I pause, my blood boiling now. Elise and Jordan both stiffen on the opposite side of the table. Elise’s hand twitches at her side and I guess she’s two seconds away from teaching him a lesson for his insolence.
But it wouldn’t be good for her to strike the Commander of the army, even in the defense of my pride. I gesture for her to stand down as I draw away from Baelen, putting a good few feet between us. “No?”
“My job is to protect Erawind and that means protecting you. You can’t trust anybody. Not even me. You may have an excellent guard—”
“I do have an excellent guard.”
His jaw clenches. Emotion enters his voice for the first time. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t be breached or defeated. The gargoyles killed our most powerful spellcasters and decimated an army of our most skilled warriors. My entire family was wiped out. The Raths were fierce, unbreakable, but the gargoyles got through. They can defeat your guard too.”
I don’t want to accept that he’s right. I want to believe that he’s being disrespectful, commenting on my clothing, because that would give me the right to be angry. But the gargoyles nearly wiped out our race.
They killed his family.
I’d never expected him to talk about that. He never did when we were young. I swallow a retort, looking past what he said to his intentions. His expression is earnest, his lips pressed together, his forehead crinkled with worry.
He doesn’t care that I’m wearing a dress, the same way he never cared when we were younger that I came from one of the poorest, lowest elven Houses. Even though he was a Rath—one of the oldest, most powerful Houses. What he cares about is exactly what he’s saying—I’m not wearing body armor, I don’t carry a weapon, and without the storm’s power I’m unprepared for an attack.
My Storm Command looks to me for a response. I’m proud that none of them has risen to anger because of what he said. I’m glad they’ll wait for my command before acting. But in a moment of clarity, I realize that Baelen Rath has just given me exactly what I need.
I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully. “You’re right,” I say, startling Elise and Jordan.
The other elves shoot glances at me too, their eyebrows raised.
“My training stopped when I became the Princess. I don’t think about war, only about the storm. I spend my days either in the Storm Vault or recovering from it. I value my Storm Command as a precious gift. I trust them with my life. But I can’t do what they do.”
Jordan crosses the distance to the table, standing directly opposite me on the other side. “Princess, you have only to ask and I’ll share what I know.”
“Thank you, Jordan. I would appreciate that.”
I spin to Baelen. “Commander Rath, I trust you will support me when I seek permission from the Elven Command for my Storm Command to train me?”
He frowns. “Why do you need their permission?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Training me involves touching me. That’s forbidden. I need their permission—”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I need their permission to…” I shake my head, exasperation billowing in my chest. “Everyone knows the rules. Nobody’s allowed to touch me. Where have you been all this time?”
His response is so quiet I almost don’t hear it.
“Staying as far away from you as possible.”
As his words register, my voice chokes in my throat. I feel like the floor just dropped out from under me. There’s no anger in his voice. Nothing cruel in his face. He’s answering me as he always used to—with truth. But his honesty stings like sharp barbs, sharper than the burn of lightning or the needles of rain I endure each day. To my horror, tears burn at the back of my eyes.
I guess this is why he’d turned away from me at his father’s funeral. I don’t blame him for putting as much distance between us as possible. He might have offered me his family’s heartstone but I now realize that’s because he has no choice. If I refuse it, I will dishonor his House, but if his House fails to offer a champion, then it is a higher dishonor—it would be better for him to fail at the trials than not offer himself as a champion.
I look away—to the floor, to the map, staring at it, clenching my fists and willing the burn behind my eyes to stop. I need to get the conversation back on track, to make sure I can get the training I need, but first I have to regain control of my emotions.
For the first time, I wish I’d just come from the Storm Vault, because in those moments I’m untouchable and indestructible. Not like right now, when eight words from Baelen Rath can cut through my heart like a blade.
I hate that I feel this way. But worse, I hate that I don’t know whether he stayed away from me because he blames me, is scared of me, or hates me. Fear doesn’t normally enter the equation for a Rath, so I’m assuming blame or hate. Both would fit, especially given that, as the only member of the House of Rath, he has no choice but to fight for my hand.
Confusion builds inside me, but it’s better than the sadness I’d felt a moment ago.
He steps up to me. Close. Closer than before. If he lifted his arms, he could wrap them around me. He’s suddenly too close and I don’t understand why. Not when he just told me he deliberately stayed away from me.
I don’t need to look up to know that the Storm Command have bristled like thorns. Baelen Rath may be the Commander of the elven army, but their duty to protect me comes first. The soft clang of metal tells me they’ve reached for their weapons.
