Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)
Curse of Shadows and Thorns: Chapter 13

“That was stupid yesterday.” In the library, Mavie stoked the fire in the stone hearth. “Locking yourself in there with him. What if you caught his ailment? What if he’d gone mad and lunged at you?”

I didn’t look up from the pages of my book, but grinned. “Lunged at me? Has Herr Grey ever given you the notion he’d be one to lunge at a woman?”

“All I’m saying is it happens. Folk get infections in their minds and go mad. Happened to my grandfather turns ago. Stark, raving mad.”

“Mavs,” I said. “You worry too much. I had a dagger on me should Legion turn into a beast and tear me limb from limb.”

She blew out her lips. “Right, a dainty little blade buried beneath layers of stiff wool. I doubt a man of his stature and . . . physique would be able to lay a hand on you.”

I snorted a laugh. “Do tell me more of this physique.”

Mavie wiped her palms over her apron and glared at me. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed Herr Legion looks more like he breaks trees for amusement rather than indulging in spiced red and cakes.”

I laughed at that. But Mavie wasn’t wrong about Legion. When he touched my face, his hands were as iron. Strong. Capable. His stone sharp jaw pulsed with taut muscles. But the storm in his midnight eyes gave away the potential violence inside. I knew his capability to fight, and knew Legion Grey could cause a fair bit of damage if he ever had the urge.

The door opened and Siv entered, bringing with her the warmth of baked bread. She placed a covered basket on a table and smoothed out a traveling cloak over the back of a chair. “The cab is waiting, Elise.”

“Thank you,” I said, lifting my gaze off my pages. “Any word on who met with Herr Grey this morning?”

I’d hidden away in the library for most of the day, desperate not to see Herrs Svart or Gurst again. I had to trust Legion had the brains (and sense of smell) not to consider such matches, but what did I truly know about the process of this? Could Legion be bought? I didn’t think so, but when it came to ambition, it was impossible to really know.

“Gurst left with his nose in the air,” Siv said, brushing her braid off her shoulder. “Jarl Magnus spoke with him, too.”

“And?” I pressed when she didn’t go on.

“I don’t know. Jarl left as he came in, haughty, handsome, and in a rush. Though, Herr Grey seemed unsettled, almost angry.”

Mavie waved her hands in the air. “All of this causes my blood to boil. If your match is of such little consequence, why the trouble of all this? Why not let you choose?”

I bit my own frustration into the inside of my cheek, while drifting back to the gentle moment in Legion’s cottage—when his fingers brushed my cheek, when his body had been so close. My heart stirred. Foolish of me to hold any kind of affection for my negotiator. Especially when I knew so little about him. But I couldn’t help but be envious of my own experience. Would I be matched with a man who’d be as gentle, as wanting of my thoughts, my desires?

I secured the cloak around my shoulders and ran my fingers through my hair. Already the loose waves had gone wild around my shoulders. “Tradition, I suppose.”

Siv handed me the basket. A savory hint of saffron teased my nose. The basket was bundled in fresh rolls, sour goat cheeses, and sliced blood pears. Legion requested we meet in the thicket, and if he had plans of keeping me out all afternoon, the least I demanded was we be well fed.

“You sure you don’t want us to join you?” Siv asked.

“I would love for you both to join us, but according to my sister, a negotiator is to give feedback privately. Honestly, I feel like everyone is making up rules as they go.”

Mavie grinned and opened the door. “At least Herr Grey is doing this off the grounds, more fun. More private.”

I rammed my elbow into her ribs, but didn’t miss the amused expression on Siv’s face, too. Doubtless they had discussed my private moments with Legion alone in his cottage. They mistook me. I simply found him bearable. And I repeated my own lie all the way through the corridors until I reached the front drive.

Outside, a storm from the shoreline painted the sky in a haze of gray, but the air was warm and wet. The grounds were busy with serfs tending to the stables, bringing supplies, or trimming my mother’s wild roses. Velvet petals of deep, blood red and patent leather black tangled in thorny webs along the drive where a glossy hansom cab waited.

I stopped and studied the back of Legion Grey as he spoke to Halvar. He was dressed in a fine waistcoat, even if he cursed them yesterday. He stood straight, and if I’d not seen him so weary, I’d never guess the man had ever been ill a day in his life. I could play coy, could lie to myself, but I noticed a great deal more than Legion’s strength. True, he had broad shoulders, dark golden hair, and Ettan black eyes that always seemed to be filled with secrets, but there was something about the way his mouth set—as if he always had words on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Intriguing was the smirk in the corner of his mouth, the way he spoke to me, the way he’d whispered my name.

