Chapter 39

He was flattered by her genuine admiration of the stallion he rode this morning. It was a thoroughbred from the most famous of studs in Grenadyn, a country renowned for horse-breeding.

“He’s even more beautiful close up.” she said, unable to stop touching the magnificent beast, whose flesh twitched and shivered, eager to be moving again. “How old is he?”

“Two years,” Celimus said, in turn marveling at how much more desirable this woman looked in her plain riding garb. She had taken his breath away last night but this morning she was even more alluring. “You don’t suffer from vanity, do you, Valentyna?” he commented.

She glanced toward the four men who escorted them; they stood too far away to hear this conversation. The King had wasted no time becoming intimate.

“I have no time for it.”

“It is most unusual. I don’t believe I know another woman who cares less about her appearance.”

“Is that a compliment, my lord?” She laughed, hoping to make light of the topic.

“Of the highest sort, truly,” he assured and there was no condescension in his tone this time. “The women at the court of Morgravia fuss and fiddle with their hair, they talk earnestly about silks and colors, their only conversation centers around newest acquisitions or how they look and whom they might marry or marry their kin to. They bore me. But you…you would rather talk about horses than gossip with other women. I sense.”

She wanted to accuse him of being hypocritical. He possessed enough vanity for her entire court. Instead she explained why she lacked conceit in her appearance. “It’s true. I have no interest in clothes or coloring my face, my lord. I wear fine garments only when occasion demands it, such as last eve. Otherwise I am happiest in what you see and even happier sitting on my horse…shall we?” she said, eager to move on; she did not want to pursue this particular conversation.

“Perhaps when one is as young, intelligent, and handsome as you, Valentyna, it is easy to ignore the tendency toward narcissism.” She smiled at his words but it put a chill through her when he added, “You will be refreshing when you are my Queen at court in Morgravia.”

Valentyna did not reply, pretending she had not heard his final comment as she busied herself remounting her horse and settling herself in the saddle. “Come.” she said, “we can take a canter along the line of the orchards—I believe I promised you would see them.”

Celimus smiled to himself at her evasiveness. The more distance Valentyna tried to put between them, the more fascinated he became with her. She was such a surprise. He had anticipated so much less. Until yesterday, his only thought had been to possess her realm. Now he wanted to possess her as well. He let her go ahead, enjoying watching her ride. She held her seat well and rode her beast strongly, like a man. From this vantage he could also admire her neat behind, which he was very sure now he was going to enjoy soon enough.

The sudden thought of feeling himself against, between, within her, aroused him instantly and he had to shake his head free of the notion of taking her here and now—throwing her down and ripping off those riding breeches, pushing in from behind. He took a deep breath and kicked his horse into a gallop. She laughed indulgently at his challenge.

“Apparently, you can ride the pants off me, your majesty?” he called and she saw the arch of his eyebrows, heard the challenge in his voice.

The soft-natured horse she was riding was no match for the proud stallion but she gave friendly chase all the same, ensuring her escort kept in close range.

Their time was almost up. It was nearing third bell—midmorning—and when Valentyna felt she need not linger any further she politely suggested they return to the palace so she could prepare for the tourney. She felt she had adeptly avoided all potential for intimacy, often deliberately straying toward the escort and querying her men as though she did not know how to respond to some of the King’s questions. This brought the others into the conversation and kept her safe.

She knew Celimus understood what she was doing but she did not care. Right now Valentyna clung to her memories of the previous night, embracing Romen, feeling his bare skin against herself and his mouth on hers, his hands roaming her body…it was what helped her get through these past hours. The thought of holding him again tonight drove her on to get through what she knew would be a trying day.

A serious error in judgement snapped her mind back to reality. Valentyna had strolled from the party to pick some apples for the horses and when she turned back at the sound of the King’s voice she realized they were alone.

“I’ve told the escort to walk the horses over to there,” he said, pointing, “that we would join them in a couple of minutes for the ride back.”

She prayed the fright did not show on her face. She turned to pick another apple. “Thank you. I’ll just get this last one. I’m sure your horse will appreciate the ripest.”

“I’m sure he would,” Celimus agreed, stepping closer—too close, she felt. “As I do too.” he said.

Valentyna tensed. She knew exactly what he meant in that clever retort but she made an attempt to deflect his innuendo. “Oh. well you’re welcome to have it. I’m sorry. I didn’t think to offer.” she said, holding out the apple.

“I meant you.” he said, direct now. “You are ripe for the picking. Valentyna. and I want no one else to taste you first. You know why I am here and I am glad I came. I have seen for myself what a perfect Queen you will make beside me. presiding over Morgravia and Briavel.”

“My lord, perhaps we should discuss this—”

“Right now, I prefer. Just us. I want you to be my Queen. Will you marry me, Valentyna?”

