Glass shards pierced the place where her heart once beat.
A broken sound escaped her tongue. “Oh.”
He was marryingNiamh.
Now that she said it, she felt so foolish. He was around her so often. How had she not realized why?
“You really didn’t tell her?” Niamh said to Domhnall, frustrated.
He winced, but when he spoke, it was to Clía. “I’m sorry, Iwasplanning to say something. We’re still waiting for the final approval of my parents,” he stated, as if that wiped away the pain lurking beneath her skin. As if those words could repair the damage between them.
“You make a lovely pair. I wish you all the best.” She rose from her chair, ignoring the napkin tumbling from her lap onto the ground. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve grown rather fatigued. I think it’d be best if I retired to my room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She felt the weight of the warriors’ curious looks following her as she left. For the first time, she wished she had worn something unassuming. Her dress was designed to capture the attention of those around her, and it had succeeded.
Chapter Sixteen
Ronan waited a minute before following Clía out of the banquet. He had watched from a distance as she talked with Domhnall and Niamh, and while he couldn’t make out what was said, he knew something was wrong.
She made it all the way to the daltas’ study before he caught up to her. With everyone at the banquet, the room was empty.
At the sound of his approaching footsteps, she turned. “Ronan? What do you want?”
“You left the banquet. Is everything okay?” In the flickering light of the sconces, her eyes glistened as she looked everywhere but at him. Her fingers tapped against her thigh in rapid repetition. “What happened?”
She fell unceremoniously onto a couch, gesturing for him to take a seat beside her. “Domhnall is a great prince and can charm anyone he meets. However, he seems to struggle with basic conversation when he isn’t supposed to be winning someone over.” Her laugh was empty, and Ronan felt a part of himself ache at the sound. He had grown used to her bright glow—looked forward to it, even.
He had to try to bring it back. “You shouldn’t waste your thoughts on his words. I have spent years by his side—I know how his mind works, and I can assure you, you have every rightto dismiss anything the man says.” It was lighthearted—after all, Domhnall was still his friend, even if Ronan disagreed with how he was handling this situation.
“Including the news of his betrothal to Niamh Morrigan?”
Ronan paused. So he had been right—Domhnall had been keeping something from him, and something important too. Why?
“It doesn’t matter,” she continued, before he could speak. “Even if I wanted to ignore him, I can’t. My future—mykingdom—relies on me proving to him that I can be the queen he wants. It’s why I came here. And all I’ve done is make a mockery of myself.” Clía looked down at her calloused hands.
Ronan’s gaze sharpened, his other thoughts and questions forgotten. “You came here only to prove something to Domhnall?”
“I wanted to show him I’m more than just a pretty face. That I am strong enough to rule beside him.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “So you’re saying the entire reason you are at Caisleán Cósta, the most ruthless military academy in Inismian, is because a prince rejected you.”
She glared at him as if he’d struck her. “He didn’t reject me, he—”
“Clía, he left you. I know he was your friend—perhaps even more—but you said it yourself. He abandoned you. And because of this, you decided—on a whim—to go to Caisleán Cósta. You had no prior training, knew nothing of swords and battle; this was no secret, hidden desire of yours. You’re doing this just to win someone back.”
“My kingdom needs this alliance to earn back the favor ofthe Draoi. I’m doing this to secure my future.” Her eyes met his, defiant.
“Secure your future? Quite a romantic outlook on life.” He laughed, but it faded fast as he considered her. “I understand you’re doing this out of some sense of duty, but everyone else? They see you fumble through lessons and your clear lack of skill with a sword. You walk in here without a care, and still insist on training under Draoi scholars and Inismian’s most renowned military general. There are warriors who have fought and killed, who risk their lives every day, who can onlypraythe gods might give them the opportunity that you were just handed.”
“I worked to be where I am,” she insisted, her face flushing.
“You’re here because of your blood.” He stood. “This is no condemnation of character, merely a statement of fact. I’ve seen you throw yourself in front of a Sluagh’s claws to protect someone, but them?” He gestured to the entryway, to the halls beyond. “All they’ve seen is a princess who argued with the general and humiliated herself on her first day.”
He understood the importance of duty, and he even understood the need for approval that she seemed to try so desperately to hide—those things were what pushed him through pain and past failure. But did she believe this betrothal wasthisimportant?
She rose as well, eyes blazing. She was frustrated. Good. “What do you expect me to do?”
“I expect you totry harder, to stop seeing this as some unfortunate means to an end and instead take from this opportunity all you can. Everyone has a reason to be here; we’re all fighting for something. If you want their respect, you need to earn it. Prove that you’re just as dedicated as any other warrior.”