All the things I’d noticed reeled in my head with each heartbeat.

I didn’t know how to stop it. Only a fool would fancy a vow negotiator, and today I was a fool.

“Good morning, Herr Grey,” I said, a shudder in my voice.

“Elise,” Legion said as he turned over his shoulder. “I thought we had agreed you would not call me Herr.”

“Pretenses,” I said, airily and gathered my skirts.

Legion took my hand, helping me onto the step of the cab, but drew close. “Where we’re going there will be no need for pretenses.”

I blinked my gaze forward, unable, or perhaps unwilling to understand his meaning. In the cab, Legion’s shoulder brushed against me as he sat by my side. The spice from his skin reminded me of the thicket—a rugged smell. Fitting for a man named Legion.

With a word, he gave the command to drive, and the hansom cab jolted down the drive toward town.

Mellanstrad was one of the larger townships. Not the size of Lyx and the manors around Ravenspire, but one of the busier trade hubs in New Timoran. The hansom wove through crowds of morning hawkers shouting out prices of precious metals, exotic fruits and grains, some bartering serfs.

“Ah, there is your nefarious companion,” Legion muttered on the edge of town.

Mattis waved, a gleam in his eyes, and a wooden board balanced over one shoulder. No doubt the carpenter admired Legion Grey for his rebellious night at the bell tower. Everyone seemed taken with Legion, like he attracted the trust and respect of all classes.

Halvar brought the cab to a stop beside Mattis. The carpenter dropped the board off his shoulder with a grunt, then leaned a casual elbow over the edge of the cab.

“Lovely morning for a ride,” he said and wiped the grime on his forehead. “Glad to see you back in our Kvinna’s graces, Herr Grey.”

“Well, it is such an enjoyable place to be.”

I flushed, pinching my lips into a line. “You both should be so lucky to be in my graces.”

Mattis chuckled. “Where are you off to today? Still avoiding suitors?”

“The both of us now,” Legion said. “I thought a visit to the Ribbon Lakes would be far enough to hide most of the day.”

I grinned. The lakes were secluded and peaceful. Perhaps Legion could read minds and sensed my desire to flee from the eyes of . . . everyone.

“I promise to misdirect anyone who might be looking for you,” Mattis said, then looked at me. “By the by, have you finished the book, Elise?”

I’d nearly forgotten I’d read every word of his bawdy Night Folk book. To hide the heat blooming over my face, I studied the opposite walk where a woman haggled with a jeweler over a bangle made of bone. “I might have.”

Mattis clapped the door of the cab, laughing. “Ah, I knew you’d be taken with the prowess of the fae.”

I groaned. “Don’t you have some work to be doing?”

Mattis winked and took up the board once more. “That I do. Good luck, Herr Grey. I imagine our dear Kvinna is no average match to negotiate.”

“No,” Legion said with intention, his eyes locked on me. “She certainly is not.”

Halvar clicked his tongue and set the two charges in motion. Mattis turned with a wave and strode toward his shop, whistling a folk tune.

I swallowed to soothe the dry scratch in my throat when Legion settled back so our knees knocked. What was I doing? Every word he said I read as some sort of meaning. Odds were, Legion Grey was simply polite and knew how to speak to the ego of royalty.

It was simply aggravating how much I enjoyed the words he spoke.

The ride was smooth. Uneventful. But Legion grinned with a touch of satisfaction when the smile spread over my lips once the towns faded, and the evergreens rose so high the tops blotted out the sun.

“You enjoy the wood?” he said.

I drew in a long breath through my nose. The spice of pine, the musk of bark and soil filled my lungs. No hint of unwashed skin or mildew on old linens from town lived here. I sighed and let my fingertips drag across the pine needles as we passed by. “I’m free in these trees.”

“Careful,” he said. “I might think you have a bit of Night Folk in your blood. They connect with the earth, you know.”

My chest tightened. “Where do you suppose they’ve all gone? I haven’t seen any fae since I was a child. A lot of folk say they live among Agitators. I think fury was involved in the attack at the gates.”

“Perhaps. Agitators are nothing but zealots who worship the old bloodlines of Night Folk.” Legion licked his lips, eyes at the sun. “I think most fae have moved on. Gone to other kingdoms. In the south there are lush isles said to be their homeland. Maybe some went there.”

“How do you know so much about the other kingdoms?”

“I enjoy reading. If anyone should understand, it’s you, Kvinna.”

One of the qualities I liked most about him. I smiled and plucked a blossom off a tall wildflower on the side of the road. “I wonder why the Night Folk favored Ettans. As far as I know, only Ettan folk and true fae have fury.”

