First Rider's Call

She trembled.

“Please take it,” he said, offering the coffer back.

She backed away. “What is it you expect of me?”

He stepped closer and took her hand into his.

She wanted to run. She wanted to feel his touch . . . He was so close that the heat of him scorched her. She needed to run. To run was to find safety. She jerked her hand from his, and he drew his eyebrows together, surprised and hurt.

Good, she thought.

He stood there for some moments, the stars glittering in a backdrop of midnight blue behind him and a wisp of moonlight stroking his cheek. Across the roof, guards made their rounds carrying lanterns that glowed like large fireflies, bobbing, hovering, swinging along. While Karigan was aware of them in the background, it was almost as if she and the king were alone in the vast pool of night, if not the whole of the world.

She knew she should run, leave the roof. What she waited for, she did not know.

“Do you remember,” King Zachary began, “a certain game of Intrigue we once played a couple years ago? You played terribly, and after I won, I told you so. I criticized your strategy, and you in turn told me a few things as well. You stood up to me and told me, among other things, that I should leave behind my stone walls and go among those I rule.” A smile ghosted across his lips at the memory. “Excellent advice.”

His words threw Karigan. Why was he bringing this up now? She swayed where she stood, confused.

“I think it was then,” he continued, “that I was irretrievably caught. Caught off guard, caught by you. Here you were, this beautiful, clever, and courageous young woman, who had just ridden across the country through so much danger to deliver a message, and who had the utter temerity to instruct her monarch on how to rule his country.” He laughed softly. “Yes, you, with your passion and fire, took my heart captive then, and I soon realized that I loved you, and have all this time. How could I not?”

Karigan could not breathe. Why? Why hadn’t he ever told her? Why hadn’t he acted on his feelings before? Why had he waited till now? Now when he was going to marry Estora. Now when there was no chance for them . . .

There never was a chance, she bitterly reminded herself. For all the political reasons, and she ticked them off in her mind. His pursuit of a commoner would diminish the esteem and support the mercurial lord-governors extended to him, and threaten his hold on power. The lord-governors might instead lend their favor to some other nobleman more to their liking and pliant to their collective will. Or worse, an ambitious nobleman, sensing the crown’s weakness, might take advantage of the situation and force his ascension to power. Sacoridia could find itself at the mercy of a tyrant the likes of Hedric D’Ivary or Prince Amilton, instead of the benevolent ruler it now enjoyed. In the worst scenario, a struggle for power could embroil the country in all-encompassing strife and civil war, like that of two hundred years ago. None of these scenarios must be allowed to play out. They must not distract from the future threat that Blackveil Forest posed.

So much more was at stake than the hopes and desires of one insignificant Green Rider.

Maybe he decided to tell her of his feelings for her now because he had something else entirely in mind, and the revelation rekindled the anger in the pit of her stomach.

“Did you know,” she said, her voice laced with that anger, “that my mother’s mirror and brush set were a wedding gift from my father? Not just some pretty baubles he passed along because he fancied her.”

“Karigan, I—”

“It was before he made his fortune. My aunts tell me he worked unbelievably hard at demeaning jobs, like gutting fish down on the wharves, just to afford such a gift. He did this because he adored my mother; loved her absolutely. And they both made sacrifices to be together, forsaking their homes and families.

“And now you want me to accept this gift, you who are to marry Lady Estora? What am I to make of it? Certainly there cannot be the bond my father shared with my mother. What then? To be your—your paramour? To slip into your bedchamber when your wife is away?” A blush raged across her cheeks.

“No! I did not mean for that, though—” and perhaps thinking better of it, he did not complete the sentence. “I meant this gift as an honest expression of how I felt about you. I would never purposely hurt you in any way. This gift . . .” he glanced down at the coffer. “It’s a token of my feelings. Nothing more, no expectations.”

Karigan warred within herself. She wanted to scream, throw herself over the edge of the roof. Why was he doing this to her? No expectations, he had said, but there had been that undercurrent in his words . . . Desire gnawed at her, tempted her, but she smothered it knowing that giving in would only worsen matters and prove more painful in the end. While others might not think twice about it, she respected herself too much to get caught up in such entanglements. No, she would not . . . give in. And while it was within his authority as king to command anything of her, he did not, and he being the sort of man he was, she didn’t think he would. It made the loss of him all the more crushing.

“Do you know,” the king said, staring up toward the endless sky, “there is no better way to gain perspective on one’s life than by gazing upon the heavens. My days are filled with the needs of the country, the petty feuds, the politics. But when I come up here, I ponder great questions about the gods, the world, and the dark side of the moon. And when my eyes return to Earth, my daily problems seem minor in comparison. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">