“You know, he won’t stay that small forever.”
“And he will be just as cute when he’s fully grown.” She smiled at the creature, scratching his ear.
It was true, when she first took Murphy in a few weeks earlier, his future size hadn’t been her most pressing concern. When Clía had been warned to avoid the lake right outside the palace grounds before her usual morning walk—Álainndoran warriors had just killed a mated pair of dobhar-chús that had attacked a villager a few days before. However, she didn’t change her path, and when she arrived at the water, she noticed Murphy huddled by the rocks on the shore. His small form shook with the waves that crashed into him; he was nothing like the ferocious monsters she had been warned about. He was all alone, and his big black eyes seemed so sad. She couldn’t leave him there.
Ó Connor shook his head, brushing his thin, pale hair off his forehead. “Now, what were you up to before you decided to listen to my confidential report?”
“A conversation with the queen.” She sighed and turned down a corridor. “She wanted to go through the plan for Domhnall’s arrival once more.”
He paused, angling his head. “Are you not excited for his visit?”
“I enjoy seeing Domhnall. I am, however, less excited about everything else,” she admitted. Spending time with anyone except Ó Connor, and maybe Sárait, was a challenge for her. But she had known Domhnall for so long that things felt... not exactlyeasy, but certainly less exhausting. She didn’t have to pretend so much. She played along with his foolish games in court and, in return, had found a trustworthy ally with a dedication to his kingdom to match her own.
“Do you not wish for the engagement?” Ó Connor asked.
Clía shook her head. “Domhnall is a good friend; marrying him is more than I could ever want for myself. We would be happy, even if not in love. And who knows what time would bring us. I’m more worried about tomorrow—Mother said it must go ‘wonderfully,’ but there are so many opportunities for something to go wrong.” The words she had kept clamped inside started pouring out of her, and she didn’t know how to make them stop. But this was Ó Connor. More than anyone, she could trust him with her fears. “I could ruin this for them. For everyone, if it’s not perfect.”
“You couldn’t ruin anything. Not truly.” It was said with a blind support that only family could have, but Clía desperately wanted to believe him. “Besides, your mother said it must gowonderfully, not that it has to be perfect.”
“I don’t see how one could be possible without the other,” Clía confessed.
His hand fell on her shoulder, turning her toward him. “Perfection isn’t something you can plan, but instead whathappens when you accept what you can’t control.” A gentle smile graced his face, the same smile he would always give her when it seemed like the world was too much. It was calm and reassuring, a reminder that she wasn’t alone. “You can’t force a moment to be something it doesn’t want to be, and you should never risk ruining what youcanhave by constantly striving for something that will always remain out of your grasp.”
His words made sense, even if her mind was insisting they were wrong. She nodded. “I understand.”
He shook his head, but the motion held no judgment. “I’m not quite sure that you do, but in the spirit of the upcoming celebration, I won’t push you. For now, you should rest. You have an important day ahead of you.”
Chapter Two
You have an important day ahead of you, Captain Ó Faoláin. Don’t make any mistakes.”
“Of course, Commander.” Ronan nodded, moving past how odd the title sounded before his name. Captain. It was a role he had held only for a day, after the sudden death of Grúgán, the previous captain of Prince Domhnall’s guard. The initial pride he had felt upon receiving the honor had faded overnight, all too quickly, and dulled into something heavy and unfamiliar. He wasn’t sure what to do with the heft of it, but he would learn. For nine years, he had been walking down this path; all he knew was how to keep moving forward.
He couldn’t fault Commander Derval for her concern. It was early to trust such a new captain with the prince’s safety outside of Scáilca, especially with the recent rise in Ionróiran raids. The seafaring invaders were brutal and unrelenting in their attacks. But Ronan had spent years training, was well acquainted with the prince, and, above all, he understood what it meant to bear the responsibility of keeping people safe. Protection was second nature to him. It had to be.
However, there was another reason they’d chosen him, one that followed him everywhere he went: Who better to trust than the young boy in whom General Kordislaen, the famed Sword ofScáilca, had seen promise? Ronan had been placed in the castle at the age of ten and trained by the best warriors in Inismian.
They knew he was the logical choice.
And he would prove to everyone that he was worthy of the chances he had been given.
As Derval left the dusty stable, Prince Domhnall came to stand beside Ronan’s horse. Despite Ronan telling him to dress for travel, the prince’s blue jacket looked freshly pressed, and his trousers were clearly new. Thankfully the prince had at least remembered to leave his crown in his bags.
“You heard her, Ronan: don’t mess it up. I would hate to have to demote you.” Domhnall shook his pale blond hair out of his eyes, not bothering to hide his grin.
The corner of Ronan’s mouth lifted against his better judgment. He turned toward the saddle he was tightening. “And lose my ability to boss you around? I’d never let that happen.”
Only Domhnall joked with him like this. When Ronan first met him, they were both just boys. Domhnall, a prince eager to play at war but surrounded by those too afraid of the ire of the king to teach him. Ronan, sent by Kordislaen to receive training, while whispers claimed he was blessed by the war god Ríoghain. No one would approach them, and in each other they found a mirror of loneliness and ambition.
Their alliance was forged by the steel of their blades and the weight of their goals. When Ronan looked at Domhnall, he didn’t see a future king or a royal too fragile to challenge. He saw someone determined to better himself and his kingdom. And the prince knew it wasn’t a god’s will that gave Ronan his skills in battle. No, it was the dedication and hours of training,of fighting and falling and pushing past pain and doubt and the memories that followed him like ever-present shadows.
Ronan mounted his horse, ignoring the familiar jolt of pain in his ankles as he placed his feet in the stirrups. “Get in your carriage. We want to be in Álainndore before nightfall.”
Domhnall waved him off. “Fine, if you insist.”
As Ronan watched the prince swing up into the waiting carriage, he tested his ankles again. He bit his lip as a burning sensation flared, but he knew it wouldn’t go away anytime soon. The pain had been with him for nearly a decade. So, he straightened in the saddle and moved forward, as he always did.
***
