Page 11 of A Frozen Pyre
“I love her,” he said.
“So do I,” she replied.
They stared into their drinks for a long, quiet moment. She hadn’t missed his verb tense, nor he hers. Caris had left a wound that would not heal. Sitting in Ceneth’s presence made her feel the droplets of blood as they leached through the fissures in her heart, as if sitting near Caris’s beloved was the cruelest reminder of the life she’d been denied.
The distant sounds of servants in the kitchen and castle attendants in the hall were friendly noises. Humans and fae were awake. The castle was alive. The world went on. Yet at the dining table, they sat alone with their pain.
Ceneth cleared his throat. “I think there are some things we need to make clear long before any of our arrangement takes place. Namely, I don’t expect an heir. I’ll never approach you—understand me, I don’t mean this as an insult, I mean—”
Her relieved exhale was nearly laced with tears. “I do understand.”
“Perhaps in a human lifespan, we wouldn’t have such a luxury. I just want you to know that I’ll continue to see you as Caris would have wanted me to see you: as my sister, and my family. You’ll have an ally in Raascot, which is what she would want, too. The best way I can protect you is for us to move forward with the wedding,” Ceneth said.
She was speechless, though perhaps she shouldn’t have been. This was a man who seemed truly worthy of her sister.
He was right. She’d be safer from the other kingdoms under Ceneth’s literal and metaphorical wing of protection. That’s what Caris would want. He was offering an olive branch that she didn’t deserve. He extended titles and coverage and the promise of expecting nothing. Perhaps she’d been right to come here. Perhaps the door that had opened to Raascot’s forest had known more than she could have possibly understood. She’d manifested escape, and it had delivered.This had been the only true path forward.
“What does this mean?” she asked. She gulped a breath before clarifying, “Practically speaking. What does this look like for us?”
“There will be a wedding, of course.” He took a sip of his tea. “Before that, we will formally announce our marriage before Raascot’s court. Our kingdom is not as formal as Farehold, as I’m sure you’ll notice, so it should not be a particularly stifling affair. We show face, we state our intent to join our kingdoms, and they give us our blessing before both kingdoms come together prior to the formal event in the southern kingdom. But there is something more pressing.”
Ophir arched a brow. “More pressing than the wedding?”
He leaned back in his chair and frowned at her.
“Ophir, you arrived on foot, soaked from the rain. Within a day, a summit was called between Farehold, Tarkhany, and Raascot. I need to tell you two things before this conversation continues. The first is that—and please, take this in the best way possible—I don’t care. If you’ve made enemies across the continent, I don’t care. I’m dedicated to pursuing the goal of unity and honoring Caris’s wish of offering you shelter.”
Ophir examined him. “You mean, what youbelievewould have been Caris’s wish.”
He cleared his throat once more. “Yes, of course,” he said. He moved on before she could consider his words further, saying, “The second thing is, I can’t go into this meeting ready to defend you, prepared to be your advocate, if I’m playing catch-up with the other monarchs. I’m going to need you to both believe that I’m on your side and trust me enough to tell me whatever it is I need to know so that I don’t walk into a summit blind.”
Ophir forgot how to breathe. She was certain her expression was anything but subtle.
She saw how Ceneth absorbed the way her lips parted slightly, her intake of air, the way her face tightened as she flicked through the events of the recent past. What couldshe tell him? How much could she share? What was worth concealing? What would come out?
He didn’t push to break the silence, and for that, she was grateful. She drained the now-bitter dregs of her lukewarm tea before she told the story of how she’d pursued Lord Berinth to Tarkhany. She explained that Zita had accepted her into the palace, offered her sanctuary, and had then been betrayed by a shapeshifter. She watched Ceneth’s face as she described the events of that morning, from Tarkhany’s imposter queen, then her intent to murder, to the arrival of great winged beasts. It was within Ophir’s best interest, she believed, to be as ignorant about the demons as everyone else in the kingdom. Anything the witnesses reported would support the same shock, surprise, and horror that she conveyed in her retelling over almond pastries and now-cold eggs.
“And your travel?” Ceneth pressed. “How could you get from Tarkhany to Raascot so quickly? Is this your companion’s gift? Is that how she was able to travel from Sulgrave?”
Without realizing it, he’d provided her the perfectly logical excuse she needed.
“Yes,” she said. “Her name is Dwyn. Her secondary ability is one of travel. It’s made her an invaluable companion. She’s my dearest friend, and I would be devastated to be separated from her. Also”—Ophir paused for importance—“her primary ability is to summon water. It’s been very useful when flame has come in my nightmares. It’s why we mustn’t sleep apart. She was tasked to share my room before we left Aubade. Given the night terrors, following what happened… If it weren’t for Dwyn, Castle Aubade would be little more than charred stones by the sea. I know it’s not a conventional arrangement, but…”
Ceneth looked unperturbed at the thought of his fiancée sharing her bed with another. “I understand, and am happy to grant you any ally, comrade, or partner, should that be your wish. I’m confident the All Mother will forgive us for anything we must do to move through Caris’s…”
The king did not finish his sentence.
She stared at the man, and for the first time, she understood what her sister had seen in him. This was him presumably at his worst, and he was still wonderful. He deserved the throne.
With her tea empty and her food cold, Ophir didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t sure how much longer she was expected at his table. She fidgeted before asking, “How will I spend my days? I have the dinner with Raascot, and the summit, and the wedding? Are those the three events expected of me?”
Ceneth’s eyes glazed over. He didn’t bother looking at her as he said, “I’m sure there will be things here and there, but yes. Those are expected. You’re not a prisoner, Ophir. You’re to be Raascot’s queen.”
His eyes refocused, but he was not looking at her. She felt as though he was searching her face for any sign of her sister. She could tell from the disappointment smeared across his expression that he found none.
“Spend your days as you please,” he said finally. “Send word if you need me, and I’ll do the same. Please, ask the servants for whatever you like. No one will bother you or your companion. Thank her for preventing Castle Gwydir from becoming embers. Do let us know if there’s anything she needs as a water elemental, though I’ll tell the servants to fill the bath each night and leave the door open, just for preparedness.”
Ophir stood to leave, but Ceneth stopped her with a sound.
