Unless there was snow. Or heavy rain. Or problems on the road. Or reivers… bands of roaming outlaws looking for easy riches. How tempting would the obviously wealthy travelers be to men and women starving since the war? Or… fuck. He couldn’t let himself think about it or he would go insane.
Alanna, Val and Keely would stay in Verturia for midwinter, waiting for the spring thaws to open the passes before returning. They were going to be the worst damn months of Tor’s life. But when Keely got back, he was going to tell her how much he needed her. That hedidchoose her. That he wanted her, not just enough, but far more than enough. Her laugh. Her fire. Her strength. Her friendship and her trust. Her body against his.
He would tell her that he finally understood—it didn’t matter what the future looked like, so long as they faced it together. But, damn, it was going to be a long, dark winter first.
He let his swings falter and then stop, dropped his sword to the earth, and let his head hang, his gaze fixed on the steel digging into the frozen mud as the sweat cooled on his back. And finally accepted the truth: he should have gone with her.
“No answers there, mate,” Mathos drawled from behind him.
It was the first time any of the Hawks had spoken to him outside of completing their duties since the night he’d followed Keely from the queen’s rooms. Their silence had hurt. They were his only family now, and they were treating him like a stranger. But, in a way, he welcomed it; it was exactly what he deserved after the pain he’d caused Keely.
He turned to face his friend, lifting the heavy sword to wipe it clean on his breeches and slide it into its scabbard. “Where do you suggest I look then?”
Mathos shook his head, frowning, as if Tor should already know the answer. “Lucilla wants to see you. She’s in the council room.”
Tor looked down at himself, at his muddy, sweaty leathers, his skin stinking of last night’s cheap wine and the morning’s brutal workout. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Fine. Don’t be late.” Mathos spun around and walked back to the palace, not even bothering to make a joke or snide comment as Tor followed him in.
Tor had been closer to Mathos than anyone else on the squad, but now his friend seemed to want as much distance between them as possible. The rest of the squad were clearly annoyed, but not like Mathos and Tristan—Val too, before he left. Gods, they were furious with him. He couldn’t blame them; Lucilla, Nim, and Alanna were friends with Keely. But he had never felt so alone, or so unsure of himself. Honestly, he would have preferred it if the squad took their anger out on him with their fists.
It took slightly longer than ten minutes, but by the time he strode past the pair of guards at the door and into the council room, at least he’d changed into a clean tunic and washed away the worst of the stink.
He paused, taking in the massive table covered in papers and plans. There was a plate balanced on one side holding a half-eaten breakfast roll. Queen Lucilla, wearing her chosen uniform of breeches, boots, and embroidered tunic, was leaning over a plan of the palace beside Tristan.
By the sound of it, they were working on a series of changes Tristan had recommended for the Blues. The Clibanarii barracks at the Temple of the Nephilim had inspired him to change the way the palace guards lived and trained, and he was busy explaining the work he was hoping to start in the spring.
Tristan finished his sentence, and they both lifted their heads to look at Tor where he stood in the doorway. Tristan with his usual scowl, immaculate in his new uniform, the queen with a somber, assessing expression.
He gave a polite bow. “Your Majesty. Supreme Commander Tristan.”
“Tor. Thank you for coming.” Lucilla turned to Tristan. “These look good, thank you. Please tell Mathos the work is approved and that he should get the steward and the Master of the Treasury to sit down and start working on finances.”
Tristan grunted, his lips twitching up. “Mathos will be so pleased.”
Lucilla grinned back as Tristan gathered up his papers and gave a short bow before excusing himself without even glancing at Tor. But then her smile faded.
Tor kept his hands clasped behind his back, legs apart, slightly braced, and waited. Lucilla muttered something under her breath, but it didn’t seem like she was talking to him, so he stayed quiet. Eventually, she lifted an envelope from a pile on the table and held it out to him. “Keely asked me to give you this.”
He took it slowly. The thick paper was folded and sealed with dark wax, his name boldly scribed in black ink in Keely’s handwriting.
“What is this?” he asked carefully, feeling the overworked muscles in his shoulders bunching as he fought the urge to wrap a hand around the back of his neck.
Lucilla ignored his question. “Why didn’t you talk to her before she left?” she asked.
“I….” Gods. Because it was too hard. Because he couldn’t have her, not until he could offer her what she needed. Because he might have fallen to the ground and begged her to take him with her.
He couldn’t find the words to explain any of that, but he owed his queen the truth. “Because I didn’t want to say goodbye,” he admitted.
Lucilla hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes searching his. She walked slowly across the room and settled her hand on his arm. It was the first kind gesture from anyone since Keely had left.
“Do you realize that she’s not coming back?” Lucilla asked softly.
He shook his head. Not coming back? No. That was a mistake. He cleared his throat and forced his voice to work. “I beg your pardon?”
“Keely’s gone. She’s not coming back with Alanna and Val when they return in the spring.”
He shook his head again, trying to clear it as much as to deny Lucilla’s words. Keelywascoming back. She had to come back. Gods.