He was shocked when she laughed. “Yes,” she said. “I will marry you, Celimus, but you must win me first,” she added in a gently mocking voice. She had no idea whether she could pull this off but Romen had counseled her on how and when to spring this last trap if it was needed.

“Win you?” Celimus said, his surprise evident in his tone.

“Yes, my lord.” Her voice was crisp and confident and she was grateful for it in this dangerous charade she had put into play. “I don’t know how it’s done in Morgravia but in Briavel our men must earn the right to their chosen woman.”

“Is that so?” he said, more playfully now. entering into the spirit of her suddenly flirtatious manner.

“It is.” She gathered the apples into a linen and tied them. “At this afternoon’s tourney, you will fight for me,” she said loftily and then giggled, deliberately stumbling and falling against him so her breast, seemingly accidentally, touched his arm. She hated the sensation.

Another thrill of desire passed through him. “I shall fight for your hand, my lady,” he said, playing along. “Who must I duel with?”

“The people will love it!” She laughed again. “You will cross swords with the Queen’s Champion.”

“Who is?”

She arched her eyebrows, faking high mystery. “Ah, a stranger in black who never shows his face,” she said, full of intrigue.

Celimus smirked, only just realizing she had walked them back to where the group was now standing. “And if I vanquish your Champion, your hand is mine…is this right?”

Valentyna swallowed. Dangerous now. “Yes, sire.”

“Bring him on,” Celimus replied, sweeping his hand through the air.

Watching his confident flourish, Valentyna wished Romen had never suggested this ploy. It was not a game to be playing with this man. She could see as much in the dark and greedy gaze of Celimus.

Wyl felt it was the royal tournament all over again. Despite the lack of the grandeur that had been so evident in Morgravia, this homespun version in the King’s honor prompted a similar sense of destiny within him. He felt distracted and nervous about facing Celimus again—not because he was afraid of him. No, he was more afraid at what he himself might do in the heat of the moment, especially as Valentyna had now laid down very firm rules about this contest between the King and the Queen’s Champion.

“Romen, whatever our personal grudges are against this man, such feelings must not come in the way of what we are trying to achieve here.” He said nothing and she did not appreciate the grim set of that mouth she loved so much. “Let us be very clear,” she continued, “we are aiming to send him on his way to buy us time. That’s what you said.”

Again, no response as he inspected his sword. They were in a little-used outbuilding and she was circling him. half-frightened, half-angry with him. Fynch, trapped between them, held on to Knave and watched carefully. He too was worried. He did not like the turn of events. Together with Romen they had been hiding in the stone outbuilding, close to the tourney field, since daybreak and the tension had gradually mounted until the Queen had returned from her ride and told them what had unfolded. If Romen had been relatively uncommunicative all morning, he had now plummeted into a frigid silence.

His expression had grown dark and distant, his normally glittering gray eyes looked depthless. All humor had vanished from a countenance that usually oozed it.

Valentyna accepted that Romen was disturbed, distressed, demented even at how things had turned out. She too hated that Celimus had contrived to speak with her unattended but they had foreseen this, had plotted for it, and although the plan bordered on childish in its simplicity, there was certainly nothing childish about the grave set of Romen’s features. Something sinister was lurking. What did he have in mind?

“Romen!”

“Yes,” he said, finally responding but not looking at her. “I want your promise here and now.”

“What am I to promise, my Queen?”

She kept walking around him, not sure if she was deliberately trying to annoy him. Trying to get him to look at her. shout at her, do something other than calmly tend to his sword. Although calm is really not the word, is it? she thought. He is going somewhere I cannot reach. He is deliberately making himself remote from me.

“First, you will not do anything stupid like die out there today. Give me your promise.”

“I cannot promise that, your majesty.”

“Yes, you can!” she snapped, her voice cracking with the effort. “For I will order no killing.”

Fynch was trembling but Knave leaned his considerable and steadying weight against the boy.

“Then I promise not to die today,” Wyl said softly. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He looked up at her with such grief in his eyes that she had to turn away.

“What else must I promise, your majesty?”

She composed herself and adopted her regal voice now. commanding: “I order that you will not so much as draw blood from the King during this contest. Humiliate all you wish, Romen, but no Morgravian blood will be spilled on Briavel’s soil.” He stared at her and her resolve hardened. “Do you understand?” she enunciated.

“I understand and I give you my promise.”

Again she felt a flicker of disbelief. He was lying; she could see it in the darkening of his gaze. She was sure he had other intentions but had no choice but to trust his words. “Then I shall see you on the field.”

He stood, bowed, and turned away but she stepped toward him and. not caring that Fynch was present, she put her arms around Romen’s neck and kissed him softly on his pursed mouth.

“Just a few hours, my love, and he’ll be gone.”

The narrowing of his eyes did not suggest he believed her. Romen untwined himself from the Queen of Briavel and bowed once again before she departed.