Hildy smirked.
Wynnie pouted as she bobbed up and down on the seat built into the pool.
Hildy dunked while George apologized—in her own way—“I don’t know why I said that.”
“Please, Georgie.” Wynnie waved her off with a smirk. “It’s fine.”
George gritted her teeth, ashamed by her insecurities. She wasn’t sure if Wynnie was apologizing for trying to claim Isahn, or if she was saying George needn’t apologize for snapping. The princess had a feeling it was the latter. She’d expected this, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. It’s not like she hadanysort of claim on the earl. If anything, he should hate her for imprisoning him.
He didn’t seem to.
“How’d you find him?”
The women shared the story, with George detailing the abduction, and Hildy covering some of the questioning. Even though a pushy voice in the back of George’s mind urged her to share the details of her few private conversations with Isahn, she held back.
These were her closest friends, but she rarely had the opportunity to carry something close to her soul that hadn’t been tainted by the horrors of life under her father’s reign. Shewanted to keep this to herself for a time. It would be useful in officially staking a claim and getting Wynnie off Isahn’s case, but she wasn’t even sure she should.
She’d seen the way the earl responded to her friend’s flirtatious greeting. George didn’t own him.Ifhe wanted Wynnie, she’d swallow the bile that threatened to rise into her mouth with each rapid pulse of her heart, and she’d let the viceroy’s daughter have the earl.
“So, what does heknow?” Wynnie finally asked, once the tale had been told.
“Who we are, that my father keepspeopleenslaved in ‘the capital,’ and that I fully intend to be queen by the time next year rolls around.”
“Oh.” Wynnie snapped her dark gaze to Hildy, who always had a plan.
“We need to fill him in on the rest. Agree, Princess?”
George sighed, running her palms up and down her thighs. When Hildy addressed her by title, she meant business.
“I agree. It’s time to tell our new friend about the true capital.”
ten
Isahn looks at a map.
AtVillaSenone,Isahnwas given his own personalcubiculum, which turned out to be a spacious, well-appointed guest bedroom, not a cell as he’d originally imagined.
It seemed metal shackles, fake branding irons, and dank basements were a thing of the past. Now he had a fresh northern-style wardrobe, shockingly enjoyable, conversation-filled meals, and the opportunity to visit a kingdom he’d only ever read about. Life was funny like that. They’d indicated he was free to leave if he wanted, but Isahn thought that offer may have gone off the table after he passed through the capital’s iron gates. Still, he didn’t mind.
Stretching, Isahn stood before his bedroom mirror. He desperately needed a haircut and had meant to ask Solaelia to help him out before leaving Selwas over three weeks before, but he’d rushed off in pursuit of Peros when they heard he was on the move. His hair had been long then. These days he looked likea blasted hermit who’d abandoned civilization and moved into the mountains.
His new Domossan tunic was basically a tube pinned over the shoulders—very different from what he wore at home but not uncomfortable in the least. He pulled on a pair of flowy linen pants and laced up his new sandals before studying his reflection.
His eyes sparkled when he held up a matching blue embroidered belt beside them. Whoever bought him accessories knew what they were doing. The clothing was distinctly Domossan, but Isahn himself looked a bit out of place as a pale southerner in northern attire. His skin had grown ruddy during his recent days of travel under the early spring sun. Hopefully the redness would fade to a tan as it did during summers in Selwas.
I look like a Domossan someone forgot to color in.
Making for the door, he belted his tunic and hoped he’d find company quickly.
A long, shadowed veranda ran the perimeter of Villa Senone’s courtyard. Beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through an old, gnarled olive tree, Isahn studied the green landscaping and sand-colored stone paths. Matching granite benches, tables, fountains, and planters dotted the space. The northern sun beat down on the open area, and when he stepped out into the light, he couldn’t help but spread his arms wide and tip his face up to soak in the warmth.
Damn, Domos is beautiful.
The weather was markedly better this close to the North Sea, and Isahn had to admit he’d be loath to leave. George must have felt similarly after spending a few weeks on the road.
Turning in a slow circle, he found her just behind him, sprawled out on one of the sun-warmed stone benches with her luscious black curls fanning out around her perfect soft face.She appeared asleep, if the lashes feathering her cheeks and the slow rise and fall of her chest were any indication. But he didn’t completely trust her magic.
Isahn let her rest for a few minutes, watching and wondering just how he got here. Not physically—that was obvious—but mentally. During their ride to the capital, even before that, starting in Sorhaven, he’d been gathering information, fragmented details.
