He turned to look at her.
“I suppose I should just get to the subject at hand, then, shouldn’t I?” His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes held an emotion she couldn’t read.
“I think that might be best.” She laughed, hoping to break the tension, but it failed.
The two walked over to a stone bench beside the garden and sat. Their legs rested near each other, and Clía could feel the heat from his body.
She let herself think of a life, a future, with Domhnall. It was nice. Her parents would be happy. She would want for nothing as his queen. And Domhnall was fun. He was smart. They were friends, and the hope that something more might develop between them with time—not a great love, but a strong partnership—was warm in her chest.
“You know I care for you,” he began. “You’ve become a dear friend.”
“I care for you too...” Clía trailed off, confused where Domhnall was going with this assurance.
“We have had some incredible times together. Remember when we would have competitions to see who could start the most absurd rumor? We would go to the gossips and fuel the mill with ridiculous drivel?”
Clía laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “Chief MacSeáin still hasn’t forgiven me for that one about his hair. It was rather mean, Domhnall—you’re lucky I took the blame for you.”
His hand reached for hers, offering a comforting squeeze. “I’m lucky to have you in my life at all.”
Quiet fell over them once more.
“You know my parents are pushing me toward marriage.” Domhnall stared at their joined hands. “With the Ionróiran threat growing, they want the line of succession secured. They want a wedding the kingdom can be distracted by. They want a future ruler that will ensure a blessed future for our kingdom.”
The words were all too similar to the ones she had heard from her parents. A stronger alliance between Scáilca and Álainndore, one that honored the love between their kingdom’s patron gods, Ríoghain and Tara, and would earn favor from the Draoi. A pairing blessed by the Treibh Anam.
“The next Scáilcan queen needs to be strong. Fierce. Unbreakable. A warrior like her people,” he continued. “She needs to be great and inspire greatness. I understand their motives, and I also feel ready myself. I have been pushing off this next step—Ithink it just reminded me of all our future responsibilities as rulers—but I’m prepared now.”
“I feel the exact same way,” Clía said, her voice now clear and firm. This was why she and Domhnall would work together—they were always on the same page when it came to their families and their futures.
“I’m glad to hear it. It’s important to me to have you there with me in this next step.”
She tilted her chin up. “You know I’m always here for you.”
He met her gaze and smiled, but the anxiety never left his eyes.
“I hope so. Clíodhna, our parents have been pushing a betrothal between us for years, since we were born. It would be an honor to be your husband, however—I can’t marry you.”
The words drifted around them before crashing to the ground along with Clía’s heart. She could almost hear it shatter.
She stared at him, unable to cover her reaction with her usual pleasant smile. Her mask was crumbling at the edges.
“Clía, you’re wonderful,” Domhnall rushed on. “Truly. But the Scáilcans need someone... formidable. A warrior. My kingdom needs a strong queen, a leader. And that’s not you.”
Her royal facade completely fell, and she pulled her hand back. “What?”
His eyes widened ever so slightly. “I—You must have known. With the growing threat of these attacks, we need a good ally. You must be aware of how you—I’m sorry—how your kingdom is viewed. We cannot tolerate any perceived weakness.”
“You think I’m weak?” Her voice was low, faint with disbelief.
The corners of his mouth dropped. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, you said we’reperceivedas weak. Because that’s so much better.” Needing distance, she stood up, back turned to him.
His boots were heavy against the cobblestone as he stood to follow her. “That’s not what I meant. I only mean—did you ever expect my father would let you run his kingdom? That you would meet his impossible standards?”
“Since when has it been a problem before? I seemed to be good enough for him a year ago.” At her last visit, there was a banquet and a ball. She played the part of the dutiful princess perfectly. Not one mistake. And now his father was saying she wasn’t good enough?
A voice whispered from inside her heart.Was it his parents, or just him?