“I have theories. The people of this land connected to it much like the fae. I believe they simply coexisted peacefully.”

I picked a few petals from the blossom and slouched. “And my people, we destroy the earth. Like we ruined Old Timoran.”

Legion cupped my hand with the blossom and lifted it between us, the sweet scent wafting in the air. “Not all Timorans ruin the earth. And not all Ettans tend it. We choose who we become, Elise.”

I met his gaze. My body tensed with a strange desire. I adjusted, so I somewhat leaned into Legion. He looked astonished I’d come so close but didn’t move away. Even draped his arm around the back of my seat. We didn’t say much more until the lakes came into view and were content to simply be.

The Ribbon Lakes were narrow, some with bits of ice from the frosted mountain rivers. The banks bent and curved like serpents in the grass. But they were private, surrounded with lush white aspen forests, and the hip-high grass of the wildflower meadow. One could disappear for hours.

Once we had the cab unloaded, Legion sent Halvar away, and settled on the bank near the largest of the four lakes. With the cloudy day, the water glistened in blue so dark it looked like black glass. I placed the basket atop a boulder, settled in the long grass, and hugged my knees to my chest.

“Well?” I stretched out onto my back, closing my eyes, and crossing my ankles. “What do we do now?”

“We’re supposed to talk about suitors.”

“Then talking shall be left to you to begin. It is my least favorite subject.”

“So demanding, Kvinna.”

“It is what we royals do best.”

Legion grinned. “Very well. I’m interested to know of your preferences first.”

A man like you. I clenched my fists at the rogue thought. “Do you want honesty, or what I am supposed to say?”

“Always honesty.” Legion laid back, rolled onto one side, and propped onto his elbow.

I turned his way. “I don’t want any of them. At least not yet. How am I supposed to know if a man will make a good companion after speaking for a few clock tolls? But then, I’m not supposed to worry about a good companion. I’m supposed to be silent.”

Legion dropped his gaze and picked at the grass. “The world would be darker should you be silent.” He’d said it so softly I wasn’t certain I’d heard correctly. A bit of red colored the tips of his ears and he cleared his throat. “I do promise I will not match you with that pungent fellow—Gurst, I believe. Three hells, you’d suffocate from holding your breath.”

I laughed, a true, deep laugh. Legion flashed his white teeth, and it seemed wholly unfair I was not fated to have such an easy relationship with the man I was destined to wed.

Legion’s fingers coiled around the end of my braid. I rolled onto my shoulder, so our bodies were aligned. His gaze shimmered with a dark heat. “What do you expect from a marriage match, Elise?”

“I don’t think my expectations matter,” I whispered.

“Shouldn’t they?”

“Royal vows are made for alliances between men. I am but the pawn in the middle.”

He looked at the water. “True. Most cultures embrace strength and security over happiness. Although, before Timorans raided Etta, Ettans made alliances from respect and affection.”

“I doubt their royalty took vows for love,” I said.

“I think they often did.” He released my braid and the whisper of his fingertips on my shoulder quickened my pulse. “The idea behind happy alliances was to create a deeper conviction to their people and their families. Night Folk are similar. Once they replace their consort, they hold to them fiercely. Another reason Ettans and Night Folk existed as one so well, perhaps.”

“Yet they lost their land.”

“Ah, but the royal family fought to the bitter end for one another.”

“Yes, they fought for one another. Killed for one another even more.”

Legion held a bemused expression. “What do you mean?”

The mysterious Ferus royals of Etta fascinated me. I sat up, hugged my legs to my body, and rested my chin on the tops of my knees. A mute grin crossed my lips. “When my great-grandfather began the first of his raids, to deter him, King Arvad ordered an execution of a neutral township. One filled with Timoran farmers and their families. He left no survivors. I’m convinced all folk, from our kingdom to those across the Fate’s Ocean, have the capacity for brutality.”

Legion considered me for a long moment. “But you’re leaving out the rest.”

“The rest?”

“The story. True, the village had been owned by farmers, but during the raids, Ettan war journals described it as a secret Timoran military base. The children of the Ettan gentry had been kidnapped and held hostage. And it wasn’t King Arvad who led the raid, it was commanded by his queen. Though, no one knows how she accomplished it since she was held in the tower, a prisoner of King Eli.”

I blew out my lips, unconvinced. “I’ve never read such a thing.”

“I have some old journals I’ve acquired over the turns if you’d like to see.”

