the crown prince directly into harm’s way. He was betrayed and murdered by his own people, all because Stefan wished to avoid war if at all possible.

No, it wasn’t fair to fault Stefan. Not even a little. He carried enough guilt of his own. And while Mordainia spent years warring with the Cossacks, Sandinians were eager to find some other way to work out their differences, to unify. It wasn’t always possible, but they tried.

Even so, she couldn’t help but sometimes think, If only he’d come to me first.

If only.

She wouldn’t have tried to talk him out of meeting with the Cossacks. That would have been impossible. Antonin would never have allowed anyone else to dictate to him how he should run his armies or his future kingdom. She was no fool, and she would never have dreamed of even attempting such a thing.

But had he come to Hamgarth, as he’d originally planned, the plot to assassinate him may have fallen apart. And how would her life have been different, had Antonin lived to see their wedding?

She would never be queen, of course, since not only was she not of royal blood, but she wasn’t even Mordainian. It wouldn’t have mattered. She would’ve borne the title of princess, and that would have been fine. Antonin’s being king would have been a nice aside, but his title had nothing to do with her love for him. She loved him before she could even understand what it meant to be king. And as romantic as the position might sound, being king was serious business. There was in reality no romance around it.

They would have had children, no doubt. Antonin was lusty and desirable. They would have spent more time in bed than out, most likely. A sad smile tugged at her lips. Yes, they would have had many children. Boys. Girls. It wouldn’t have mattered to her, although he would have no doubt wanted a son first.

The shawl slid from her shoulders as crushing sadness gripped her. Her sense of loss was as acute as it had been all those years ago, ripped open again by the loss of Luka as well. Perhaps she was simply not meant to be happy. Perhaps she was meant to be cursed to a lifetime of lost love and regret. Perhaps happiness was only for fools and dreamers, and she was neither.

Helga’s arm slid about her shoulders and tightened to pull Daniela into her embrace. That was all it took for the last of Daniela’s façade to crumble. She sank into her maid, giving into the sobs that shook her shoulders and wracked through her entire body.

****

“A word, General?”

Luka peered over his shoulder at Baron Kaloyan who, for once, was not smiling. “I beg your pardon?”

“May I speak with you a moment?”

Luka glanced down at Erika, who had been smiling until that moment. In fact, it was the first time all evening the lady didn’t smile. Unfortunately, Luka didn’t feel quite as jovial. Hopefully, he masked it well. And he must have, since Erika hadn’t asked if something troubled him.

But looks could be deceiving. It was all Luka could do to keep from scanning the ballroom in the hopes that Daniela had returned. He wanted to go after her as the darkness swallowed her, but she made it clear she didn’t want him. He had to respect her wishes, even if he didn’t agree with them. And he would respect them, no matter how much it galled him.

So he returned to the ball and tried to choke out his dark thoughts with champagne. When that didn’t work, he turned to ale. All to no avail. He didn’t feel foxed, he didn’t feel numb, he just felt…empty. The champagne was useless. The ale, even more so. He wanted to find something a lot more potent.

Casting a weary glance at Erika, who didn’t look as if she was about to move from Luka’s side, the baron added, “It is important, General. Please.”

Luka swallowed an irritated sigh and turned to Erika. “Excuse me a moment. I will return as quickly as I can.”

Her smile wavered, but she managed to keep it in place. “Of course, General.”

He stepped away with the baron, out into the western corridor, which led only to the outside of the palace. There, they stood little chance of being interrupted or overheard. Crossing his arms over his chest, Luka faced the smaller man. “Yes, Baron?”

“Where is Daniela? I’ve not seen her since she left with you.”

“She’s asked me to leave her be. I am only honoring her wishes.”

The baron’s eyes went almost perfectly round. “Honoring her wishes? You left her alone in the night out there?”

Guilt crimped the pit of his gut, setting a match off to the fuse of his temper. “I did not leave her alone. She stormed off. After being perfectly clear that she wants nothing to do with me. That I should keep my distance from her. So tell me, are games something she enjoys?”

The baron’s cheeks, already red from imbibing, grew ruddier still. “I beg your pardon?”

“She drives me mad, Baron. I was going to ask your permission to court her, and then before I could, she told me to leave her be. She runs hot and cold, and I am not a man who enjoys playing games. I have neither the time nor the patience for her coyness, so if she wishes me to leave her, I will.”

