11. Chapter 11

eleven

K allessa’s breath caught as she stared at the man before her. The rugged soldier from the inn and the mysterious figure behind the curtain were one and the same. When she’d interrupted his sleep at the inn, he was like a tiger, feral with pent up power in his muscles. His hair had been full of hay and his beard, out of control. Stains and mud covered his clothes, and he’d looked travel worn and tired.

An utterly different man stood before her. Now his hair was glossy and his beard well trimmed. Even his leathers looked tailor made for his muscular form. An enticing aroma of sweat and sunshine radiated from him.

“I’m sorry. I just need a moment,” she stammered, her eyes tracing every feature of his face. “Nevander,” she breathed, his name a question and an answer all at once.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

A strange curiosity bloomed within her, a desire to unravel the enigma before her. It was terrifying, exhilarating. She shouldn’t want to know this man, and yet...

“We’re only at this festival for a fortnight, then we can return to our homes, with none the wiser,” Kallessa said, trying to rationalize the situation. Then she’d go back to her boring life, look back on these two crazy weeks and laugh. Some day .

“True. No one will care about a shipbuilder’s son, but what about you, my lady?” Nevander asked.

Kallessa huffed a self depreciating laugh, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m invisible to society.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His murmured words sent a flush creeping up her neck.

The clock tower’s sudden clanging made her jump, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the noise.

“I suppose that means it’s two o’clock.” Nevander sighed. “Shall we?”

As they walked arm-in-arm towards the event tables, Kallessa asked, “Could you fill me in on what’s happening? My cousin has the schedule and I’ve been stumbling around trying to figure it out.”

“Castien, the prince, and his mother, Queen Lyra, have put on the most annoying event in all of Krithadean history,” Nevander replied, his voice tinged with exasperation.

A burst of laughter escaped Kallessa’s lips. She quickly covered her mouth, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. A few dignified ladies shot disapproving looks in their direction, but most of the festival-goers remained oblivious, caught up in their own conversations.

“You speak as if you know them,” she said.

“My father occasionally does business with the royal house of Krithadea. As the finest shipbuilder in Dracia, everyone needs his ships, including the king,” Nevander explained.

“Where are you from?” She couldn’t seem to stop the questions falling from her lips.

“Dracia. In the capital city of Vaston. Have you ever visited? ”

A chill swept through Kallessa. Too many memories threatened to overwhelm her, the same ones that had plagued her for the past five years. If only she had gone with her parents to that fateful music festival so long ago, would they still be alive? And then there was Tynan Respa. The hopes and dreams of a young and stupid girl. His poetry had swept her off her feet.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the weight of those spiraling thoughts. “The last time was about six years ago, when I was sixteen. It’s a breathtaking city. The rocky shoreline is so different from Teansong’s sandy beaches. I remember the tall stone buildings clinging to the cliffs, as if they grew straight out of the rock itself.”

“It’s a wonderful city,” Nevander agreed, his eyes searching her face. “So, you grew up in Teansong? Are you related to the Wynlar family in that area?”

Kallessa froze. Which Wynlar family? The present one headed by her cruel uncle who’d cast her out? Or the loving family she’d lost, the one she missed with every fiber of her being?

She opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t. Homesickness washed over her as they entered the courtyard, the mingled scents of spiced cider and sweet alyssum triggering memories she’d buried under her daily grind.

Afternoons in town with Father. Sipping tea, nibbling on fresh cinnamon rolls, window shopping. He’d always taken a day out of the month just for them, indulging her every whim. Ironically, it was her father who spent the day with her, not her mother, as she bought new ribbons, trinkets, and bolts of fabric for dresses.

She never thought those days would end .

Kallessa swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down. “You don’t want to hear about my boring past.” Her laugh sounded hollow, even to her own ears. “I’ll tell you when we’re old and gray and have been married for thirty years.”

Nevander’s chuckle fizzled into the warm breeze, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “That’s right, darling. Let’s see what the prince has in store for us.”

Prince Castien, still seated and bundled in a coat, appeared to be intentionally ignoring a gorgeous woman in a stunning gold gown. He studied a piece of parchment in his hand with forced intensity while she laughed and chattered, her hands brushing her hair and neck with flirtatious gestures. Odd, hadn’t Dovina told her the prince was looking for a wife?

A man in black and white caught Prince Castien’s attention. The prince nodded, and the man raised a horn to his mouth, its sound echoing through the crowd.

