29. Chapter 29

twenty-nine

N evander’s gaze flitted to the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Its chimes echoed through Castien’s suite, each toll a hammer blow to his chest. Eleven o’clock. Damn it. Time with his niece was precious, but he needed to find Kallessa. He owed her an explanation, no, the real explanation, for his deception.

Sure, he could use the excuse he was helping Castien, but that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason, his mind shied away from every time he dared confront it.

For the past two years, since the brutal end of the Birazahian war, he’d been a shadow of himself. The horrors he’d witnessed, the lives lost under his command, had transformed him into someone he barely recognized. Someone he hated. Someone he’d run from at every opportunity.

But he had to stop running. And maybe it could start with Kallessa.

Across the room, Castien stoked the fire into a roar. Sweat beaded on Nevander’s brow as the heat intensified. Wynna had stripped off her stockings and now ran around bare-legged, her giggles a stark contrast to the tension coiling in Nevander’s gut.

“I’m having lunch with mother today.” Castien’s sigh cut through Nevander’s thoughts. “She wants to go over the rest of the festival plans, since the snowfall halted today’s preparations. Apparently, there’s been trouble with a new butcher in the kitchen.” He rolled his pale gray eyes.

Nevander nodded absentmindedly, only half paying attention to Castien. However, his reverie shattered when his sister, Ciana, swept into the suite, a look of concern etched on her features. Her expression melted into relief when she saw Nevander.

“Finally! You’ve shaved off that hideous beard,” she exclaimed, enveloping him in a lilac-scented embrace. Wynna trailed behind, eyes alight with curiosity as she peered up at her uncle.

“I told him you said he looked like a vaga-bomb,” Wynna said to her mother.

Ciana bent down and hugged her daughter. “Good job, my little fox,” she whispered, planting a kiss on Wynna’s forehead.

Castien scowled. “Does no one knock around here? Last I checked, this was my personal quarters.”

Both Ciana and Nevander ignored him.

“Well,” Nevander sighed, running a hand over his smooth chin, “along with the removal of my beard, which was not,” he arched an eyebrow at Castien, “entirely my idea, my cover is now blown.”

Ciana furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I was sort of undercover, sis,” Nevander admitted. “Though it seems my attempt at anonymity was short-lived.”

“Why?” Ciana asked.

He didn’t want to tell Ciana about Castien’s suspicions in front of Wynna’s innocent ears. “Maybe I just wanted to be a simple son of a shipbuilder for a while,” he replied evasively.

Ciana studied him closely, her gaze piercing. After a moment, she said, “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Nevander asked warily .

“Why that poor young lady almost fainted and ran from the parlor as if her petticoats were on fire at the mention that you were my brother,” Ciana said.

Heat crawled up Nevander’s neck as he glared at her. “That poor young lady’s name wouldn’t have been Kallessa, would it?” he ground out.

“Why yes, I believe it was,” Ciana replied airily. “She has the most amazing idea for ladies’ riding skirts. Quite innovative.”

Nevander let out a low growl, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“All I did was mention your name. She put the two together. Who is she to you? And if you wanted your presence a secret, you should have told me.”

He turned his anger inward. It wasn’t Ciana’s fault. It was his. He’d hated to deceive her, but what else could he have done? And they hadn’t even uncovered a single credible lead on any suspects.

“Why were you having tea with her, anyway?” Nevander asked.

Ciana glanced at Castien.

Castien responded to Nevander. “Did Kallessa never share her ideas with you? I thought you two had gotten quite close.”

Before he could respond, Castien glanced to Ciana, slyly grinning. “Nevander didn’t tell you they were engaged?”

If Castien wasn’t so sickly, Nevander would have punched him square in his smirking face.

“I leave you alone for two weeks, and you end up engaged?” Ciana pressed, her eyes wide. “Who is this woman?”

Nevander sighed and plopped down on a chair, rubbing his clean shaven face. “It was a fake engagement. Long story.” He spoke through his hands, his voice sounding more like a moan. “What could she be thinking? I was about to tell her this morning before your page interrupted us. Now she must think the worst of me.”

