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But perhaps Erik’s idea has merit. Should we wait to mark this momentous occasion when Queen Cettina no longer casts a shadow on an otherwise bright beginning?

Perhaps.

Only . . . what if her shadow is everlasting? What will become of us then?

Without an answer, I allow myself to be held by a husband who did not ask for me but sacrifices for me even now. And that is something, is it not? Because I know what the evidence of his need feels like against me. There is no doubt this is a sacrifice for him.

The question is, how long will Erik be willing to wait if I’m unable to overcome my jealousy of the queen? Mayhap it’ll go away once I meet her. I will no longer have such feelings, and we can enjoy a glorious wedding night as soon as we reach Breywood.

Mayhap.

22

Erik

We ride through the gates of Breywood Castle, Bradyn jumping from his mount first. As he rushes forward to greet a young girl he fancies, the baker’s daughter, I’m reminded that in many respects he is still a boy.

But fast becoming a man.

Other than a few mishaps, he did remarkably well on this trip.

Just as we ride through the gatehouse and outer curtain wall, onlookers gather around to watch. From our brief stop in the village, it seems word of Reyne has reached the castle ahead of us.

I attempted to prepare her for it, but my wife’s mount slows beside me in a way that suggests she is hesitant. The more time I spend with Reyne, the more I can see the impact of her sister’s death. One way she chooses to keep her sister alive is by pursuing her interests. Fara loved to read, and so that seems to be Reyne’s current passion. She also has many new worries, I’ve found, most of them sparked by what she saw and experienced, by the loss she carries with her. I cannot pretend to understand what it is like to have a sibling, let alone lose one, but I wish to learn everything I can about Reyne . . . from her grief and worries to the fierce side of her I remember from childhood, for that girl is still a part of her too.

One day, just before reaching a river crossing, she spotted a deer in the distance. When she reached for the bow hanging from her saddle, I watched in fascination.

Reyne held her hand up in the air, signaling for silence, and then grabbed an arrow from the quiver. It was the first time I’d seen her touch the bow, which I’d meant to ask about.

The deer, still visible but well over three hundred paces away, moved just before she released the arrow. It would have been a near-impossible shot, but that she not only knew how to shoot and even attempted it, on horseback, had all three of us staring at her.

Reyne smiled at us and shrugged as she replaced the bow. “’Twas worth a try. We could have had a more resplendent supper this night.”

Later, as we feasted by the fire on rabbit, I asked about her skill with the bow. Warin had apparently taught both of the sisters how to shoot. She claimed to have more accurate aim than even her brother, a claim I am eager to test in the yard. Imagining myself standing behind her, watching her backside as she draws back to shoot . . . it has become a common source of torture.

But there are plenty of others.

Lying with her in the tent. Enduring the hungry gazes she doesn’t think I notice. One morn, upon waking, I found my hand firmly cupping a breast when I woke.

Sighing, I remind myself who is to blame for my own frustration as I watch Reyne dismount from her horse with the help of a stable boy.

Aye, I would know my wife in every way, but at this particular moment, stopping an attack and avoiding war takes precedence. As I hand off my reins, I ask Bradyn to run ahead to tell Cettina we’ve arrived. She likely already knows we are here, but I need an immediate audience.

Reyne is nervous, as am I. I hate that the queen has come between us and wonder if meeting her will make matters better, or worse. I suppose we will soon find out.

“It is magnificent,” Reyne says softly.

Situated on a wooded bend along the Hebanby River, too far south to be considered part of the Highlands but far enough from the border to be safe from the entanglements that have plagued Edingham since it became independent from Meria, Breywood Castle is magnificent. Still, it is modest for the seat of kings and queens.

“Shall I find you an escort to our rooms, or would you accompany me directly to the queen?” I ask as Reyne takes my arm. We’re remarkably comfortable with each other for a pair of former neighbors who hadn’t seen each other for more than ten years. Even Gille has commented on it. If only we could consummate the marriage . . .

“I would remain with you,” she says.

Gille and I exchange a glance. He knows of her hesitation to meet the queen, something she’s mentioned to him herself. If only he knew the extent of that hesitation. I have told no one about our arrangement, nor do I intend to do so.

“Then come,” I say, greeting well-wishers and thanking them as we make our way through the courtyard and up a flight of stone stairs that leads straight to the entrance for the great hall. Though we do not step inside, Reyne pauses for a moment.

“’Tis a lovely hall,” she says. “So much color.”