Page 68 of Traitor Son

But this was the first timeMichehad ever cared enough to have an opinion.

“I know we’ve always had to be wary of the Emperor’s gifts,” he was saying. “But she’s not a knighthood or a duchy. She’s a seventeen year-old girl and no one asked her if she wanted to come to the edge of the Empire and listen to devils howling. And she’s a good girl, she’s been working like a dog, which you would know if you evertalked—”

“It does not please me to find her hands in the kitchen, in Nore Ffloce’s planning, in Guisse’s construction, and managing the water supply for both the north and south wall.” When Remin was angry, it came out in the all-but-forgotten tones of his father, stiff and icy and snapping like a whip. “Have you considered for an instant how much damage she could do?”

“We’re talking about the same person, right? Five feet tall, timid, calls Bastard WenMaster?”

“The one who has you eating out of her hand.” Remin leveled a black stare at him. “You’ve never cared about a woman before, why does this one matter so much to you, Miche?”

“Don’t even try to tell yourself that lie.” Miche glared right back. “You’re the one that handed her off to me. I’m telling you that if you’re wrong, you’re going to be sorrier than you’ve ever been in your life.”

There wasn’t much more to say, after that. Remin stalked into his cottage and stripped down in the dark, rolling out his bedroll with a snap. The last straw would have been a timid question from the darkness, but if the princess was awake, she had the sense to hold her tongue.

In the morning, he found out where the flowers infesting his cottage were coming from.

“What the hell are these?” he asked, turning back through the cottage door with several ragged bundles of wildflowers in his hands. A number of them had been lying on the front step. The princess was sitting up in bed and her eyes were open, but that was all the progress she had made so far.

“The flowers?” She rubbed her eyes. “Someone leaves them.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” She wilted visibly under his stare, her voice shrinking. “They’re just there in the morning…”

Under the codes of courtly love, there was nothing inappropriate about anonymously leaving flowers for an admired lady. Indeed, it wasn’t even necessarily romantic; knights frequently left small tokens for a lady that struck them with her beauty, grace, or skill at some noble pursuit. Remin was effectively clutching notes that said,you have a fine wife.

Most men would have been proud that she was so—

Remin’s arm snapped back to strike before he could think about it, and Ophele, who had materialized at his side on her light little feet, ducked backward with a gasp.

Name of all the stars. He had almoststruckher.

“I—I was just—” she began, her voice high with fright.

“It was just a reflex,” Remin said loudly. He set the flowers on the table and retreated, looking at her small white face. He hadn’t hit her, thank the stars. But his mouth was dry, and his heart was hammering so hard, he was almost dizzy. “Please do not…surprise me, wife.”

“I won’t,” she whispered.

“I’ll send Miche to take you to the wall,” he said, backing away, unable to take his eyes from her hands. Empty. Of course, they were empty. But for a second, from the corner of his eye…

“Get dressed,” he said, his stomach churning. Whatever Miche said, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He could see that she was frightened, and hurt, and it gave him no pleasure. This was why he was doing his best to keep away from her. To train his eyes to pass her by.

But no matter what he did, she persisted in being seen.

* * *

That was how all her days began.

“Get up.”

Black eyes. Thick black brows. Chiseled lips pressed tight together, stern and forbidding. Every morning the same frowning face swimming above her, as if sleep were an affront.

“Uh?”

“Up,” the duke repeated, pulling her into a sitting position. Left to her own devices, Ophele would have kept going straight over onto her face. It felt as if she had barely closed her eyes.

“…izzit?” she mumbled, rubbing her face with her hands.

“It’s dawn, time to get up.”

---