Ciana raised her eyebrows. “Maybe she doesn’t know about your reputation.”

“She’s from Dracia,” Nevander snapped, jumping up from the chair. “I have to go find her. Explain this mess.”

Ciana grasped his arm. “Maybe you should just let her be. She seemed pretty out of sorts. If what you say is true and this was a fake relationship, then she may let it go.”

Nevander’s heart clenched at the thought. It was no longer fake to him. Of course, they weren’t truly engaged, but Kallessa deserved far better treatment than this mess. “No. I have to at least try to explain.” He pulled his arm free and strode toward the door.

“Can I go with you, Uncle Van?” Wynna asked, her small voice cutting through his thoughts.

He’d forgotten his niece, with ears like a cat. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, not right now. But maybe if things go well, you can meet her later, alright?” He saw Ciana and Castien exchange glances from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t care. He had to find Kallessa before it was too late.

Kallessa’s heart raced as she roamed the mews for the third time, but the Wynlar carriage was truly gone. Why would Dovina leave without her? And not even a goodbye? True, Kallessa had been nowhere to be found last night, but wouldn’t Dovina at least have left a note? Silly, fickle girl. How did she expect Kallessa to get back home?

Then it struck her. Dovina thought Kallessa was engaged. Kallessa’s bitter laugh echoed in the empty mews, startling a nearby horse. “Of course,” she muttered, “why would an engaged woman need a ride home?”

She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. This was no time for tears. She had to think, to plan.

Home. She needed to get home, to talk to Aunt Gevene. Maybe even convince Dovina to help her somehow. They’d made it this far, hadn’t they?

Anything was better than staying here, surrounded by lies and false promises.

Kallessa strode out of the mews. The melting snow seeped into her soft shoes with each step, but she barely noticed the discomfort. Her mind was too busy replaying every moment, every touch.

Every lie.

“Why did he have to be a prince?” she hissed through clenched teeth as she made her way to the barn. “Why couldn’t he have been that simple son of a shipbuilder?”

Nevander’s kindness, his gentleness, the way he’d made her feel valued, had all seemed so genuine. But how could it be? He was Prince Nevander Lionskye of Dracia. Men like that didn’t fall for women like her. It had all been a game, a cruel joke at her expense.

Stepping into the barn, Kallessa sighed with a mix of relief and sorrow at the sight of Sunu. The mare raised her head as Kallessa approached. Of course, it had been easy for Nevander to give her the mare. He probably had hundreds more at home in his big, fancy castle .

But at this moment, she couldn’t have been more grateful. If not for that gift, she would be stranded.

The same shy stable boy who’d helped her saddle up for her trip to the lake emerged from the tack room, dipping his head respectfully as he approached.

“How may I be of service, my lady?” he inquired.

Kallessa cleared her throat and smiled. “Sunu and I are going on a nice, long journey. Could you fill her saddle bags with oats?”

“Of course, my lady.”

With efficient movements, he gathered the supplies and carefully packed them into the mare’s saddlebags. Soon enough, all was in readiness. Gently urging Sunu forward, Kallessa guided the mare out of the barn’s cool shadows and onto the winding trail that would lead them to the road beyond. The crisp air nipped at her cheeks, carrying with it the scent of snow and pine.

As they reached the main road, slushy from the recent snowfall, Kallessa allowed herself one last look back. Ravenbluff estate sat on the rise, its grand silhouette framed by increasingly bare trees. In the distance, she could just make out the vineyard and the lonely grave that stood as a silent sentinel.

She looked up to the top of the estate, where a huge brass cylinder winked back at her against the dim sky. The telescope. Nevander had promised to show her the moon. Another broken vow to add to the list.

Kallessa felt the ache building behind her eyes, threatening to spill over. But she wouldn’t give in, not now. With a determined set to her jaw, she turned her back on Ravenbluff estate and faced the long road ahead.

