They fled like that, Val’s breath against her hair, his muscles bunching hard behind her, as the sun sank lower in the sky and the afternoon shadows spilled across the road.
When Boreas began to tire, he brought them to a slow trot, and eventually, led them off the track and into the shade of a wooded copse.
Her body ached from the uncomfortable position she’d held for so long. And her heart bled for the massacre they’d left behind. Bard. All those men—people with families and lives—destroyed. For what? What benefit could there possibly be to destroying a treaty that was set to save two nations from the horror of war?
Val slid off the sweating destrier and then lifted her down, and she stood, shaken, leaning against Boreas’s dusty flank. She had held herself together during their long flight, but now that they had stopped she felt her eyes prickling with hot tears and she rubbed them with the back of her hands, ignoring how her fingers trembled. Bard.
“What h-happened?” she asked, wishing that her voice was steadier.
In answer, Val pulled an arrow from where it had lodged in his jerkin and passed it to her. It was carved with runes and fletched in black. Verturian. Like her.
“No.” She shook her head, denying it. There was no way her mother would jeopardize the treaty with Brythoria. “She wouldn’t. What would it benefit us? We’re only just surviving this relentless war. Our borders are beset by reivers, our people dying. We both know how much she wants the treaty. And she wouldn’t risk my safety.”
Val rubbed the bridge of his nose, his forehead furrowed into a deep scowl. “Someone wants it to look like Verturia did this. Who else knew about the final location of the meeting? Who knew before the Blues and the cavalry guards were told yesterday?”
Horror rose in a hot tide. Aside from her, her mother and King Geraint, there was only one other person. The person who had personally chosen the site from a shortlist of five possibilities and made the final security arrangements. The person who had taken her letter to her mother confirming the details, promising to have it delivered. The person who had been too unwell to join them.
Val knew it at the same moment. His voice was low as he confirmed her worst suspicion. “Ballanor.”
Bard.
“Do you think…?” She had to clear her throat and try again. “Do you think he meant for us to die?”
Val reached out and held her hand, an anchor in the chaos. “Yes. We’re the only ones that know the truth.” He squeezed her hand gently. “And he knows that the court will easily be led to blame you. I’m sorry.”
He had never held her hand before. His fingers were so big. Rough with callouses. So dark against her pale skin. It was strange that she should be noticing his hands when he had just said something truly horrific.
“Princess Alanna? Did you hear me?” His voice was gruff, his eyes narrowed in concern.
She leaned her head against Boreas, grateful for the stallion’s warm solidity behind her, even more grateful for Val’s hand in hers. “Yes, I heard you.” Everything Val had said was true. Ballanor had made sure that the entire kingdom hated her. Nobody would imagine she was innocent.
He lifted his free hand and rubbed his thumb along her cheek, so gently that it took her breath away. “You can’t go back. It wasn’t safe for you before. Now….” He let the words trail away. He didn’t need to say the rest.
But it didn’t change the truth. She stood straight and forced herself to firm her voice. “I have to go back.”
His shoulders tensed, his wings flicking behind him in agitation. “Why? What good could it possibly do?”
She wished that she could lean on him. Put herself into his care and feel that strength wrap itself around her, but she knew that she couldn’t. “If I don’t return, it will be taken as proof of my guilt. Of Verturian guilt. I have to go back, or Ballanor will get away with this.”
A muscle ticked in Val’s jaw. “And if they immediately imprison us? What then?”
Alanna closed her eyes for a moment, wishing everything was different. She opened them again and tried to make him understand. “They can’t simply throw me into a cell. There’s no actual evidence against me, and I’m a princess of both Verturia and Brythoria. There has to be a trial. When I see the Nephilim justice, I’ll simply tell them the truth.”
And then she let go of his hand, of the safety that he gave her, and tried to do the right thing, to set him free. “But you should go, Lanval. Distance yourself from me. Go home to your family and keep them safe. It will take time for me to clear our names. It would be better if you were far away.”
He looked down at her, jaw clenched, complex emotions moving through his eyes as he gently cupped her cheek.
His voice was deep and low as he replied, “I’m not leaving you. I agree that distance would be better, and I will gladly go, but only if you come with me. Let’s seek out the Nephilim together.”
She shook her head helplessly, hating what she would have to say. Knowing what it cost him to ask her. Wishing she could close her eyes against the depth of feeling written across his face. Wishing, with all her heart, that she could take his hand and simply walk away with Val beside her.
He ran his thumb softly over her cheek once more, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Gods, Alanna. I once swore to a friend that I would never get involved with a married woman. But I’ll break that oath for you. You must know that it won’t be safe for you in the palace on your own. Surely you can see that this would be for the best?”
Her throat grew tight, as if something thick and heavy was lodged in it. Maybe her heart. “I can’t. I can’t desert my people. And what would happen if I were to be found with your family? It would be their deaths. I want you to go alone.”
He looked down at her, his eyes as dark as a moonless night. “Alanna, please, don’t do this. I lo—”
“No. Don’t….” She couldn’t let him say it. She desperately pressed her fingers over his lips, frantic to keep him quiet. If he said it, they would be lost. She couldn’t let him feel it, even think it, much less acknowledge it.
