Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Thalia

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter with annoyance as I smooth my skirt.

“It’s expected,” Bastien says, his voice carrying through to the bedroom as he waits for me in the living area.

It seems that with all the royals coming to visit, wherein I will ask them to pledge immediate military support, it’s not acceptable for me to wear jeans or even one of the casual dresses I’ve purchased since returning.

Rather, I am expected to dress formally, and that means a gown in the Vyronasian style. One was delivered yesterday afternoon, along with a note from Laina Mercea requesting I wear it and with apologies that there were no royal jewels to accompany. I rolled my eyes at that because I’m sure absolutely no one traveling from the royal houses will expect jewels or even a formal gown.

Still, I will wear the damn dress because it was requested of me. There is something to be said for looking the part of not only heir to the Kestevayne throne but of the one who will lead the attack against Ferelith. They want me to look like the true adult I’ve become in the past seven years, and this dress leaves no doubt I’m a woman.

A full-length cream sheath of a material akin to silk, the gown gathers at the waist and drops to the floor in soft, fluid folds. Wide and plunging deeply, the neckline ends at the center of my chest, exposing the soft inner curves of my breasts. The skirt has a long slit straight up the front to mid-thigh, which exposes my legs as I walk or even upon a ruffle of a breeze. I used a healing potion to erase the discoloration from Snyder’s bruising, and thankfully, it also erased most of the soreness.

I was given a pair of crystal-studded heels to wear, and I feel like I’m going to topple over at any moment. Seven years of cowboy boots and tennis shoes have weakened my abilities to be comfortable in formal wear.

I step out of the bedroom and take in Bastien, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in battle gear rather than formal military attire. He’s done so to make a point to everyone.

This is not about ceremony, but war.

Bastien’s battle gear consists of black pants made of a stiff, denim-like material. Over that, leather guards are strapped to the thighs, knees, and shins. His top is a simple black tunic tucked into his pants, but with crisscrossing leather straps in the front that hold a metal breastplate to his sternum. The shirt is sleeveless, a nod to the warm weather, but his upper and lower arms bear metal plates to shield from sword blows. Steel-reinforced black leather boots make him battle ready and imposing as hell, given his brawn and height.

“Looks like you’re ready for a fight,” I muse with an approving smile.

He does not return it but instead grits out, “You’re not wearing that. Go change.”

Confused, I glance down at the dress Laina picked out. Fashion norms didn’t change while I was gone. This is completely what would be expected of a royal.

I glower at him. “And just exactly what do you think I should wear?”

“Those jeans and one of your flannel shirts,” he replies without batting an eye.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You just said it was ridiculous to wear that dress while you were in the bedroom not even a minute ago.”

I scoff, moving toward the door. “Don’t be an ass, Bastien. I’m not changing.”

He moves fast as lightning, wrapping his hand around my upper arm. “That dress is too revealing. Do you want Sorin ogling you?”

“If it gets us his help, I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for a little ogling.” I smile sweetly to emphasize my point.

“I’m sure he wants to do more than ogle,” Bastien retorts.

“At least someone wants to,” I mutter and I hate that it sounds a little petulant. “I’m not changing my mind, so we might as well go.”

Bastien releases my arm and doesn’t say another word as we move to the door. “We should bend distance to Conclave Hall,” he suggests, and I know he’s only doing that to keep people from looking at me.

“I’d rather enjoy the walk,” I reply, moving onto the porch. I don’t miss the guards there waiting for us, eyeballs about to pop out of their heads as they take me in.

“What are you looking at?” Bastien barks, and they all move to attention, heads turned away. He trots down the steps, inspecting the lines, and I have to bite my tongue not to laugh over what I’m convinced is a fabulous display of jealousy.

I’m not surprised he’s in a foul mood this morning. He wasn’t happy I spent so long with Archer, and he was terse during dinner last night in the cottage. Bastien’s still mad about me going to see Hephastus, but he’s also resigned. He didn’t try to talk me out of it, other than to ask once again to let someone else go.

“That would be a waste of time,” I told him. “I’m the best chance of getting the info we want.”

“There’s a good chance you could die,” he pointed out.

“Good chance you could die, too, since you’ll be there with me,” I tossed back.

Bastien glared at me. “I’m not afraid to die for you, Thalia. Or this cause.”

