Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)
Curse of Shadows and Thorns: Chapter 6

I soon learned Legion’s way of knowing me, meant being near me. Whatever it was I wanted to do, he assured me he would be a willing participant.

Stunned, all I could think was taking his suggestion and visiting the manor’s library.

Now, soft hair on my arms raised. I knew he was looking at me, but I kept my attention schooled on the birch parchment pages.

“You know, Herr, staring is considered rude by most standards,” I said and flipped the page.

The book he held slapped closed. Legion leaned onto the arm of the chaise, chin propped on his fist. “I must confess, I’m surprised, Kvinna. I stare because I replace myself on edge, wondering what you might say or do next. I thought one thing before coming here, and as I said, now I replace myself rather unsettled.”

A mutual feeling. I’d not expected a vow negotiator to spend hours reading with me in silence. My mother said I spent too much time with the written word instead of honing more valuable skills. Runa teased me, saying my books caused my head to spin with too many foolish ideas. But Legion, he’d settled across from me, asked a few questions about the sorts of tales I enjoyed most, then faded into whatever reality lived between the bindings in his hand.

I closed the pages on a tonic used for fae and mortal consorts to increase desire and pleasure. Strange as it was, the spells were fascinating. “Dare I ask what you expected to replace?”

“A woman with long lists of requirements about her future husband’s purse size, being one.”

“Rather condescending, Herr.”

“But not exactly wrong,” he said. “From my experience, women at your station would live for fetes like your sister’s betrothal ball, not escape to the balcony. Certainly, they would not befriend serfs, prefer books to conversation, or sneak into game halls on respite eve.”

My stomach twisted violently. Blood drained from my face as I met his gaze with wide eyes. “Herr Legion, I—”

He held up a hand. “I told you, I’m good with secrets.”

His assurance didn’t settle the race of my pulse. Any moment I feared my heart would snap a rib and burst out of my chest. The things he could use against me were too numerous for comfort, and I needed to know what he intended. Terrible as it might be. I lifted my chin and forced my voice to steady. “And what must I do to ensure you keep certain secrets?”

A look of bewilderment shadowed his face. “You think I would use it to gain an advantage over you?”

“Am I to believe you have no intentions of telling anyone you saw me?”

“Yes,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

“Doubtful. Ambitious men like you are always looking for a bit of leverage. What is better than holding lawlessness over a member of the royal household?”

“I might be more wicked if I viewed what you did to be lawless.”

I hesitated. “Women are not allowed in game halls.”

“Perhaps, but would you agree it’s a rather ridiculous rule? Ridiculous rules are truly asking to be broken.”

He was teasing me, but the carefree way he said it, drew a cautious smile over my lips. I fiddled with a bit of torn leather on the corner of my book. “To be fair, you are not exactly what I expected from a vow negotiator, either.”

“What were the expectations I’ve failed to meet?”

“A man with skin falling off his bones for one.”

“In due time, Kvinna. I have no doubt I won’t age well.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Three hells. I shook away the thoughts of his attractive face, and prayed to the gods, who should never have given me the gift of speech, that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself by admitting as much. Before he could comment on my slip, I barreled on. “I expected someone who was more interested in impressing my father, or the king, than spending time with me. A man who critiqued all the ways I’ll make a poor wife.”

“That would make for awkward conversation,” he said, but his smile faded. “Do you think you’ll make a poor wife?”

“I make a poor royal, so yes, a Timoran wife will be another of my failures.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t know why I said that to you.”

The flicker of candles brightened the rich darkness of his eyes as he stared—scrutinized was more like it. Only when the quiet grew thick enough it caused the room to shrink did he speak. “I am sympathetic to your situation, and your reluctance to this vow does not escape my notice. But at least we can agree we are both unconventional in our positions. Perhaps fate has a plan with all this after all.”

I opened my mouth to reply my lack of faith that the Fates cared for me at all, but stopped when Bevan shoved into the library, rolling a silver tea cart.

“Forgive the interruption, Kvinna,” Bevan said. “Your sister wanted to ensure you were still breathing in here, and if you were, I was asked to supply you with food.”