“The treasure hunt shall begin at sunrise tomorrow and end at dusk,” he announced. “And the winner will receive the Axan trophy to display until next year. Participants will play the games today from 2 to 5 o’clock. Good luck to you all!”

Kallessa’s stomach churned. The last time she’d played any games was back when she was that “Wynlar” Nevander asked about. Not anymore. She was no longer like these people who spent their days playing lawn games, sipping cider and flirting with handsome soldiers. She was the one who rose at dawn to clean and cook and tend the gardens. What was Aunt Gevene doing while she was away? Probably shopping for new salt jars and romance novels. There wouldn’t be a penny left to their names by the time she returned .

“I don’t really want to play the games,” she confessed to Nevander.

Nevander studied her face for a moment, conflict flashing in his eyes before he fixed his gaze on the prince, eyes narrowing. “I propose a deal,” he offered. “We’ll endure these games for the next two days, but I’ll find a way for us to escape the rest of the week. How does that sound?”

Kallessa followed Nevander’s gaze to Prince Castien. Something was going on here that she was missing, but she didn’t have the faintest idea what it could be. It sparked her curiosity, though. And honestly, she needed a distraction.

Finally she said, “Alright. But let’s try to be last.”

Kallessa caught Warwick glaring at them as they approached, but he had a companion, at least. A thin elderly lady who whacked him in the shin with her walking stick whenever he lagged behind.

“Lady Tursam of the Krithadean court,” Nevander murmured in her ear. “She doesn’t really need that walking stick. She’s just fond of cracking people’s shins when they ignored her.”

Heat from his breath lingered in her hair, raising goosebumps on her neck. “Oh my,” Kallessa breathed. Oh, she had to stop that. She sounded like a damsel in one of her aunt’s novels.

“Number eighteen,” the announcer called out. Her stomach dropped.

“That’s us.” Nevander took her hand and pulled her forward.

Using a soft rope, they bound her left and Nevander’s right ankle together, and even through her layers of skirts, heat radiated from his leg to hers. Heat bloomed across her chest that had nothing to do with the warm afternoon sun. Others lined up beside them, the colored chalk forming a boundary line on the grass. On the opposite end of the field, a rope hung with crescent moon banners flapped in the breeze.

“Your task is to run to the rope, touch the banners, and race back to this line. The first one back wins!” the announcer bellowed through his horn.

This is what the dignified society of Krithadea did for amusement? A wave of awkwardness washed over her. It didn’t help that she was already distracted by him .

Nevander turned to her. “Ready?” The afternoon sun bathed his face in a golden glow, his green eyes glinting with flecks of silver. He was literally attached to her, his face mere inches away.

“I… um,” Kallessa stammered.

No, she was not ready. But Nevander continued.

“The key is to move in sync with me. As I raise my right foot, you must lift your left, and vice versa,” he said.

She tore her eyes from his and gazed across the field. Everyone else seemed completely at ease. “This is ridiculous,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible amidst the commotion.

“Go!” the announcer shouted.

Kallessa froze. Laughter erupted from the other players as they hopped and ran forward, but she could only stare at their joined ankles, feeling like an idiot.

“Lift your left foot,” Nevander instructed. As he attempted to lift his right foot, Kallessa reluctantly followed, but the moment her foot left the ground, she was toppling over. Strong hands gripped her shoulders as Nevander steadied himself and placed her foot back on the ground .

“Come on now, we can do this. Let’s just march. Left, then right, left, then right.” Nevander encouraged, his voice soothing amid the chaos.

She took a steadying breath. She could do this. Heck, she could race a horse over fences. Surely she could march down a field and back with a man tied to her ankle.

“Alright, here we go. Now, left.” Nevander directed.

Kallessa cautiously lifted her left as he lifted his right and they stepped forward.

“Now, right,” he commanded.

She stepped with her right, feeling like a child first learning to walk.

“Left,” he said again.

She picked up her left, her movements still hesitant. The soft twine grazed her skin, chafing the fabric of her stocking-covered ankle.

“Now right.”

With each step, they found an awkward rhythm, and marched across the field. Someone had spent a lot of time clipping the grass to a smooth carpet, so if Kallessa tripped, she couldn’t blame it on the terrain. Somehow, they reached the rope, where she triumphantly slapped a banner, marking their turning point.