“I know,” I said, gentling my voice so he understood I was being genuine and not baiting him. “I appreciate your concerns, really, and I’d let someone else go if I thought it would be fruitful. It won’t be that bad. It’s probably not more than a day’s ride once we bend distance to the edge of the valley.”

“More like a day and a half,” Bastien said, and we got down to the business of where we’d travel, avoiding large towns, if possible, and staying off busy roads. The Rosethorn Valley is huge and not overly populated, but it’s a region claimed by Ferelith since it sits right on the southern border of Kestevayne.

We’re a spectacle as we walk through town to Conclave Hall. More people have turned out on the streets to wave, because royal visitors are never kept secret for long.

As we approach the hall, I see a variety of soldiers and guards all decked out in the colors and crests of each family. Joining us, in addition to Baynor Sorin, will be representatives from the D’Amuris, the Groucutt, the Baudin, and the Foss.

But Baynor Sorin is the most important as he controls the largest army, next to ours.

He will be my focus.

We enter the hall, and I’m momentarily speechless. The Conclave has put to use their magics to decorate with floating lights and flowers and buffet tables of food everywhere. On the dais beyond our meeting table, a huge ice sculpture of a raven is magically kept frozen. Waiters circulate offering wines and other liquors. While we’re here to discuss business, the royals expect this sort of welcome, so I can’t begrudge it.

I move through the room, Bastien close behind at all times. He relented to leave the guards outside when I told him it was preposterous to think I’d be attacked while in the hall and that I am more than confident he can protect me.

“Princess Thalia,” a man’s voice booms, and I turn to see Renard Foss striding toward me followed by his daughter Annika and stepson Mason.

“It’s good to see you, Prince Renard.” My tone is cordial and diplomatic, and I accept his air kiss to each cheek.

All royal titles are simply either prince or princess, depending on who rules. Only those who sit on the throne at Kestevayne earn the title of king or queen, and I have not yet earned that. I suppose technically I am considered queen now that my parents are dead, but I’ll never accept that position until I win back my city.

Turning to Annika, I rest my hands on her shoulders and take her in. “You’ve grown into a lovely woman. You are well?”

If I remember correctly, Annika Foss was only about sixteen at the time I was sent to the First Dimension. She’d be around twenty-three now and she’s a tremendous beauty with golden-blond hair and honey-gold eyes.

“I am well,” she replies, but in such a way that I actually don’t believe it. Her gaze drops from mine, and I cut a glance to her father who seems oblivious. I turn to Mason, who’s watching Annika guardedly.

I nod to him. “Mason.”

He utters a short bow. “Your Highness.”

I’ve never liked Mason. He’s a few years older than Annika and was always a hellion during visits. But Renard treats him like he’s his own blood, and I won’t be surprised if he names him heir over Annika, purely because he’s a man. Renard Foss is a misogynist, and I’m sure he has raised Mason to be the same.

Someone touches my elbow, and I turn to see Laina. “Thalia… Prince Baynor is on the dais and would like a word before we commence.”

“Of course.” I smile and nod that way. “Please let him know I’ll be there in a minute.”

I excuse myself from the Foss family, making a mental note for later to pull Annika aside and ask her again if she’s okay. Just a gut feeling. She might not tell me anything, as we don’t know each other well, but as a woman who cares about other women, I need to try.

Looking up at Bastien, I say, “I’d like you with me when I talk to Baynor, but I need you to tone down your antagonism.”

“What antagonism?” he asks, but he knows damn well what I’m talking about.

“You never liked him, and you’ve always made that clear. But we need his troops, so I need you to play nice.”

“Noted,” he mutters with a curt nod.

“Then let’s go.”

We make it no more than a few feet up the aisle before Kieran steps in our path, but his focus is solely on me. “You must tell me who that ravishing creature is you were talking to.”

My mouth drops and I glance over my shoulder, then back to Kieran. “Annika?”

“That’s all I needed,” he says with a wink and starts to brush by us.

“Kieran,” I call out, and he stops to look at me.

“She’s…” I don’t know what she is. Fragile? Vulnerable? I can’t put my finger on it, but in the end, I trust Kieran. He might be a big flirt, but if she shoots him down, he’ll accept with all due respect. “Never mind. She’s a sweet girl, but her stepbrother’s a bit of a douche. Don’t offend him, or you’ll offend Renard, and we need his support.”

“Noted, sis,” Kieran says and saunters off.

