Still, political marriage or no, Thyra spoke no argument when Thantrel had followed her from the dinner table, saying that she required an escort. As if Thyra wasn’t as skilled at fighting as her mate, and yet, she also hadn’t argued then. Nor after she gathered her fur cloak from her room, and he didn’t leave her side. No, she hadn’t argued at all, but rather suggested they go for a walk.
“Perhaps I’ve rendered you speechless?” her mate added, to which the princess laughed.
“You wish.”
“I’d love it if you talkedmore.” He clasped his hands behind him, as though trying to keep them off her. Occupied. “I’d like to know you better than anyone else.”
And there he went again, acting like she hadn’t rejected him publicly and cruelly. Even if she had been kinder since those spiders tried to tear his wings off, why did he have to do that?
The pain of that day within the mountain sliced through her, as cutting and horrible as if she was reliving that moment. From the time they left that cavern, Thyra Falk understood that it was only a matter of time before Thantrel wormed his way into her heart. She hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly, but the more she got to know him, the more she realized he had a way about him. A disarming manner and a charm.
But having him in her heart and accepting him as her mate were two entirely different things. The former seemed increasingly inevitable, whereas the latter would be a choice Thyra would have to balance in the face of war.
What if she did accept Thantrel and in doing so, Lord Balik pulled back his support? Thyra didn’t know the Warden of the South well, and the slightest retraction could have dire consequences. So many were loyal to her. She did not wish to let them down.
“What do you want to know?” Thyra asked, gazing up at those olive-green eyes lined with gold. A stunning combination.
“Too much for a brief walk around the castle grounds.” A mischievous grin overtook his face. “What do you say we find a tavern and get drunk?”
Since their arrival in the largest city of the southlands, there’d been no time to let loose. Actually, since Thyra had become the leader of the rebellion, there’d been little time for frivolity. When was the last time she’d pretended she was a normal fae and just hadfun?
She couldn’t remember, so she pivoted to the castle gate. “I expect you know where to go?”
The ale went down smoothly, far better than the swill the rebels drank.
“You aren’t a stranger to the drink, are you?” Thantrel teased, fanning out his fiery wings behind him and garnering attention from others. Thantrel was a large personality. Handsome and striking without trying to be so. Everywhere he showed his face, males and females were equally drawn to him.
“This is only my second ale.” She stuck out her tongue. “But no. Ale and I are old friends. Sometimes, at Valrun, we couldn’t get food. Water and ale were all that we would have available to fill our bellies for days on end. Your lot joined us when our larders were full.”
He leaned close enough to her to smell his fresh, spicy scent. She swallowed down the desire welling inside her.
“Where did you grow up?”
“That’s your first question?” she asked. They’d set rules on the way here. Three questions a piece. One chance each to veto a single question.
“Yes.”
Thyra pressed her back into the wooden booth, tucked in a far back corner. Thanks to her long, hooded cloak, no one had recognized that she was one of the princesses their lord had sworn to earlier that day. Or one of the fae who had gone to the library with the High Lord of the Southlands. The anonymity suited her, as it always had.
“After I fled Avaldenn with Brynhild, we moved around a lot. I don’t remember that time well. Too young.” She took another drink of ale. It was impossible not to think about what had been befalling Isolde during the same timeframe.
Thyra’s lips pressed together. Her upbringing had not been luxurious or easy, but at least she’d always been free. Had lived in Winter’s Realm, where they both belonged. And no monster had ever sipped at her blood.
“We stayed in Kethor for a few moons, but Brynhild never felt safe there. Too close to Avaldenn, and I had that Falk look about me.” She pointed to her eyes, which looked much like her father’s.
“King Magnus has the same color eyes,” Thantrel said.
“Take that back.”
“His are not half as pretty as yours, though. They have none of the warmth your eyes possess.”
A small smile curved her lips. “After leaving Kethor, we moved from village to village. Staying at each place for no more than six moons. When I got old enough, Brynhild settled us in Vantalia. So I guess, if anywhere is home, that is. Mostly, I grew up everywhere in the eastern part of the kingdom.”
“Never been this far south?”
“Is that number two?”
“No!” He looked alarmed at having to give up a precious question for something he’d said so offhandedly.
