“I’m fine,” she insisted. She refused to look into his eyes. If she did, she would give in. She knew it.
“Then shall I tell you about Nyamialine, instead?”
She shrugged, risking a quick, darting glance up at his face. “If you wish.” If her will was stronger, she would have said no. She should have said no. But that part of her that found him so appealing was hungry to know everything about him—including the story of his lost love. He hadn’t spoken of his childhood betrothed since the night of their dinner in the garden.
“Her name was Nyamialine Calmyria. She was Ari’s sister.”
That surprised her. She looked up without thinking, and was instantly trapped by his golden gaze. “Ari?”
“Tey.It is one of the reasons we are such close friends. There was more than our parents’ blood to bind us.” He straightened slightly, taking one hand off the hedge to lift a long black curl off her shoulder and twine it around his finger. “We were betrothed on the day she was born. I was four years old.”
“That’s very young.”
“In Calberna,imlanidaughters are so rare and so precious that betrothal contracts are written decades—in some cases even centuries in advance. As I told you before, the contract between Nyamialine and me was such a one. Made long before my grandmother’s birth.”
“Not even your parents had a say?”
“What would they say? House Calmyria is a fine House, very powerful, descended from queens and ancient Sirens, as is my own. To wed a son into House Calmyria is a great honor. Ari and I would have become brothers in truth, not just in heart.”
“But to have your life mapped out for you before you are even born—”
“You mean, like your life was?” He shook his head. “Gabriella, you were born a princess of Summerlea, and Heir of the Rose. I know the customs of your people. Eventually, when your father was ready to let you go, you would have been wed to a prince of a neighboring land to benefit your family and Summerlea. Do you deny this?”
She scowled. “No.” Of course that would have been her fate. That was what princesses and second sons were for—human capital to be used for political, economic, and diplomatic gains.
“And so here I am, prince of a neighboring land, offering marriage that will benefit your family and both Summerlea and Wintercraig, and a guarantee that I will devote myself to your happiness and joy. Why does this frighten you?”
She’d had enough of being trapped between him and the hedge. She ducked under his arm and started walking briskly back towards the next intersection of the labyrinth.
He caught up with her before she’d taken four steps, his long stride easily outpacing hers. But he didn’t press further. “The daughters of Calberna are raised with love and indulgence,tey,but they are also raised to rule. To rule their families, to rule their Houses, even to rule the Queendom of Calberna. You insist on thinking of marriage as a trap imposed by men upon women because that is so often how it is used in the rest of the world. This is a crime, and a custom we Calbernans find repugnant. The strength of Calberna flows from our women. We protect them, we love them, but we do not cage them.”
“And if Nyamialine had decided she didn’t want to wed you?”
“That would never have happened. I would have been whatever she needed me to be.”
“What about what you need?”
“What I need, Gabriella, is a wife of my own to love. A companion as devoted to me as I am devoted to her. I need to have the emptiness inside me finally filled.”
She swallowed hard. For all his cockiness, his swagger, his strength, that last, hoarse admission revealed a deep vulnerability she hadn’t realized existed. He was a lonely man, with a heart that yearned for love, for his own place to belong.
“You shouldn’t need another to make you feel complete.”
He blinked... and then he laughed. There was nothing mocking or sarcastic in the laugh. It was more a laugh of surprise. “But I do, Gabriella. I am Calbernan. We require the completeness of a mated union the same way we require air to breathe and food to eat. As I’ve already told you, Calbernans are symbiotic people. Just as our women cannot survive without the love of their mates and family, neither can our men survive without the strength and love of our women. It is from our women—ourimlanifemales—that our magic flows. That power inside you—the one so vast it frightens you?—that power was never meant to be contained. It was never meant to be bottled up inside you. It’s meant to be shared with your mate, your children, your nation. That’s what it is to be a Siren.”
There was something breathtakingly beautiful about the life he was describing. The idea of being part of something greater than herself. Something compellingly whole and complete. She could almost feel his need and his love lapping at her like waves on a beach, pulling from her love and strength, giving back the same, a perfect rhythm of life. Of peace.
She could almost feel the monster inside her relax, no longer fighting against its cage or threatening destruction, but rather feeding its strength to him and to others—nourishing instead of destroying. No longer fearing love but embracing it.
What a dangerously appealing dream.
She turned away and began walking again, turning right when the path intersected another. He jogged after her.
“What is it?” he asked when he caught up to her. “What are you running from now?”
“How did Nyamialine die?” she countered.
He sighed at her blatant dodge but told her nonetheless about the accident that had claimed the lives of so many. “TheMyerial’s mate and every unmarried male of House Merimynos and House Calmyria above the age of fourteen took their lives in grief,” he said in conclusion.