I stay frozen a moment at the use of the word sis. He used to call me that after Bastien and I became a couple. When everyone knew that we’d be married someday, he started calling me his sister.

Ignoring the sadness the memory evokes, I square my shoulders and move to the dais, Bastien at my side.

Baynor stands with the head of his Conclave, Ranulf Centara, and they’re chatting with Laina. Baynor is dressed as a royal in velvet and silk, though he’s in no way weak looking. Baynor is as big as Bastien, but he’s more politician than soldier.

He’s incredibly handsome with dark hair that’s curly and longish and summer-blue eyes. I used to have a bit of a crush on him when I was younger, but that was on the back burner because my heart has always belonged to Bastien.

As I reach the top of the dais, Baynor’s expression lights up with joy.

“Thalia,” he exclaims, moving to me with outstretched arms.

Seeing no way out of it, I graciously accept a hug. He pulls me in close, too close, and holds me tightly. “I’m so glad to see you safe and healthy.”

Stepping back, I say, “It’s quite wonderful to see you, too, Baynor. And thank you for coming on such short notice. We have much to discuss.”

“Anything for you,” he says solicitously, but I know that’s a lie. Just yesterday he was insisting we come to him, until Kieran put him in his place. His gaze moves to Bastien, his smile dropping. “Commandant Dunne, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I find it odd you wouldn’t expect that,” Bastien replies lazily. “Thalia is my top concern. I lead our army. Surely, you didn’t think only you would have her ear.”

Baynor shrugs innocently. “Things change.”

It’s a direct slap at Bastien that Baynor knows he’s no longer my love interest and not concerned about me in all ways. I let it go as I’m sure Baynor’s insolence bounced right off Bastien. He simply doesn’t care about me personally in that way.

“You’re looking well, Baynor.” I clasp my hands in front of me.

Without any regard for propriety, Baynor lets his gaze rove over me, lingering a little too long on the deep dip in my gown and my partially exposed breasts. “You’re looking more beautiful than ever.”

I want to preen. It’s nice to have someone say I’m pretty, especially since I’ve felt all but invisible to the one man I want.

But I don’t dwell on such insignificance. “You’ve been lucky so far, Baynor. Ferelith has left Croyden alone for many years.”

He nods gravely. “Croyden is too far from Kestevayne. Ferelith has been comfortable sitting inside her palace walls, and only advancing on those regions within arm’s length.”

I smile and tip my head. “My palace walls.”

Baynor looks confused. “Excuse me?”

“You said her palace walls. Don’t you mean my palace walls?” My smile stays in place, but my tone is glacial.

“Of course,” Baynor hastily gushes. “My apologies. I am in no way giving deference to Ferelith as the proper ruler of Kestevayne. The throne is rightfully yours, and I want to help you get it back.”

“I’m grateful for that—” I begin.

“Spit it out, Baynor. What is it you want in return?” Bastien interrupts.

Laina gasps, and Ranulf makes a choking sound. It’s not polite for a nonroyal to address one by his or her first name, much less make demands. Even as well respected as Bastien is, decorum still exists.

“Bastien,” I warn, but he keeps his eyes focused on the prince of Croyden.

“Actually,” Baynor says, “there is something I want. I would like your hand in marriage, Thalia, and I want to rule Kestevayne with you when we end this war with Ferelith.”

I blink in surprise. I had not expected him to be so forthright so soon. Marriage proposals are made all the time and throughout history to strengthen houses, but his bluntness shocks me.

Yet I’m also curious. “I’m flattered, Baynor, and beyond honored. Let’s assume I would entertain your proposal—when would this marriage take place?”

“I would like it to happen as soon as possible. You could then come with me to Croyden where you would be completely safe.”

“And in return for my agreement to marry you, Kestevayne would get what in return?”

Baynor looks directly at Bastien. “You would have full command of my army. It totals twenty thousand men.”

The entire army?

Now that is shocking. We could overrun Ferelith with sheer numbers if we had Sorin’s army. My mind races. Could I honestly marry Baynor when I don’t love him? Could I give up on Bastien in exchange for saving my people?

I make the mistake of looking up at Bastien, but he’s not looking at me. He’s glaring at Baynor like he wants to kill him.

I clear my throat to get everyone’s attention. “Twenty thousand men would be an immense resource. While I’m not in the market for marriage, I have to admit, your offer makes your proposal quite enticing.”

