“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, at the same time he stated: “What are you doing here?”
His tone was jarring. She straightened her back and met his gaze head-on. He seemed impatient for an answer, impatient in general. “I’m here to learn.”
“Clía, you never cared for battle and war games. You would barely listen when I talked about my training.” He smiled lightly, a gentle reminder.
Scáilca needs a strong queen and that’s not you.
“Maybe that’s because you were boring.” She mimicked his expression, and suddenly his smile dropped.
“This isn’t you. You prefer... dresses and... I don’t know, jewels and gossip.”
I need more than a pretty face to sit by my side.
“Am I not capable of enjoying more than that?” She crossed her arms in front of her.
His mouth dropped and words started tumbling out. “That’s not what I meant. Clía—I’m sorry. This is coming out wrong.”
“Finally, something you’re right about.” Her tone was sharp. A hurt look crossed his face, and she remembered why she was here. To earn his admiration, not antagonize him. She sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I’m being rude.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “No, you’re being entirely fair. I’m the rude one.”
In that moment, she lost herself in the memory of what it was like to laugh with him, in how they used to be.
Except, that was the very problem. How they used to be didn’t work. A new start was needed. But maybe they could find that here.
Domhnall broke the silence first. “I wanted to talk to you, to tell you first that...” He took a breath. “I’m to be married.”
Clía felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t have possibly heard him right. The expectations of her parents, the responsibility of her position pressed against her lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Excuse me?” The whisper was pained, scratching as it clawed its way out.
Domhnall winced. “I’m engaged. It isn’t official yet, but it will be very soon. It’ll earn my family the favor of some of the more vocal dissenting nobles and strengthen Scáilca.”
Red-hot anger burned in her chest but caught in her throat. Her eyes stung. She wasn’t sure if the anger was more at herself or at Domhnall. Shaking her head, she tried to steady herself and her mind. “I—I can’t believe...”
“Is everything okay?” a familiar voice called. Ronan walked over, coming to stand between them.
“It’s nothing, Ronan. This is between me and Clía.” The prince spoke while she did her best to fight back an onslaught of tears. She didn’t need witnesses to her weakness.
Ronan’s gaze fell on her, and she felt as if he could see everything she was trying to hide, the tenuous hold she had over herself, and how, no matter how tightly she gripped, it was failing.
“Perhaps we should go eat.” He phrased it to Domhnall as a suggestion, but his tone implied otherwise. Domhnall paused for a second, as if calculating the best move, before nodding. He bowed to Clía, then turned back to the mess hall and vanished.
With a deep breath, Clía let her anger and misery sink inside her, deep into her core, to be addressed later. On her own.
She had thought Ronan would follow Domhnall, but insteadhe remained where he stood, a questioning look in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
It was the second time he had asked her that today.
“I’m fine. Truly.” She called on all of her princess training to straighten her shoulders and smooth her voice. “I should return to my room; I find I’m not hungry and it’s been a long day. I’ll see you in the morning.” She tried her hand at a smile, but it was all broken glass and empty hearts.
***
THE SUN DIDN’T WAKE HER ON HER SECOND MORNING ATCaisleán. Its light couldn’t reach through the stone walls to her bedroom, and neither could its warmth.
Instead, Clía woke from a fitful doze to a quiet rapping on her door. Murphy stayed sound asleep on the makeshift nest of blankets and pillows he had built for himself, unfazed by the noise. She had never been more jealous of another creature.
Forcing herself out of bed, she ran a hand through her hair, as if that could tame the tangle of waves. Opening the door slowly, she peeked out.
Then she blinked in astonishment. “Sárait?”