“Care to pick it up a notch?” Nevander suggested, his lips tugging into a smile. Across the field, a young couple stumbled, bursting into giggles as they tried to right themselves. Nearby, an older gentleman, his long coat billowing behind him, maintained a dignified pace, his partner’s hand resting lightly on his arm. One couple was about to cross the finish line, with cheers echoing across the courtyard .

“Does it really matter?” she asked.

“Of course it matters. We have to finish the race. Imagine the rumors if we didn’t,” he replied, his voice mocking as he pressed a hand to his chest.

Kallessa rolled her eyes. “I don’t think they’ll be talking about the race.”

“Less talking, more walking. Now pick up your left, a bit faster, come on.”

As they sped up, Kallessa finally felt the rhythm taking hold, a surge of exhilaration coursing through her. “You must have been a good marching soldier,” she huffed.

“I was born with sea legs, but I do have more coordination than most.” Nevander said, grinning.

Kallessa laughed as Nevander quickened his steps, propelling her to almost run. The heat of his leg against hers, the sound of his breath mingling with hers, and the resonance of his voice made her feel lightheaded with giddiness. Nevander’s laughter rang out with hers.

Finally, they reached the finish line, and Kallessa doubled over, clutching her middle, trying to catch her breath. “Oh my, I really thought we wouldn’t make it.” She straightened, pushing damp strands from her forehead. “But you left no soldier behind, hmm?”

Nevander’s laughter softened, then ceased altogether, his gaze fixed on something Kallessa couldn’t decipher. “No... not this time,” he whispered.

Nevander scanned the bustling courtyard, dissecting the lively crowd. Laughter and conversation mingled with clinking glasses, a cacophony of normalcy that felt alien to him now. He recognized half the faces, yet they looked through him, unseeing. Two years was all it had taken to reshape him.

Prince Nevander of Dracia had short hair, no beard, and impeccable manners, always dressed in fine court clothing. Nevander, the sea captain, had none of those things. Of course, he could still dredge up the proper manners when needed, but the genteel young prince was long gone, incinerated on distant battlefields.

His gaze sharpened, searching for anyone who lingered too long on Castien. Despite their earlier discussion, he had little to go on besides his friend’s intuition and a single overheard conversation between two disgruntled Birazahians.

Castien’s face had faded to an alarming pallor as the day progressed. Nevander’s jaw clenched, frustration burning in his chest. Castien wasn’t ready for this, but he couldn’t show concern without attracting unwanted scrutiny.

“I can’t believe we almost won that round of croquet,” Kallessa said, pushing damp curls from her neck.

Nevander’s pulse quickened, his skin prickling with a sudden heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the delicate curve of her neck, the way her skin glistened. The urge to trace that path with his fingertips, to feel the softness of her skin beneath his calloused hands, was almost overwhelming.

He imagined pulling her close, inhaling the scent of her sunshine and canary blossoms, with a hint of something uniquely her . He could almost taste the saltiness of her skin on his tongue, feel the thrumming of her heartbeat against his lips as he trailed kisses along her neck, up to the corner of her mouth.

A shudder ran through him, blood thrumming with long-dormant need. He clenched his jaw as he fought for control.

She was too pure, untouched by the darkness that haunted him. He had no right to taint her, to drag her into his shadows. But oh, how he wanted to. How he ached to lose himself, to let her light chase away his never ending night, if only for a moment.

The sound of the five o’clock bell jarred his senses, signaling the end of the games.

“That was the fastest three hours of my life,” Kallessa said, her grin lighting up her entire face. “And we survived with a small amount of dignity still intact.”

Nevander had been surrounded by court beauties his entire life, could have had his pick of them. But not a one of those perfectly coiffed, heavily painted ladies could have compared to Kallessa in that moment. Her breathless laughter sent warmth blooming through his chest. And for a fleeting instant, he savored the taste of what happiness could be like.

That was, until a walking stick swung into view.

Lady Tursam, her tall narrow face and body, came into view next. He felt Kallessa tense next to him.

“Who are you?” Lady Tursam inquired, her sharp gaze fixed on Nevander. He’d conversed with Lady Tursam occasionally in the past. Could it be possible she didn’t recognize him?

He offered a slight bow. “I am but a shipbuilder’s son. My name is Nevander.”

Lady Tursam huffed disdainfully, turning her attention to Kallessa. “And you? ”

“Kallessa, my lady.”

Relief washed over Nevander as Lady Tursam’s walking stick remained planted in the grass.