Bastien takes me by the arm, his grip tight with warning. “I need to speak with you in private.”

I start to object, but Bastien pulls me away. I have a choice—I can make a scene or go quietly.

“Is everything okay, Thalia?” Baynor asks.

“It’s fine,” I call over my shoulder as I follow Bastien to a door that leads to the Conclave’s private quarters. “We’ll just be a minute.”

Bastien’s strides are long and angry, and I struggle to keep up. He leads me down a hall and into the Conclave library where a few members of the Scrinia read books at tables.

“Out,” he barks as we enter. There’s a mad scramble as people exit and then Bastien slams the door shut.

Turning me around roughly, he grabs both of my shoulders and leans in close. “What the fuck are you playing at, Thalia?”

I bring my arms up in an effort to break Bastien’s hold. “Get your damn hands off me!”

Bastien grips me tighter and leans in so we’re almost nose to nose. His words are deliberately punctuated. “You. Will. Not. Marry. Sorin.”

“I can marry whomever I damn well want to,” I retort. “And Baynor’s offer is one that could save us all.”

Bastien’s eyes glow with his rage. Trick of the light, I’m sure.

“You are the most frustratingly annoying woman I have ever met,” he grits out. By the tone of his voice, it feels as if he wants to strangle me.

Instead, he moves both hands to my face and crushes his mouth to mine.

My head spins from the power behind his punishing kiss, but I meet it eagerly. It’s what I’ve been waiting for, and hope flares bright within.

At last… he’s admitting to having feelings for me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and open my mouth to give him full access.

Bastien claims me hungrily, branding me. He walks me backward and with just a few steps, he has me flat against a wall. Without breaking the kiss, I’m lifted in the air with his hands under my ass, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

Thank the gods for this dress and the long slit in its skirt.

Bastien holds me up with one hand and the pressure of his pelvis pinning me to the wall. His other hand tangles into my hair and holds me captive.

Flexing forward, I feel the mighty length of him pressing into my core, and I groan against his mouth.

Bastien pulls my head to the side, moves his lips from my mouth, and nibbles over my jaw and down my neck. I squirm against the onslaught, and it takes all my willpower not to wantonly grind on his erection.

Pulling back, Bastien stares into my eyes. He then leans his upper body back and drops his gaze to my chest, rising and falling. He releases my hair and drops his hand to the material at my sternum. With just his knuckles, he rubs over my breast, grazing my nipple. My entire body bucks from just that slight touch.

“I really didn’t want you to wear this dress today, but now I see its merits,” Bastien murmurs as he starts to pull the material to the side.

My insides are coiled tight, wondering where this is going. I’m quite fine if he wants to take it all the way, right here, right now.

A loud knock sounds at the door, and I jerk at the intrusion, which unfortunately breaks the spell.

“Thalia? Is everything okay?” Baynor calls through the wood.

Bastien and I stare at each other. I take a deep breath, hoping my voice comes out steady. “Yes. We’re just ironing out some issues. Can you give us a few more minutes?”

“Of course,” he replies, and his footsteps recede.

Bastien lowers me to the ground, hands on my hips until I’m steady. His expression is fierce. “I mean it, Thalia. You are not marrying Baynor Sorin.”

I’m torn between being angry at his high-handedness and yearning for him to declare I’m his. “Does that mean you’re offering me marriage?”

Bastien doesn’t even pause to think about it. “No. I’m not.” His tone is flat, and hard-hearted Bastien is back in full force.

Furiously, I push him away and smooth my dress. “Then you have no say in what I do. Get that through your thick skull.” I brush past him and storm out the door.

When I reach the main hall, I walk immediately to Baynor. “I apologize for our absence. Bastien was just making some of his concerns known, and I’ll take them under advisement. I am wondering, though, if I could talk to you in private as I have some details about your proposal I want to clarify.”

Baynor’s face lights up with a huge smile. “Of course. How about we take a walk outside? I assume you have a Garden of the Gods?”

“We have a lovely one,” I say as I tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow.

Bastien appears on the dais, and I issue an order that must be obeyed. “I need a private word with Prince Baynor. If you feel like you must put guards around me, they may post around the Garden of the Gods, but otherwise, we’re not to be disturbed.”

I don’t wait to see Bastien’s reaction and instead lead Baynor down the dais steps and off through a side hallway that leads outside.