Their handshake evoked old memories for me. If Samsyn threw on a tie to match Ardent’s,
he’d be evocative of Vermont Senator Chase Valen, especially on occasions when foreign
dignitaries had to be greeted. Okay, not
all
of them—just the ones who played nicey-nicey with Dad, only to fly home and order
their generals to slaughter innocents, starve endangered animals, and bar girls from
going to school.
I’d never understood it either. For a while, in my ’tweens, had even been furious
with him for it. Dad would sigh and tell me that one day I’d “get the picture”.
Keep your enemies closer, honey.
Here and now, I still didn’t get it. But for whatever reason Samsyn forced himself
to do it, I supported him. I always would. That was what wives did for their husbands.
Who the hell was I kidding?
I’d back him even without the rings on our fingers.
I’d love him even if he never gave it in return.
“Your Excellences.” Syn’s nods at his parents were as formal as the greeting. The
queen mother finally rose from a window seat and approached, though at a more sedate
pace than her husband. The room was so huge and imposing, though the rustic color
scheme and big-cushioned furniture warmed it up. “
Bon sonra
,” he went on as she neared, despite the rays of early twilight glowing through the
French doors overlooking the palais lawns. “I trust you are both holding up well?”
Xaria’s gloss-covered lips flitted with a ghost of a smile. She was a stunning woman
with bobbed dark hair, alabaster skin, and light lavender eyes—a walking commercial
for the beauty benefits of living on Arcadia. Still, there was a fragile air about
her, like a bird cozy in its cage. “Well, it is certainly easier to
pretend
Evrest has died, instead of managing it as reality.” She smoothed the front of her
black sheath, saved from the full Morticia effect by the gown’s cap sleeves. “And
the press has been kind about my ‘graceful control’.”
“No surprise,” Syn replied. “You are…perfectly appointed.” Very clearly, that was
his diplomatic best. But as Xaria acknowledged her son’s “compliment” with a refined
nod, I already swiveled my stare around, senses heightened for a different purpose.
“Excellences,” I murmured, “
désonnum
for stating the obvious, but…can we speak so openly here?” I looked at Samsyn, deducing
he’d know the answer more than them. “Has this room been wired with audio scramblers?
Thermal heat monitors to detect ‘unwelcome ears’?”
That earned me a loud laugh from Ardent, his head falling back. “Still playing Jamie
Bond, eh little Brooke?”
I stiffened, but forced a neutral stare. “I don’t play around when it comes to the
royal family’s safety, Excellence.”
Ardent barked with more laughter. “Well done! And you certainly should not, since
you are now one of us.”
“For the time being,” Xaria prompted.
“Yes.” Samsyn tucked me closer to him. “But as all my teams know, appearances are
only as good as what you believe. That is why I requested this immediate meeting with
you both. The media will be informed that Brooke was presented to you, and received
your full approval as my wife and queen. We shall also publicize the wedding certificate.”
“And plan a more proper celebration of the occasion?” Xaria’s lips twisted and hardened,
momentarily freaking me out. Damn clear who Syn got that one from.
“If you wish,” Syn conceded. “After we ‘mourn’ Evrest and Camellia for the traditional
month, as well an additional two weeks in recognition of the special circumstances.”
His jaw notched higher. “Those dogs shall be clear about our message. We are
not
going to easily forget their treachery.”
“Hell yeah!”
My fist, pumped in support, unraveled just as quickly. Lowered to wrap around my sling.
Freaking. Lovely.
Today’s lesson, kids: how to make sure your new father and mother in-law officially
think you’re a cretin. It’s
so
much easier than you think
!
I fixed my face into apologetic lines. Inched it up toward Syn.
Who already fixed a stare back at me—
Suffused with quiet pride.
And I thought the car ride had been the best part of my day?
“Beginning at once, Brooke will take her rightful place by my side,” Syn went on,
also in calm conviction. “Including abiding in my suite, and assuming every possible
duty as befits a new queen of the kingdom.”
Xaria pulled in a distinct breath. The woman wasn’t stupid; she’d picked up the same
implication I did. As Arcadia’s last functioning queen, she’d just been assigned to
train the new girl. Wisely, I didn’t fist-bump this one. Or even grimace as she murmured,
“Of course” like a prom queen ordered to dance with the math geek.
