“What’s that?” I eyed it suspiciously while heat scorched my cheeks.
“It’s a small symbol of the life I’m offering you.” He continued to present the box, but there was no way I was going to takeit. “There’s a festival tonight in the town square, and I’d like to announce our engagement. Please know if you become my wife, you will be my greatest treasure.”
I turned my cheek away from the box as if it stung to look at it. “With all-due respect,” I squeaked out, “there’s been some mistake. We don’t even know each other.”
I studied his pattern of speech patiently, as I waited through his pause before he said, “Getting to know each other is not how aristocratic families make bonds.”
I tried to resist a sour expression as he spoke so business-like about the engagement. Even the way he stood a proper two feet away, with perfect posture, as if we were negotiating a business contract, made my stomach ill.This wasn’t the life I had wanted. Did I get a say?
He filled the silence with a low, even tone, “Your father is at the end of his resources. He’s sold most of his royal farmland, art, jewels, and the national debt cannot be raised any more, butyoucan help him . . .” He slowly opened the box; the hinges creaked a little, evidence that the box was old, and whatever was inside was an heirloom. A gold choker, with so many blue diamonds it was impossible to count them in one sweep of the eye, sparkled at me.
Swallowing, I rubbed my neck and sucked in a quiet gasp of air as I stared into the center diamond. The light reflected off the diamond, drawing me into a light trance. The metaphorical metal cinching tighter and tighter, the room appeared to spin, and all I saw was my unhappy future with this horrid man. My airway got tighter until I finally broke my gaze from the diamond, and I was left panting. The irony of his gift being a jeweled choker was the perfect symbol of what this arrangement was to be. Stunning in all the measurements of the world, but it was merely a chain. I didn’t want any part of it.
Without blinking I held his gaze. “Why me? Why not my sister? You two have much more in common.”
Instead of replying, he removed the choker from the box, and painfully slowly brought it to my neck. He paused, holding the choker inches from me. His body heat permeated off his hands, making me cringe. “May I?”
“I don’t know why you bothered to ask. You didn’t even ask my permission to marry me.” It wasn’t a polite response, but it was my most honest thought. My mind was at a crossroads. One, I couldn’t see far on either path. If I didn’t marry this man, this war would rage forever . . . and so many people had already died, and our country would be in ruins. The stress of it all was sure to kill my father because his health had already suffered so much. Then my mother would be left to care for this broken kingdom, and I wouldn’t want that either.
“You are beautiful.” King Ashwell’s measured words broke my thoughts as he draped the necklace around my neck. I stiffened at his touch, but he continued. “Your eyes have a fire I’ve not seen before.” His hands were warm against my flesh as he connected the choker’s clasp. I sucked in a sharp breath when I felt the cinch. “It’s your spirit,” he almost whispered, his hands still on my throat even though the necklace was fastened. He finally lowered his hands to his side and stepped back. His gaze penetrated me, giving me the biggest wave of the creeps. “I’m offering you anything you want, and your country will be saved.”
My chin quivered, as if an earthquake lived inside my jaw. This was an impossible choice.
Of course, I wanted the war to end.
Of course, I wanted my father to have this huge burden lifted from him.
However, I didn’t want to marry a stranger. I felt nothing but disgust for this old man. He was practically Father’s age.
As if he sensed my trepidation, he lowered his voice. “I’m not going to force this. It’s up to you, but I also won’t wait forever.” He reached forward, beckoning for my hand, and I timidly placed it in his. He was gentle as he brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the top of my fingers. Without another word, he let go and left.
My hand trembled. Unsure of what that meant, I doubted it was the start of any affection. Maybe I could eventually get there, but right now, I was repulsed.
I peered down the hall, not seeing any staff, but the knot in my gut twisted, and even though I couldn’t see anyone, I was being watched. It obviously wasn’t safe to flee now. I’d have to be more discreet. That meant I would have to convince them I would stay until they let their guard down. For now . . . I’d have to play along. I’d have to go to the festival tonight and let them all think I would do precisely what they wanted.
five
Reeves
A piece of land was my first ingredient to a fresh start. The second was my Dodge Ram I named Dusty. He wasn’t new; not even close, but new-enough-to me.
The third ingredient to a fresh start was driving Dusty dangerously fast. The smell of burning rubber dulled the taste of iron, while pumping me full of adrenaline shots to counter the constant surge of cortisol I’d been living with for years.
I cranked the wheel, pulling over to the corner of Main Street. I barely found a parking spot, as the downtown streets were blocked off. They were setting up an event of some sort. When I hopped out of my truck, I inhaled crisp, clean air that was a bit chillier than usual for this time of year. An early snowstorm had been in the forecast for later this week. That meant I needed to hustle to fix my broken pipe. My worn boots left a faint dust I’d picked up from my scoria crusted driveway as I walked to the diner, and I rattled the old-fashioned bell jingle as I opened the door.
New to town, you’d think the tight-knit locals wouldn’t have much to say, but it turned out I was the fresh gossip they craved, especially the old blue-haired ladies who played pinochle here in the mornings. This was my third time stopping here this week, and I noticed a pattern. The chatter in the diner immediately quieted as soon as I walked through the door.
I was unbelievably good at getting people to shut up.
That part wasn’t so bad.
I could feel their eyes on me, and today the counter lady called out, “New guy, how’s it going?”
“Can’t feel my hand.” It was a joke, but the counter lady didn’t know my sense of humor and sealed her lips shut from further inquiries. The squint in her gaze as it slid briefly to my prosthetic told me how she really felt.Uncomfortable.I stuck that hand in my pocket and rushed to change the subject. “I’ll have a black coffee.”
She pushed up the bill of her uniform hat, letting her hair net peek out. She was everyone’s scary lunch lady from grade school. All she was missing was a wart on her nose, and a giant spoonful of brussels sprouts. “I’m making a fresh pot. If you can wait one minute, it’ll be ready.”
I gave a curt nod and pulled out a counter stool.