I rolled my eyes. “Runa is just being nosy and maybe jealous she can’t be locked away with an unfamiliar man for hours.”

The bridges of Bevan’s cheeks reddened, but Legion laughed. At least someone thought my inappropriateness was entertaining.

“It is a custom I’ve always found interesting in New Timoran. First daughters like your sister have their virtue guarded like it is the survival of the people, but second daughters . . .”

“Can dally as we please.”

“Kvinna,” Bevan warned under his breath.

“No,” Legion told the old serf. “I appreciate Kvinna Elise’s proclivity to speak her mind. And I’m interested to understand, not being Timoran myself. No one has even given us a second look being in here unaccompanied. What is the difference between you and your sister?”

I accepted a cup of tea, ignoring Bevan’s look of disapproval. “It’s to protect the bloodlines. There can be no question Runa produces heirs only of Calder’s line. For me, who will never ascend the throne, a few watered-down littles aren’t cause for concern.”

In truth, I’d never given the differences between my sister and I much thought. Runa had never been alone with a man for . . . forever. And if she were to be, at this point, it could only be with Calder.

“If bloodlines matter so much, then why do the royal households take mistresses and consorts?”

“Because they . . .” I paused, not truly knowing the answer. “You know, I’ve never really thought of it. Calder is the heir apparent, but his mother is the third consort, not even the queen.” My own father had taken mistresses during his healthy turns. Traipsed them through the corridors of the manor, and no one would dare gainsay Kvin Lysander. If my mother took a lover, it was done in the shadows. “Seems the law rests in the favor of the menfolk.”

Legion lifted a brow knowingly and drank from his own cup. Bevan looked utterly discomposed at this sort of talk.

“Of course, now that my dowry negotiations are open,” I went on. “It would be rather scandalous if I were seen with a man. Other than you, of course. Because you would never attempt to seduce me as negotiator.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Legion said with a sly grin.

I snickered and admitted I enjoyed his irony. Always tossing out a bit of wit, and it made an unbearable situation bearable.

“Bevan, thank you for the tea,” I said gently. “But you really don’t need to stand there if you’d like to leave.”

He cleared his throat, eyes straight ahead. “I have a message still to give, Kvinna. Herr Mattis sent word he’d like to discuss your new book at the bell tower.” Bevan frowned. “I can only assume you understand whatever it is that feckless man means.”

I absolutely understood what Mattis’s message meant, and a bit of fun could not have come at a better time. With such dreary recent days, a rendezvous at the bell tower was needed more than I could say. I didn’t say, of course, didn’t lead on any hidden meaning was buried in the message.

“You don’t approve of the carpenter?” Legion asked.

I firmed my jaw, then leaned into whisper. “Mattis is Bevan’s great-nephew.”

“A shame, really,” Bevan said wryly.

“Say what you like, Bevan, but I know you secretly think highly of dear Mattis.” The old man grunted and positioned the tea tray nearer for us to reach. “And all he is asking is for a stroll around town center after worship meet in two days.”

“The boy would do well to attend worship meet.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Truth be told, if I were not required to attend, I would not go to worship meet and listen to a pious sermon where the old clergy rambled on about how favored Timorans were of the gods. Being half Ettan, Mattis had more status than Bevan, but I think the carpenter favored the Ettan way of worship more than even his great-uncle. Through personal reflection of the gods’ purposes, through war, or through fury.

When Bevan left us alone, Legion opened his book again, but closed it soon after. “I’ve found today to be interesting.”

“Have you? Reading in silence with me?”

“Yes, it’s been shockingly enjoyable. I don’t recall the last time I stayed still for so long.”

I sighed and leaned back into the cushion of the embroidered sofa, covering a yawn with the back of my hand. “This is my refuge. Books are my windows to another world, another life. Being a woman, you must know I’m not permitted to travel.”

“A pity. There is much more to see beyond the borders of New Timoran.”

I shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t even care to, but I’d never been one to listen to even my own intuition when curiosity was at play. “Forgive me, but you mentioned not being Timoran, and I’ve been curious—I mean I am curious, not that I’ve been thinking about you or anything of the kind.”