Genuine surprise gleamed in Kaloyan’s eyes, matched by the true confusion in his voice when he replied, “I would be beyond pleased to have you court my daughter, General. From what I’ve seen, I’ve no doubt it would make her happy as well. And as far as I knew, that was what she wished as well.”

“What she”—Luka didn’t know which was worse, his confusion or his irritation. What had Daniela said to her father? And why had everything simply…changed? Why the hell couldn’t women just say what they thought, instead of trying to be coquettish or coy or whatever the hell it was they tried to do? If Daniela’s intention was to intrigue him, she had failed spectacularly, and he had every intention of getting to the bottom of things.

He scowled at Kaloyan. “It no longer matters. As I said, she’s requested I leave her be. She stormed off and most likely returned to her chambers.”

Kaloyan’s thick black brows pulled low. “I hope for your sake that she has. What man allows a lady to storm off into frigid darkness?”

“One who’s at his wits’ end with your daughter. Now, if you will excuse me.” Luka didn’t wait for the baron to reply but snapped about and stalked back to the ballroom. He didn’t care if the baron was annoyed. He wasn’t the only one.

This time, he failed at keeping his emotions hidden. The minute she saw him, Miss Orlov’s expression darkened. “General? Is something the matter?”

“No.” His voice was gruff, gruffer than he’d meant it to be, and it didn’t help matters that he stormed by her, ignoring her plaintive, “General?”

She grabbed his arm to halt him, and without thinking, Luka simply shrugged her off. She staggered backward, her eyes wide and her jaw slack with surprise. Stefan must have seen him shake Miss Orlov from him, for he scowled at Luka as he rose from his seat on the dais. Luka returned the scowl, and he didn’t halt his stride as he stalked from the ballroom to the quiet of the corridor. He needed to remove himself from everything lest his warring emotions get the best of him.

“Luka.” Stefan fell into step beside him, somewhat out of breath from having to catch up with him. The quiet authority woven through Stefan’s voice was the only thing that could make Luka break his stride. He halted and turned to level his half-brother with a stony glare. “What?”

“What goes on? Miss Orlov looks as if she’s about to burst into tears. What did you say to her?”

“I said nothing.”

“What’s going on? You look ready to commit murder when, only two hours earlier, you looked as if you had the world in the palm of your hand.” Stefan gestured for him to resume his stride. They started back down the corridor. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. I simply can no longer abide pretending I feel something when I don’t. And I’d prefer being alone to being in a crowd at the moment.”

“It’s happened, hasn’t it?”

“What’s happened?”

“She’s won your heart.” There was no question in Stefan’s voice, but a matter-of-factness with just enough humor woven through it to make Luka scowl harder.

“My life would be simpler if she had.”

“So she hasn’t?”

“Would I have left her alone in a ballroom if she had?” Luka moved to step around Stefan.

“Wait”—Stefan’s hand on his elbow halted him once more—“who do you mean?”

Luka growled with impatience. “Who do you mean?”

Stefan grinned. “Daniela. I tried to tell you, tried to warn you.”

Luka sighed softly. A headache poked into the backs of his eyeballs. He rubbed his forehead with a tired hand. “She doesn’t want me, Stefan. And the one who does want me? I feel nothing for her. Even the lust I felt for her is gone. That damned minx worked some sort of magic on me, and now I don’t even know what I want.”

Stefan’s grin grew even more maddening. “Didn’t I try to warn you, try to tell you that she was unlike any other woman? So what happened?”

“I’ve no desire to discuss it,” Luka replied shortly, shaking his head. “So if you don’t mind, I’d much rather return to my chambers and pretend this night never happened.”

“Once I tell Kristian your dilemma—”

“You will do no such thing.” Luka glared down at his half-brother with as much menace as he could muster. “You will mind your own affairs and leave mine be.”

Stefan’s eyes widened. It wasn’t often Luka drew himself up to his full height and glowered down at the king that way, but tonight, he didn’t care. It’d gone from being a wonderful day to being a living nightmare, and he simply wanted to put it all behind him.

For a moment, Stefan seemed ready to take him to task for his disrespect, but all he said was, “Of course, Luka. I certainly don’t wish to meddle.”

The stiffness in Stefan’s voice made Luka’s discomfort worsen. It certainly wasn’t the king’s fault things were such a mess. “Stefan, I—”

Stefan held up a hand. “My apologies for interfering where I shouldn’t. I won’t do it again.”

With that, he turned heel to stalk off in the opposite direction. With a low sigh, Luka sank into the wall. Damn it all. Things were so much easier when he was just the giant bastard son of a Mordainian peasant woman.