“Spoiled prince.”
“Snarky barmaid.”
“You think that hurts? Try harder, Your Worship.”
He looks serious for a moment, even slightly wounded. “Aren, I don’t have it in me to argue tonight.”
“Fine, me neither.” I sigh. Truly, I don’t know why I’m so mean to him. I tell myself it’s becausesomebodyneeds to keep his princely ego in check.
I leave him alone and walk over to where Marcus is sitting by himself on the other side of the campfire, writing on parchment, a ledger in his lap and a sheaf of papers at his side.
He looks up when I take a seat on a log nearby. “Bickering like an old married couple again,” Marcus says, returning his gaze to his paper. “Why don’t you invite him to your room one evening? Maybe he’ll be less grumpy. You, too.”
“Excuse me?” I gaze across the innyard at Dietan, who is helping get the horses settled. His laughter easily carries on the slight evening breeze. He jokes that one of the horses is giving him an attitude, and so he feeds it an apple from his palm. I pull my coat tighter around me, suddenly cold and grateful for the heat of the fire.
“The two of you, keeping separate quarters. You don’t have to. This isn’t the second epoch anymore. Nobody expects you to,ahem…wait until marriage, so don’t be concerned about keeping up appearances of propriety. No one really does that anymore, at least not in Loegria,” Marcus says.
“It’s not— He’s arranged it that way.” I feel embarrassed about the situation. The men must think Dietan doesn’t really want me, that he’s just marrying a pliable country bumpkin to fulfill the treaty.Then he can get back to being a man-whore, I overheard one of them saying. I don’t think they know we’re keeping separate rooms because this is all a farce, a charade. But surely Marcus must know that our relationship isn’t real.
“That’s what I meant about issuing him an invitation,” Marcus says meaningfully. “I know he has quite the reputation, but at heart, he’s a gentleman.”
“Oh…I don’t know…” I say, feeling hot at the thought.
“Well, I for one am glad the prince has decided to settle down,” he says, giving me a pointed look I can’t quite understand. “Between us, I thought he’d never find the one.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I say. “He likes everyone. He’s such a flirt.”
Marcus shakes his head. “That’s all an act. I’ve known him since we were kids. Trust me. He’s not likethiswith any woman. He’s usually not interested enough to spar. I suppose that’s why he chose you.”
I fall silent, glancing around at the others, a couple of whom are looking our way. I’ve come to trust the gentle giant.He’s keeping us all safe. So what on earth does he mean?
“How much do you know about…” I trail off as I try to recall what Dietan said about who he’s told about the Rings of Fate. Marcus is just pretending for his men, right? I shouldn’t say anything. But why is he giving me romantic advice?
“How much do I know about Dietan?” Marcus prompts. “I know he can be pig-headed, but I can also tell when he’s truly happy.” His smile is soft, and for a moment, it irons out the hard, focused lines on his young face. “He hasn’t been happy in a while. We’re all worried about war.”
So, Marcus has noticed Dietan’s worry.How much does he know about Dietan’s plan?I don’t respond, especially not when Dietan plops himself down on the other side of the fire, his elbows on his knees as he tears off a chunk of the garlic bread.
Marcus goes back to his paper, as if he, too, doesn’t want to reveal that we were talking about him. Dietan smirks like he knows, and it looks like it gives him immense satisfaction to be the subject of conversation. The man sure does love attention.
I refuse to give him any. I turn toward the fire, stoking it with a stick. The logs pop and crackle, sending wisps of embers up into the dark sky, joining the stars that glitter overhead in the moonless night.
Marcus scribbles away with a quill, his brow furrowed in concentration. I’d assumed he was working, attending to whatever important correspondence occupies a general’s evenings. The paper at the top of the stack next to him looks like a military briefing, and an alarming one at that, reminding me that our peaceful Wedding March is just a lovely illusion in more ways than one. It’s meant to reassure the people in dangerous times.
But then I glance at his ledger and notice the name at the top of the page.
“Are you writing a letter to Sonja?” I ask.
Marcus plants his hand over the paper, but even the great width of his palm can’t hide it. “Pardon?” he says innocently.
“Youarewriting to my sister!”
Even Dietan seems amused. His smile grows broad. “Romantic bastard,” he says with the teasing tone that only comes with a decade or two of friendship.
“It’s nothing, really,” Marcus says. “I’ve just been thinking about her, and…” His eyes soften as he gazes into the fire. “Jared better make sure the girls and all of Evandale are safe.”
“He will,” Dietan says, his chin wrinkling when he frowns. “If there’s anyone I trust with my life, after you, it’s him.”
“Thank goodness for that,” I say, offering a silent prayer to the goddess.