“Kvinna, what is it you want to ask?” Legion pressed with a laugh.

Somewhere, my warrior ancestors were cursing in the Otherworld at their blithering namesake. “I was simply wondering where your people are from?”

He took another slow drink. “What is your guess?”

Oh, the theories on Legion Grey. He was clever, no doubt he knew the gossip in town was heavy with questions of him. “Well, I’ve heard you are nobility, but from a different kingdom.”

“Is that what people say?”

“That is the hope. Many a mother would happily toss their daughters at your feet.”

“Wouldn’t work, I’m afraid. I prefer my women off their knees, upright, and standing on their own.”

“At your back?”

“At my side.”

Heat bloomed inside my middle. A visceral, unexpected reaction I hoped Legion didn’t notice. “I see,” was all I managed as a reply.

Small muscles in Legion’s jaw pulsed for half a breath before he spoke again. “The truth? I am no one, not really. I do not know my family, or my people. The story told in the waif house where I was raised, was I’d arrived on one of the many passenger ships, then was promptly abandoned. There you have it, Kvinna, the glamorous truth. I’m not new to this land. I’ve walked these shores for turns but was merely invisible until I wasn’t.”

Legion turned his gaze to the window as the last skeins of golden light faded over the ocean. I didn’t know what to say. Waifs roamed the streets throughout all corners of Timoran. Boys and girls who ate scraps from compost bins, who lit the gas lamps for a bit of coin, or delivered royal missives. Unclaimed, unloved. Most were Ettan orphans, either losing their parents to the quarries or illness, but there were some who’d stowed away or had been traded from distant lands. A slice of sympathy cut through me imagining the charismatic Legion dirty, hungry, and alone.

“How did you—” I gestured to his person. The fine suit, polished shoes. Healthy teeth.

“Gain such a prosperous reputation?” He crossed one ankle over his knee, face as stone. “I think that is a tale for another day.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Would you trust me with something you’ve never told anyone?”

“You’ve never told anyone your story?”

“Only two others have ever been close enough for me to open the past.”

My eyes dropped to my gloved hands. I understood the hesitance of allowing others to see the darker pieces.

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” he said with sincerity.

“No. Not at all. Trust is earned, is it not Herr Grey?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He returned a deep nod. “It is, Kvinna.” Legion rose from the chaise, returning to the shelf the book he’d read. “I should leave you to get some rest. Tomorrow, you get the opportunity to meet with some of the suitors.”

I let out a sort of growl. “Must I?”

He scoffed. “At some point I must observe you with some of them. Or I might place you with an utter bore, then I’d feel terrible.”

“You know,” I said, adjusting on the sofa, so I could rest my elbows over the back, my chin propped on my arms. “I think you might like having this sort of control.”

“A touch,” he admitted with a grin. “Though, I feel more pressure to get it right, than anything. But that will be our secret, Kvinna.”

“Our second secret.”

“Of many more, I’m sure.” Legion tipped his chin. “Goodnight, Elise.”

He closed the door, the weight of my name from his lips hanging in the silence. Almost like we’d stepped over a threshold into something . . . friendly? It brought a bit of relief knowing Legion took this task seriously, took my wants and hopes into account. I’d known of enough vow negotiations where the bride was simply an afterthought.

At this rate, I might even trust him someday.

But not today.

When I was sure Legion would be far from my chamber, I swung my legs off the sofa and hurried to my bed chamber. I stripped the gloves from my hands, stripped my gown, donned rough-knit breeches and a loose tunic, then strapped an heirloom silver dagger to the inside of my thigh. A broad, brimmed hat covered the sheen of my hair, and I tied a black cloak lined in bear pelts over my shoulders.

At the window, I twisted the latch until it clicked. Turns ago, I’d discovered my manor had enough jutting stones in the walls, I could scale to the ground easily enough.

Once my boots touched the loamy soil beneath my window, I ducked behind the wild roses, waiting for any patrols to step into the moonlight.

I was met with silence.

Securing the brim of my hat low on my brow, I aimed for the thicket, and disappeared into the night.