“Well! That certainly settles things.” Ardent smacked his palms together with a whomp—though
it certainly wasn’t the end of his celebration. With a grand sweep, he hauled me in
and clutched me tightly. “Welcome to the family, little Brooke!”
Help.
Though the word screamed inside, I couldn’t have spurted it aloud if I tried. So
this was what
Eau de Cloying
smelled like—on a sweaty man. Not the good kind of sweat either.
Gah. Was I actually analyzing the properties of my father-in-law’s perspiration?
“Mmmmm. We are so happy to have such a lovely new Cimarron.”
And was he actually making me listen to that creepy croon through the echo chamber
of his chest, as he relentlessly extended the hug?
The air spiked with a strange shot of energy. I’d have called it tension but that
was like comparing a fast jab to a Superman punch.
“Father.”
Speaking of Superman blows…
And growls that threatened the very stability of my blood…
“Take your hands off my wife right now, or I shall remove them myself. And then I
shall break them.”
It didn’t carry a sliver of ambiguity. Or humor. Or fear. Karma saved that one through
me, spidering my body, icy and sure. When Ardent didn’t slacken the hold, I started
running action plans. What story would we give the press about Syn breaking both his
hands? Would Xaria stay quiet? The woman was an enigma—but despite her mystery, she
loved her son. I saw at least that much in her proud stares at him.
Ardent let another beat go by.
Before he busted into hearty laughter again, tossing up both his arms. “And…goooooaaal!
So well done,
chér-ev
!”
If things weren’t surreal before, they sure as hell were now. It almost felt like
the ninjas’ break-in at the Rigale again, time moving in strange pieces of slow motion
and fast-forward, of terrifying and—
Even
more
terrifying.
Slow-motion, as Syn reached he hauled me from an erupting volcano. His face, lined
in terrible wrath. His eyes, emitting pure dragon fire. Clearly, he hadn’t yet ruled
out the option of snapping Ardent’s arms.
Fast-forward again, as my body crashed in to his, only to be whipped nearly behind
while he leaned out, brandishing a long finger at his father.
Then the terrifying part.
The seething crawl of his voice, erupting from somewhere inside him I didn’t recognize,
raging and roiling and low.
“I am
not
your
chér-ev
, Ardent Cimarron. Nor will my bride be your new favorite trinket. She took a bullet
to her arm, which very well could have been her
heart
, protecting your daughter. She is a hero to your country, an honor to our name, and
she
will
be treated with every ounce of your fucking respect.”
“
Samsyn
.”
“Silence, Mother, or I shall inform the pool
and
butler staffs that you are ill this evening.”
Holy shit.
And double
whoa
.
And figurative face palm. I almost indulged the real thing too. Talk about subtext
I wasn’t ready for—or ready to see such blatant confirmation of, etched like tattoos
across both the high couple’s faces.
But it all made such perfect sense now.
Awful, heart-ripping sense.
Samsyn’s face provided the hugest confirmation. So many pegs locked into place, simply
by witnessing his rage with brand-new eyes. His walls against commitment. His religion
of casual sex. His dedication to the warrior’s code, where the dangers were defined,
the enemy drawn clearly, and decisions were made from the head not the heart.
Because he didn’t think he had a heart.
Because it had been broken.
By his own parents.
Your new favorite trinket. The pool and butler staffs.
Syn lowered his hand. Reached it back—for mine. When I twined our fingers, his were
trembling. I squeezed tightly.
I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
He dragged in several more breaths before fully straightening. Though the prince was
back, the dragon still prowled just beneath his civil surface.
“Are we done here, Excellences?” When Ardent and Xaria gave no answer but silence,
he jerked a terse nod. “Very well, then. Brooke and I shall say good evening. It has
been a long day”—a phrase barely servicing the subject, considering our pre-dawn passion
on his bathroom counter—“and we are ready for some privacy.”
I managed quick nods to the queen father and mother—
awkward is in da house
—before Syn led me out, his hand again at the small of my back.
