Minstrel's Serenade (20 page)

He ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it over the back of her head. “I wished a thousand times I’d stayed with him.”

“We cannot look back. If we do, we lose sight of our future.”

Bron nodded. “But, I must look back one last time to tell you the truth. I killed the necromancer king. I know the stories say your father did. In a way, he did by sending me. I made sure to give him that last victory.”

“Bron, you shouldn’t have. You should have taken the glory for yourself.”

“After what happened, I could not in all conscience take any glory from that day.”

Danika steeled her voice. “Tell me what happened.”

“When I found the king, he’d been bitten. He asked me to end his life before he became one of those creatures.” Bron’s voice cracked. “I thought of how the healers would take him back anyway and how they’d torture his body to get him to regain some semblance of consciousness. Either way, even if they found an ounce of who he had been, he’d never be the same.”

Bron turned to face her, a tear running down his cheek. “I thought of you. I couldn’t allow you to suffer seeing him as a monster.”

He pulled away from her as if he expected her to slap him across the face. “I ended his life with my blade, making sure he died with his dignity. I should have been imprisoned for a traitor. No one knows how he died except for you.”

Danika froze as his words sank in. Walls came crashing down inside her as everything she’d once believed turned on its head. She’d known from the first night when they brought her father home, she didn’t have the entire story. Bron would never leave the king’s side and someone as great a warrior as the king would never allow a dead creature to cut his throat. That sense of not knowing had plagued her for the past year, like a book with the end ripped out.

“Why did you tell the historians my father killed the necromancer king?”

“I only defeated him because your father gave me time. I wanted him to be remembered as a hero.”

“I would have never allowed such a thing to happen.” She stepped toward him, finally feeling a sense of closure, knowing her father’s last moments were with someone he loved, knowing he’d thought of her. As horrible as his end was, her father knew he’d be taken care of, his last wishes carried out. Bron’s story comforted her. “You helped him, Bron. You showed enormous courage and for that, I thank you.”

She took his hand and held his palm to her heart. His skin warmed the sleek fabric between them. “I thought you’d failed, and yet you gave him the greatest form of protection: that of his honor, his pride. Now they think of him as a war hero, when you are the true hero. You saved the kingdom by defeating the necromancer king. Yet, you gave my father the credit and the glory.”

Bron shook his head, not speaking, but he didn’t have to. Danika wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips fiercely against his. This was not the gentle kiss she’d given to Valorian, but a passionate embrace, giving her whole self.

Bron stiffened, but Danika continued undeterred. She smoothed her hands behind his neck to his strong jaw and pulled his head down to hers. She sucked on his lower lip before opening her mouth, inviting him to kiss her back.

Bron cupped her waist, pulling her body against his as he opened his lips against hers and kissed her like she’d never been kissed before.

She moved her hands to his chest, trailing over his muscles, and down his arms over where his hands held her. She wove her fingers through his and tightened her grip as though she never wanted to be parted again.

Danika lost all sense of propriety. She released his hand and wandered her fingertips up his chest, pulling the ties of his tunic open and feeling his bare skin. So many times she’d thought about what he would feel like under her touch. Her dreams could not compare.

Bron pulled away, chest heaving, his muscles taut with restriction. “We cannot.”

“I don’t care anymore about duty.”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Princess, you are not yourself. Be true to your title. Remember who you are.”

In all the pain, the sorrow, the anticipation of battle, she’d allowed herself one blissful moment to forget. Bron had made her into a swooning puddle by opening up to her, by being himself. But, his caresses offered a false comfort. If she ran away with him, she’d be the same as her mother. Many people depended on her and Bron to run the kingdom.

He spoke again, his voice now soothing. “This is not the time.”

He was right. Their kingdom lay at siege, and the only hope they had was allying with the House of Song. What if word of this traveled to Valorian? Their indiscretion could bring down two kingdoms at the very time they needed to be joined. Many would die because she couldn’t contain her heart.