Nevander stood rooted in the middle of Kallessa’s room, his heart pounding against his ribcage. She was gone. Of course she was. After realizing she’d spent time alone with one of Dracia’s most infamous rakes, why wouldn’t she run?

Disgust rolled over him in waves. Not only had he failed his men so utterly in war, but he’d come back home a broken man, wallowing in self-pity until he was nothing but a wastrel and a rake. Was that truly who he'd become?

The coat he’d draped over her shoulders mere hours ago now hung on the chair, a forlorn reminder of their last encounter. The room felt empty, devoid of her presence, except for a few dresses hanging limply in the wardrobe and that elusive scent of canary blossoms.

He stalked to the hallway, his boots thudding heavily against the polished granite floors, and made his way to Dovina’s suite. Empty, just like Kallessa’s. So they’d both left, disappearing without a word.

A bitter taste filled Nevander’s mouth as he turned and retreated down the corridor. Maybe it was for the best. Why would Kallessa, sweet, vibrant Kallessa, want to shackle herself to someone as irreparably broken as he was, anyway? His gruesome tales of war must have horrified her.

If he’d only minded his own business and done what he’d come for, he could’ve left no worse for wear than when he’d arrived.

He scoffed. Who was he kidding? He was a wreck, and two short weeks in the countryside wouldn’t mend the gaping wounds left by war and his own self-destructive choices.

But that one blissful night with Kallessa had brought a fleeting sense of tranquility that he hadn’t felt in over two agonizing years. Her soft touch, gentle smiles, her warmth and kindness had soothed his turmoil, if only for a few precious hours.

What if he could explain himself to her? Didn’t he deserve a chance to tell her he wasn’t using her for amusement? But they both admitted it was fake. Yet, it didn’t feel fake. Not when her eyes met his, not when she’d listened to his darkest confessions without judgment. Why did the thought of never seeing her face again make his chest constrict with panic?

He stormed out of Ravenbluff Estate, his boots pounding against the stone steps. The crisp morning air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. He had to see for himself if she was truly gone.

Sure enough, the Wynlar carriage was missing. He wanted to mount the fastest horse and chase after them. They couldn’t be that far ahead.

Indecision and helplessness grated on his nerves, his body vibrating with unspent energy. Clenching his jaw, he spun on his heels and headed toward the barracks.

Declan stood at the door, his piercing gaze fixed on the distant hills of the rolling landscape. His arms were crossed tightly over his broad chest, muscles tensed beneath the fabric of his tunic. As Nevander approached, Declan turned, raising a brow quizzically.

“Is it true?” Declan asked.

Had Declan heard already? Nevander stalked past him, straight into the ring, stripping off his coat and slinging it on the nearest bench.

Declan strode up behind him. “Is she here?” his deep voice rough .

Nevander’s jaw clenched. His silence stretched, anger shooting through his veins.

Declan huffed a breath, standing like a statue until Nevander donned his leathers and took up his sword.

Facing Declan in the center of the sparring ring, the question nagged at him. Why would Declan care if Kallessa was here? Suspicion took root.

Narrowing his eyes, Nevander asked, “Who?”

Declan’s face reddened, his freckled skin turning blotchy. “The princess,” he said between gritted teeth.

Nevander wanted a fight, craved the physical release and mental clarity that came from sparring. Did he want one enough to provoke the captain of the guard? A grim eagerness settled over him, a reckless determination taking root. Yes.

Yes, he did.

Anything to drown out the echoes of Kallessa’s laughter, to forget the softness of her skin under his fingertips.

He curled his lip and shrugged his shoulder, the motion causing a twinge of pain from his old wound. This was going to hurt like the seven hells. With a defiant glint in his eye, he readied himself for the clash to come. “Yes, and has already screwed up my day.”

Declan’s gaze sharpened, locking onto Nevander with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. A malicious grin spread across Declan’s face as he advanced, sliding his blade loose from its scabbard with a deadly ring.