“I am Lady Tursam. I hear that you’re newly engaged.”

So, Warwick had been talking already.

Lady Tursam continued, her sharp eyes narrowing, “As a woman who was married for forty years before Lord Tursam’s passing, let me give you some advice. Always sleep in separate beds, otherwise the passion will inevitably fade.” Her thin eyebrow arched. “A marriage lasts longest when certain boundaries are kept, even between husband and wife.”

Nevander bit his lips to stifle a smile. Poor Lord Tursam, rest his soul. He pictured the stern-faced widow whacking her late husband on the shins for daring to kiss her in an unapproved fashion. The image nearly drew a snort of laughter, but years of court training kept his face neutral.

He nodded respectfully. “We appreciate your wise counsel. Even though our courtship was short, sometimes all it takes is a single moment to realize it’s true love. But we will heed your advice for longevity.”

Kallessa shifted beside him, her cheeks blushing a bright pink, her eyes wide. Nevander, having learned the art of stillness in battle, understood this could turn into one if not played correctly. One must never reveal more than necessary, for any information given could be used against them. He probably should have kept it to a simple thank you.

Lady Tursam’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Our prince is relying on the success of this festival. It is crucial for the morale of Krithadea, especially after the war and Prince Dane’s demise. ”

“Indeed, my lady,” Nevander replied, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“You are patronizing me,” Lady Tursam accused.

“Oh no, Lady Tursam, we wouldn’t do that,” Kallessa quickly interjected, concern replacing the flush in her cheeks.

“Where are you from?” Lady Tursam inquired.

“Teansong, my lady.”

“A rather provincial town. It would serve you well to observe your surroundings, young lady. Perhaps talk less.”

Kallessa’s eyes widened, and she fell silent immediately.

“Do not disappoint Krithadea, young man.”

Nevander had no clue what the older woman was referring to, but experience taught him to agree with anything Lady Tursam said.

He inclined his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. May we escort you somewhere? This year’s vintage is quite refreshing.”

Lady Tursam raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to the vintage of two years ago? I would say that was a little on the chilly side. I can see my company has worn on you.” She turned her attention back to Kallessa. “Come see me for any marriage advice you may have, young lady. Good day to you two.”

With a swing of her walking stick, Lady Tursam headed toward her next victims.

Kallessa exhaled heavily. “She’s quite intense.”

“Yes, quite intense and quite nosy,” Nevander replied. Lady Tursam’s words carried an underlying tone that piqued his curiosity. She’d clearly alluded to the poisoning. Only a few people knew what really happened to Dane and Castien, and it seemed she might just be one of them .

As much as he didn’t want this day to end, he needed to talk to Castien. The sun hung low, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling estate. The crowd dispersed, heading back to their rooms or home for the evening.

“Shall we retire to the estate to rest before dinner?” Nevander asked. He could have spent the rest of the evening with her, but duty called. As always…

“Honestly, yes. I haven’t sweated this much since I chased a goose around the garden that had stolen aunt Gevene’s slipper. I have no idea what the goose wanted with it, but I chased it for a good hour before wrestling it from her grasp. I’m not sure why I bothered as the slipper was ruined by then, but Aunt Gevene was happy to get it back all the same.”

Nevander chuckled. He could easily see that image, so innocent and sweet. She really was just a country girl, a far cry from the cunning court vipers he’d encountered. And she wasn’t his to taint.

“I think I’ve forgotten how to have fun,” Nevander mused as they strolled arm in arm toward the south entrance. The setting sun cast long shadows across the meticulously tended gardens.

Kallessa laughed and squeezed his arm. “Perhaps you should fake engagements more often.”

Kallessa felt weightless, her steps light as she floated up the path to the south entrance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had that much fun. Her body ached pleasantly from the exercise, and Nevander’s laughter still rang in her ears .

Lost in her reverie, she didn’t see Dovina until they were practically nose to nose.

“What is this about?” Dovina demanded, waving a sheet of heavy cream stationery erratically, her face flushed and eyes wild.

Kallessa stumbled back. “What is what about?”

Dovina shoved the paper in Kallessa’s face, nearly hitting her nose.

Kallessa took the stationery from her cousin’s shaking hand and quickly skimmed the elegant script.

In light of new circumstances, Lady Kallessa’s personal effects have been relocated from her previous chambers to the adjoining guest rooms in the east wing of Ravenbluff Estate, next to her newly betrothed fiancé.