Shame heated Danika’s cheeks and stilled her heart. She pulled back, tears brimming. She was stronger than this love lust. She turned away, unable to meet his gaze.

“Princess, wait. I didn’t mean--”

“Leave me.” She crossed her arms, back turned to the one person she cared the most about. Many times she’d chided her mother for running away with her own inclinations, and now she realized just how hard it was to avoid temptation. She’d been a judgmental fool.

Her muffled sobs covered Bron’s steps. When she turned back, he was gone.

Bargain

“About face!” Bron stared at the rows of troops clad in their sleek new armor, gleaming in the noonday sun. War loomed, and all he could think of was how he’d sabotaged his chances with Danika just a few weeks ago. Not every soldier on that field would come back, and he hoped they all left with no regrets. He could die without telling Danika how he felt about her. All because of duty, obligation and responsibility. Why did everything he’d ever stood for conflict with the one woman he wanted?

Fate tempted him, but he knew where his true destiny lay: on that lava rock, holding a sword, slaying the She-Beast, even if the mission took his life. He only wished Danika could know how he burned inside for her touch, how she was the only woman for him even if she wasn’t his, how he’d never love anyone else half as much as he loved her.

“Weapons raised.” He shouted the command as much for himself to snap out of his haze as for the troops to adjust to the new, lighter armor.

A unison metallic hiss sounded over the field as every soldier unsheathed his sword. The armor reflected Garish’s superb craftsmanship. He’d styled each sword in the tradition of Ebonvale’s Royal Guard, with insignias on each hilt and small jewels embedded in the wide part of the blade. Even though the finishing touches didn’t make the swords any more deadly, the ornaments inspired courage and pride in the troops. They’d fight for a kingdom that valued their service.

Hooves galloped in the distance, and Bron whirled around, wondering which fool had the guts to interrupt his training practice by bringing a charger onto the field. The rider was small, clad in the same pinkish armor, but with a filigreed pattern along the helmet. His arms and legs were slender, too slender for any man that could have made the Royal Guard. The armor protruded in the chest in two rounded curves--breasts.

Bron’s stomach leaped. That was no man, and he knew of only one woman who would have the gall.

The horse reared in front of the army, and the rider pulled off her helmet, exposing a rippling wave of blond hair, as golden as the hay in his father’s fields. Audible gasps came from the troops as they stared at her with awe.

Danika jumped from her horse and unsheathed her long sword, taking her place beside the army. She didn’t challenge his position, and he couldn’t refuse her in front of the troops. She was the reigning leader of Ebonvale. She could do as she pleased.

“Choose a partner.” Bron walked over to Danika. Every soldier stepped up to the next one in line.

Danika’s row was uneven by one, and she stood before Bron and extended her sword. The tip touched his armored chest. “I choose you.”

“Very well.” Bron’s eyes widened in skepticism. He didn’t want to fight her. Was this her way of getting revenge? To make him look like an ass if he beat her or a fool if he let her win? Either way, he had no choice but to fight her. He shouted across the battlefield. “Engage.”

Weapons clashed around them as Bron and Danika circled each other. Danika tried a lunge and he moved easily out of the way.

He tried reasoning first. “If you join us, there will be no one to rule Ebonvale.”

“I’ve appointed a Regent Queen.” Her emerald eyes flashed with another lunge.

Again, he moved out of the way as if their skirmish was child’s play. “We have enough soldiers.”

“But do you have a symbol of Ebonvale to give them hope when darkness draws near, when all hope is lost but that of their memories in their deepest hearts?”

She moved quicker this time, and the tip of her blade caught his upper arm with a clang before he turned out of the way.

He gave her an appraising look. She’d improved since their last training session. “We may not make it back.”

“Please. I’ve had my fair share of tragic destiny.”

He lowered his sword. “Princess, don’t do this.”

She slid her sword under his and brought the blade back up again with a ringing clang. “I thought you wanted me to be a warrior.”

“I wanted you to be able to defend yourself if need be, not to place yourself in harm’s way.” All the days he’d spent training her came back to him. Should he have done it? She’d asked him to, and he could no more give up two more seconds with her than all that time they’d spent together.

