Page 78 of Angel in Absentia
A servant beckoned for his attention, offering a chalice of drink, which he accepted before passing it to her. The servant seemed flustered as if reminded that perhaps he should have asked her first, and then scurried away to grab another.
Ryson looked back over at her as she took the chalice in white-painted fingertips and set it on the table next to her carefully. She tried not to let it bother her how the servant catered to him first.
“Terror is more powerful than admiration, I’m afraid,” he said with a knowing look as if he could read her discomfort on her face.
“You’re”—she paused thoughtfully—“bored and terrified?”
So, he wasn’t the least bit assured? Not the least bit comfortable with having solidified power and control? Of having her publicly offer it?
“Gods, Princess, yes,” he said, and he looked and sounded miserable. “Look. Look at this, look what they did.”
He offered his other hand to her, and she saw her father’s large signet ring. She glanced at the ring, an honor and simultaneously a massive and cumbersome gold ring against the smooth silver plating of his hand, and then she looked at his face, as pitiful as a freshly collared dog.
As if he could read her mind, he then added, “You wear this collar in service and with pride, but it’s in my nature to chafe under its clasp.”
She realized then how deeply she’d misread his possible reactions. He’d once told her he’d done everything to not be controlled by another. It had been the driving force behind his pursuit of power. She’d seen genuine stress in watching him handle city affairs.
Looking at him now, he looked wounded and legitimately miserable. She hadn’t assured him of her compliance. In a fantastic strategic blunder, she’d not only convinced her people she’d bed him but had used her power to ask him to consent to an evening of his own torture.
Warfare certainly wasn’t her strong suit, and in realizing the massive state of her failure, she didn’t feel dismay. Completely breaking her composure, she half snorted in laughter and then choked the rest back, covering her mouth as she looked away from him. Iris’s head turned from a few tables away, and Clea quickly tried to mask her own expression.
She had indeed succeeded in wounding him, but in an entirely different way than she’d thought herself capable of.
“Do I really have to wear this thing?” he prodded as she tried to contain her laughter, but his tone reminded her too much of the Ryson she knew, the one in the forest who chaffed under some of the slightest inconveniences when he didn’t flinch at grander threats.
“I’m afraid if you are to be king, you will,” Clea replied, straightening and clearing her throat. “I’m afraid there are plenty of documents and seals that require the king’s signature almost daily.”
“Can’t you just do it?” he asked, both of them keeping their voices to a whisper as others noticed from the feast tables. Iris was glancing over at them carefully.
“These are the responsibilities of a king,” she said. “Seems you’re made for the forest after all.”
He sighed, removing the ring and placing it on the armrest between them. “You win. I don’t want the throne, but don’t pretend you aren’t meant for the forest alongside me.”
She raised a testing eyebrow and glanced over at him. “My fate is tied to my city and my throne. We belong to each other. Not everyone can run off chasing impulses. That’s a Venennin quality alone. Your plight, not mine.”
He chuckled but didn’t reply for a long moment.
“I’m sure there are plenty of Veilin out there you could happily ensnare,” she said, wondering if she had a real chance to negotiate with him now, to get her city back and secure his departure with the Insednians. “You’re very powerful,” she observed flatly, careful to remove any flattery, knowing he would sense it. “You could seize control of any number of people and places. I hear Ruedom is pleasant this time of year. I gave you your weapon back. That’s really what you came for, isn’t it?”
He grinned at this, tilting his head toward her slightly and then looking away.
“I have plenty of people to heal and care for. You could find other healers more suited for the constant nature of your need. I find your intrusions rather inconvenient, but there must be others who would keel over at the mere thought of being chosen by such a specimen as yourself,” she said in a teasing way, her face remaining calm.
“I’m afraid you only tempt me with your teasing, Princess,” he said, looking over at her, eyes still dark in the daylight. “If someone rather powerless gives themselves to me, then what reward is there in that? You have cultivated a power all your own. You brought me here in a moment of weakness, and howwonderful that was, that I had my chance to serve you because you don’t need me. That makes the prospect of your surrender that much more desirable.”
He leaned into her ear as he whispered, “If you give yourself to me, it will wholly be because you want to. Nothing more. I’ll be a king for that. I’ll be whatever you want if in the end you’ll choose to be mine.” His voice deepened in a way that sent chills trickling down her spine. “Let me carry the power you have, cradle it in my hands, trap you in ways where you beg to never be released again. You seem to find so much comfort in the collar of obligation. I’ll fashion one for you. You’ll never want to remove it.”
It took her a moment to realize she was holding her breath, and then another to ease in a breath that wasn’t rushed. He leaned away from her but lifted a silvered hand and grazed the lobe of her ear as he murmured, “Those who try to control the weak are ill-practiced opportunists—tyrants. I’m afraid I am neither of those things, nor do I look for a powerful mark only to prove my own sense of mastery.”
She looked at him now, no longer able to tolerate the feeling of his breath against her ear. He took her hand in his and whispered, “I am looking for someone resilient enough to receive me, and powerful enough in the ways of life to make me a beggar at its feet.”
She swallowed, watching his eyes, and then she turned back to the people and said stiffly, “I hope you find what you’re looking for then. I’m sure the forest is full of prospects.”
“You’re correct,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Only the forest in its chaotic disobedience of natural laws could arrange such a choice meeting.”
She nearly startled as he combed his fingers through hers, laying her palm out across the cool stone between them. Her pulse drummed.
“You know this is cursed silver,” he whispered.