He chuckled when my smile widened. Reading true Ettan journals—such a thing was practically forbidden. At the very least reserved for Zyben or Calder.

Legion rolled onto his back staring at the slate clouds overhead. “You aren’t wrong, though. The Ettans showed their savagery, killing so many, so viciously, but I digress back to their fierce devotion for their families. I imagine should those I care most about come under attack, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them.”

“Oh,” I said with new interest. “And tell me, who does Legion Grey care so much about that he would cut off the heads of men? A lover?”

“No,” he said immediately. “A rolling stone is often unsatisfactory for women.”

“But if you found the right one—”

“Then, she would need to be interesting. Perhaps a little rebellious.” He flicked his eyes to me, and my stomach backflipped. Legion looked away, grinning. “But we’re not here to talk about me. Tell me about the young man—the Ravenspire captain who has made his bid for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You make me sound like a hog to be sold.”

“A fine goat, perhaps, but never a hog, Kvinna.”

A laugh broke free. I let out a long sigh as I opened the basket, aiming for the rolls and spiced butter spread. “You are strange, Legion Grey.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Jarl Magnus. I’ve known him since childhood,” I explained as I picked at the roll. “He isn’t a bad man, and recently he did tell me of his desire to unify New Timoran, to break the divide between Ettans and any Night Folk.”

Legion moved into sitting, a pinched look on his face. “Unify? Are you sure that’s what he meant?”

“Yes,” I said through a mouthful of bread. “He told me New Timoran should embrace fury.”

“Yes, he mentioned something similar, but I took his meaning quite differently.”

My brow furrowed. “How?”

“Elise, I asked because I wanted to warn you about him,” Legion said, a rough strain in his tone. “I got the feeling he has little loyalty to your king, or your family.”

“No, he said Calder has the desire—”

“Yes,” Legion interrupted. “The prince has plans, not the king.”

No. He misunderstood. Jarl and Calder wouldn’t plot anything against King Zyben. He had too much power, too much influence. Besides, Calder was pretentious enough to never risk his ascension to the throne.

“I think you may have misunderstood him,” I said, but my voice came smaller than before.

“It’s been known to happen.” The shadow in his eyes hinted he didn’t believe it. “May I ask you something?”

“You usually do, even without permission.”

He grinned. “Why such a resistance to this negotiation? Was it so unexpected?”

I sighed and shook my head. “No. Not unexpected.”

“But you despise it all the same?”

“I despise it because I am utterly forced to grin and bear it all. If I protest, or speak out against it, my father dies.”

“I don’t understand.”

My throat tightened as a hot rush of anger settled there. “Four turns ago, my father’s illness came. The king has little affection for the prince consort, you see, so he hardly cared. But I suppose he has some kind thought for my mother, and offered his healers and expensive medicines, in exchange for being the overseer of our estate and his two nieces. The king owns my life. I refuse this, he withdraws the healers.”

I was not particularly close with my father, but he was still my father. I didn’t wish him dead, and certainly not because of me.

Legion remained quiet for a long moment. His eyes shimmered a darker shade when he looked at me. “Do you want to ask me not to choose one of the potential suitors? Besides Gurst, of course, we’ve already established him.”

I shook my head, while inside I screamed the truth. “As I said, I wouldn’t interfere.”

Legion drew closer and heat from his body warmed the skin on my arms. Fire scorched my insides when his finger traced the divots of my knuckles.

“You could, you know,” he whispered. “What kind of match do you want, Elise?”

His eyes peeled back the layers, and I feared he could see into my thoughts. The shocking ones. Ones that suggested I’d want a match like . . . him. A man unafraid to speak to me plainly. To tease me without hesitation because of titles and status.

Foolish of me. I forced my gaze from him, forced myself to forget how close his long body had come.

“A gentle match,” I finally said.

“Then you shall have it.” I held my breath as he lifted my knuckles to his lips, kissed me there, then grinned. A grin rife with secrets he wouldn’t say out loud.

A shadow of movement drew my attention to a tangle of evergreen trees. “Has Halvar returned?”

Legion looked over his shoulder. His body went rigid. “No,” he said, hand reaching into his waistcoat, returning with a dagger I never knew was there. “Elise, stay here.”

Not again. My throat tightened.

In a breath, Legion was on his feet, once more demanding I not move as he ran off to meet the shadow. I wouldn’t get the chance to obey or not.

From behind, a hand wrapped around my face, covering my mouth. I let out a cry but choked on the sound when a hooded man scrambled over the top of me. His legs straddled my hips.

I didn’t try to make out his face.

All I knew was the bite of a knife point pressed to my neck, just below my jaw.