“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” she deadpanned, lowering her napkin to her lap and playing with the corners of the fabric under the table.
His eyes shut as a frustrated sigh fell from his lips, and his fingers flexed around his drink. “I don’t mean to be rude. You look beautiful.”
Clía’s heart betrayed her, warming at the compliment. “Thank you. I thought it would be nice to wear something as tribute to my kingdom and court. I’m sure you remember what our banquets are like.”
“I remember very clearly.” Domhnall laughed. The act seemed to remove some of his newfound gravity, and for a moment it was like they were back in Álainndore. “I also remember us constantly causing trouble. Remember when you nearly pushed Draoi Ruairc into the lake?”
The eyes that were watching her faded into nothing as she fell into memories with him. “It’s not my fault! You were such a terrible dancer, you knocked me into her.”
“Sure, and was it my terrible dancing that caught Lady Brigid’s dress on fire?”
His laugh was contagious; she found herself giggling with him. “In my defense, my gown was so long, I was doomed to trip eventually. But—might I remind you of the time you almost walked right off the cliffside? You were too distracted by your admirers—all those lords, ladies, and lísoirs clamoring for your attention.”
“All right, perhaps we both were clumsy as children.” Their laughter faded along with the memories. “I sometimes forgethow much fun we used to have,” he admitted, and her heart skipped a beat.
“We’re both here now. I see no reason why we can’t be as we were before,” she replied, carefully measuring each word, hiding her hopes in a casual tone.
“You really expect to stay here?” Reality snuck into the space between them, through the skepticism and doubt in Domhnall’s words.
“Of course I do.”
“Clía, you must realize this isn’t your place.”
The words pierced her. That brief peace she had bought for herself broke.
“My place?”
He leaned forward. “You know you would be much happier at court, enjoying Álainndoran feasts and banquets, gossiping with nobles and getting yourself into trouble. Do you really wish to waste your time here playing soldier?”
“I think I can decide for myself where I would be happiest.” Her voice was stiff as stone.
“I don’t mean that—” he began, but she cut him off. She had given him enough of her patience.
“You seem to have a bad habit of saying things you don’t mean.”
A nervous breath escaped him. “I’m sorry.” His face was resigned. “I fear I can never say the right thing around you.”
On any other day, she might have turned that into a compliment. She could have joked about how she had that effect on people. It would have been a subtle forgiveness, and Domhnall would have relaxed.
But she was tired of protecting his feelings.
When she didn’t speak, he scrambled to fill the silence. “I don’t intend to be hurtful. I only mean—you can’t be happy here. Always on edge, trying to become something you were never meant to be. Kordislaen is relentless, and you’re not exactly the warrior type.” He was earnest, which somehow made everything worse.
“It’s funny how you insist you don’t intend to be hurtful, but you clearly have no understanding of language and its implications,” she threw back. “Dare I ask—if I’m not the warrior type, whattypedo you think I am?”
Domhnall looked properly rattled. He was cornered, and there was no right answer he could give. She wanted to revel in the win, but his words continued echoing in her head. Looking up, she could see the gazes of the other daltas occasionally falling on her, their eyes judgmental and cruel.
Niamh’s return to their table saved Domhnall from having to reply. Her gaze seemed to dart between the two royals, clearly sensing the newfound tension and analyzing her approach. “Domhnall, Clía, I’m glad you two talked. I know Domhnall here has been brooding about how everything ended between the two of you. Did you have a nice conversation?”
Clía stayed silent as Domhnall stuttered out an answer. “Ah, we—we were discussing the feasts in Álainndore.”
“Isn’t that charming. Domhnall, when will you begin inviting me to the royal events? I am eager to experience them myself. The two of you make them out to be so much fun.” Her voice was cutting.
There was a message in that statement—one Clía couldn’t read, but Domhnall seemed to understand all too well. He satfrozen, like a thief caught in the act. For a moment, Clía thought he might run. Then he cleared his throat. “Whenever you would like, of course.”
“I didn’t realize you two were so close. You know each other well, then?” Clía interjected, holding on to propriety with a clenched fist.
Niamh stared down at her like she was a clueless child. “I would hope. We’re to be married, after all.”