Danika gave him a fierce stare. “I’ll fight you for it. If I win, I come. If you win, I’ll stay behind.”

He considered her offer. Could he beat her without feeling guilty?
Yes.
Bron’s determination hardened. If his triumph saved her life.

Bron swung their swords apart and stepped into duel stance. “I accept.”

Before he could react, Danika sparred to the left, faking a lunge to lure him into leaving his right side undefended. He picked up on the move before she could complete it, meeting her with a clash of metal. “Very nice.”

“Do not patronize me.” She danced with excellent footwork, jabbing right and left to find a spot he missed. Bron stayed on the defensive, driving the tip of her sword away as if it were a fly. He could have struck her down any number of times, but his heart wouldn’t let him. He loved her too much and, by her actions, she knew he wouldn’t defeat her.

She swung again, this time coming in for a full frontal attack. He’d trained her better than that. She dipped, aiming for his lower leg.

He picked his leg up in time, but the slight delay threw him off balance. They both fell to the grass. Danika had speed on him. She scrambled on top of him, brandishing Valorian’s dagger at his throat. Seeing the other man’s dagger sent pain through him as if she’d plunged it into his heart. He lost his will to fight.

Her green eyes flared. “I win.”

“You have too much of your father in you.”

Danika leaned in and her breath fell on his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She rose and brushed dirt off the front of her armor. “See you at the next full moon.”

* * * *

The day of departure rushed at Danika like a vulture from the peaks of Sill. She awoke at dawn the morning before the full moon, unable to wrap herself back into the elusive tendrils of sleep. Walking through the empty corridors of the inner keep, she ran through all of the preparations she’d made in her mind.

She’d strategically placed sentries all over Ebonvale, ready to spur their horses at the first sign of ribbons in the sky. Muriel had the necessary paperwork if a stray aunt or uncle, nephew or niece decided to usurp the throne. The Regent Queen would wait exactly one month until the next full moon. If no one came back, she would usher the citizens to the shelter of the mountains. Half of the archers would stay to defend the people in the event of a counter attack and the other half would travel with them to Scalehaven. Would her father be pleased? Had she set her pieces on the battlefield auspiciously?

Only time would tell.

She returned to her room and brought out a blank sheet of parchment. Dipping her quill, she thought of the right words to say farewell to Muriel. Now she knew why her father had snuck off without saying good-bye for many of his quests in his campaign against Sill. Leaving hurt too much. It would be easier for both of them if she departed without seeing her half-sister.

As she walked down the corridors to the main entranceway, Danika stopped at the glass case protecting her father’s golden armor. The healers had taken the armor off him and bandaged his body, burying him in the robes of Ebonvale. Knowing her father, he would have wanted to be buried in the armor with the stains of battle still splattered across him.

Danika liked this better.

With a small key, she opened the case and took the metal hand in hers, the armor clinking against one another. This gave her a physical representation of her father. It was the closest she’d get to fighting at his side.

Bron had said she had too much of her father in her. Was she truly like him more than her mother? She thought of Sybil standing on the porch of her cottage. She’d given in to her heart. She was too ashamed to return, yet too afraid to leave what she loved most.
No.
Danika was more like her father, for she sacrificed what she loved most for the good of the kingdom. Was her father’s sense of undying duty good or bad?

Placing the armored hand back in its spot, she closed the case and kept the key on a chain around her neck. Enough of this melancholy reflection. She was ready.

Shuffling down the steps, she passed the paintings of her family dating back to the first people ruling Ebonvale after Helena and Horrid. She would make them all proud.

The training fields were bare, except for one man. Bron stood at the center, watching the ravens dip in the sky and feast on the swarming black flies. He, too, already wore his armor.

Seeing the warrior brought a new wave of emotion. All this time, while they were back at the castle, she’d stayed away from him despite the yearnings in her heart. Now she wished she’d followed her feelings at least one more time. For this might be their ultimate end.