He didn’t speak as we traversed down the portrait gallery, then the tiled hall. When
it was time to turn back for the elevator, he pulled me in the opposite direction.
We climbed two flights of stairs before emerging onto a wide, empty terrace centered
on a marble fountain with cobalt dolphins and gold-tipped sea kelp. Cypress trees
were stately sentinels on two sides of the courtyard; a third side dropped into curved
steps leading to a small garden with a fairytale waterfall. All of it had breathtaking
views of the coast and sea.
I’d never seen anything so breathtaking—but all I could focus on was Samsyn. His pace
was barely sustainable for me, though I sensed his enormous restraint. Though it torqued
my own tension, I sustained from even speaking. One of us had to keep our shit together,
and it sure as hell wasn’t him. The air around him was stabbed with a million needles
of ire. I had to keep them from multiplying. Too many, and they’d meld into yet another
steel fortress around his heart.
After we skirted the fountain, heading for the palais wing on the other side, I finally
dared it. “Syn—”
“Not now, Brooke.”
“But—”
“I said not now!”
I halted.
He growled. Then twisted his hand free and kept on walking.
I took a step. Stopped again. The world blurred behind a salty swath. I shoved it
away, swallowing hard, gritting my teeth. Pulled in a ruthless breath of the early
night air, mixed with salt off the water and oil from the torches down on the beach,
marking the Palais’ perimeter. Seagulls dipped and glided on the wind overhead, riding
the currents without a care. Or did I have it wrong? Wasn’t it just that they had
no choice, and they needed the gusts to take flight?
But without the gulls, what would the
wind
be? Just…air. No beauty or expression or life.
They needed each other.
Needed to be pushing at each other. Tangled with each other. Living through each other.
I slumped to a padded couch. Energy sapped. Resolve drained. Heart aching.
A flightless bird.
“Pathetic.” I spat it at myself, beneath my breath. Like that would slacken the brutal
truth of it.
You’re pathetic, Brooke Allison. Stop sulking, get off your ass, and—
I’d been so deep in my wallow, there’d been zero awareness of Samsyn turning back
around. Now suddenly here he was, planted in front of me. Feet braced. Breaths harsh.
Hands fisted.
Until he plummeted too.
Straight to his knees.
Lunged his head forward, writhing it in my lap, still wordless…and seeking.
Lifted hands to my hips and yanked me closer, still trembling…and seething.
Rolled his whole torso, shoulders flexing, gripping me as if our roles had reversed,
and
I
were the air.
His
air. His breath. The only thing he needed.
I breathed him in too. Clutched his head, hands anchored against his scalp, pressing
our carotids beside each other. Lifeblood pounding. Breaths entangling. Heartbeats
meeting.
Spirits…knowing.
We remained like that for a long time, listening to the gulls and the wind and the
night and each other, before Syn twined my good arm around his neck. Guided my legs
around his waist. Instinctively, I tightened those holds. As I expected, he stood,
carrying me without effort. He began to walk, each step as intent as his clear blue
eyes.
As soon as he stepped inside, I knew we were in his suite. The air was rich with exotic
spices, seductive as burnished leather, and imbued with his masculine strength. That
only made his new demeanor stand out in starker contrast, each of his movements so
tender and cautious.
With slow care, he laid me across the downy white comforter on the huge sleigh bed.
The fabric absorbed my weight like a cloud cushioning a pearl. He gazed down at me
with the same reverent wonder. Stretched beside me with graceful purpose. Ran the
back of his hand down my body with slow, silent deliberation.
When he got back up to my torso, he gently detached the sling from my arm. Unthinking
sigh. It was wonderful to be free of the contraption. Good enough to try lifting that
hand to his neck then his face. But without a word, Samsyn curled his fingers around
it, lowering it back to my side.
“Samsyn—”
“Ssshhh.” He rose over me, capturing my lips with pressure that wasn’t aggressive
but sure as hell wasn’t shy. His mouth reached for me. Courted me. The wedding dance
we hadn’t had—but more. So much more. His wings sought my air. His flight craved my
force. “Can we just have this, Brooke?” He tucked his forehead against my chest. “I
need this,
astremé
. To wash it all away. Just for now…”