Derval’s face remained impassive. “Of course, Your Highness.”
“Well, then”—a smile lit up the prince’s face—“let’s get moving.”
***
THE ROAD TOÁLAINNDORE WAS WINDING AND THE CARRIAGEquiet. It would be several hours before they would reach Bailetara, the capital city. Ronan itched for the steady motion of his horse beneath him, but instead he was sitting before the prince, confined to the claustrophobia of wood and iron.
“I should be outside,” he said, eyeing the small windowbeside him. The curtains were pulled aside, but he could get only small glimpses of the forest as they rolled through.
“You’re covered in blood and you’re favoring your right ankle,” Domhnall said. Ronan followed the prince’s gaze to the offending limb. It was angled in a way to relieve the pressure and ache. He pulled it in toward himself.
“It’s not your job to worry about me,” he replied.
The prince leaned back in his seat, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and tossing it to Ronan. The embroidery scratched at his wounds as he wiped his face. “I’ll keep worrying about you for as long as you continue to neglect yourself.” Domhnall shrugged. “It’s a good enough distraction.”
This, Ronan understood. “You’re worried about seeing the princess again?”
Ronan had heard more than enough about Princess Clíodhna in his years by the prince’s side. The gossip in the corridors always centered around the two of them: their betrothal and how their marriage would help both kingdoms gain the favor of the Draoi and the gods.
“I worry about what must be done.”
“I know this marriage may not be what you would have chosen for yourself if given the option, but I thought you liked Princess Clíodhna,” Ronan said.
Ronan was always the first to hear tales of Domhnall’s trips to Álainndore, and in all of them, the princess featured heavily. Whether she and Domhnall were sneaking out to visit town or causing minor mischief among the nobility, Princess Clíodhna was one of Domhnall’s favorite accomplices.
However, Ronan didn’t share his friend’s fondness for theprincess. After all, it was her parents who had denied Scáilca’s request for help rebuilding after a particularly brutal Ionróiran invasion attempt last spring. They claimed their funds were low, yet they proudly boasted about the large Aotaine feast they held later that month. He wasn’t the only one who believed the Fionnáin family relished in the luxury of royal blood while not feeling the weight of it. Domhnall might have to look past this for the sake of his friendship and Scáilca’s alliances, including the watchful Draoi, but Ronan was under no obligation to do the same.
The light from the window fell on Domhnall’s eyes, the deep green the same color as the trees the prince was watching. “I like Clía well enough. That’s the problem.”
Ronan raised his brow.Elaborate.
With a sigh, Domhnall folded inward. Elbows against his knees, the prince fumbled with a cuff of his shirt. “Have you ever had to do something, knowing it’s not what you want? That it might hurt someone you care for?”
“What are you talking about?”
Domhnall stared intently at his palms as if they offended him. “I know what I need to do. I know what’s right. Yet somehow it doesn’t make it easier.”
“It never does,” Ronan whispered. For the past few weeks, he’d assumed Domhnall’s frequent pacing in his rooms had been due to the pressure of the betrothal finally hitting him. Maybe Ronan had been wrong. What if it wasn’t merely the stress of the situation, but instead the sacrifices it brought? Maybe even a secret lover Domhnall didn’t want to lose?
Ronan couldn’t help him until he admitted to it. “What is it exactly that has you so concerned?”
“It’s not your job to worry about me.”
Ronan gave him a look. “That won’t work, seeing as it actuallyismy job.”
Domhnall grumbled, lifting his head to fix him with a glare. “And I repeat, that can be changed.”
“You would miss my company.”
“I deny that. I am the future king; I could replace you in an instant with someone much more enjoyable.” Despite his words, a grin snuck across Domhnall’s face.
Ronan didn’t bother hiding his own. “Of course.”
“You know what your new position means, right?” Domhnall switched subjects gracefully, and Ronan allowed him to. For the moment. “In a week, you will be joining me at Caisleán Cósta.”
Ronan’s breath caught in his chest.
He had known Domhnall would have the opportunity to study at Caisleán Cósta; all the royals of Inismian were allowed to train there under the tutelage of General Kordislaen and the Draoi scholars. However, for those with no noble blood, invitations were harder to come by. Only the greatest common-born warriors were granted entry. Ronan had spent years hoping to be one of them.
