Sword's Call (33 page)

Cera smiled tenderly, and his heart flipped.

Leargan had the nerve to look amused, and Jorrin started to glare, but caught himself, repeating the order to mind his manners.

She loved
him,
not some stupid knight.

“Yes, see you in a bit.” Cera nodded and squeezed his hand.

“This way,” the other knight said as they fell into step together.

Jorrin didn’t speak. He was sorely out of place and had no idea how to make conversation with a knight, though the man didn’t look much older than him.

The knight rapped lightly on a door about halfway down the wide corridor.

The king bellowed for them to enter.

“Master Aldern as requested, my liege.” The knight bowed.

The king’s personal ledger room.

Butterflies stormed in the pit of his stomach.

“Aye, thank you, Willum,” King Nathal said.

The king was seated in an oversized, gold-inlaid, carved chair with a golden lion perched on the raised seatback.

Jorrin could have laughed at the irony of not noticing before. A lion was exactly what King Nathal reminded him of.

His desk was equally imposing and oversized. The furniture took up much of the small room, but perhaps considering the king’s stature, the chair and desk really weren’t all that oversized.

Willum bowed again and slipped from the room, leaving Jorrin alone with the king.

He swallowed back a gulp, feeling like an errant child about to accept a harsh admonition.

“Come, come, Jorrin . . . may I call you Jorrin?”

Like I can say no to the king.

“Of course.” Jorrin cringed. His voice had been little more than a croak. He’d just given away his nervousness.

Dammit.

The king looked amused. “Have a seat, lad.”

Lowering his frame into one of the two chairs in front of the king’s desk, he forced a breath. Heat settled in his cheeks. Jorrin looked around the room, needing a distraction.

A large framed map of the Provinces dominated one wall, and the king’s seal, also depicting a lion, on another. The seal was surrounded by a sword and shield and the blue flag of Terraquist. The lion looked like it might hop off the wall and devour him at any moment.

Jorrin skimmed bookshelves—most full to the brim—lining all four walls in the room. The king liked to read.

A learned man couldn’t be all that bad, could he?

He chided himself for being a coward and met the king’s pale blue eyes.

It was obvious the man was waiting for him to acclimate before he began their conversation.

“You wanted to see me?” Jorrin grimaced at his wavering tone.

“Aye, lad.” King Nathal intertwined his fingers and rested his hands on top of his desk. “I need to discuss a few things with you.”

“Cera?”

One corner of the king’s mouth lifted. “Aye, among others.”

“I want to marry her,” Jorrin blurted. His cheeks burned; his face had to be bright red.

“I thought—or I should say—I hoped as much.”

“You did?” Jorrin croaked.

“Aye. I see how the lass looks at you. I wasn’t going to force anything on her, but if she wishes to marry you, you have my blessing. Greenwald is hers, no matter what.”

Blinking, he bit his lip to keep from gasping. Emotion rolled over him. No way could he have imagined King Nathal would approve of him for Cera. Jorrin’s heart raced.

The king’s smile was gentle. It was a smile Braedon would flash, a fatherly smile, and full of encouragement. Actually, the king’s accent also reminded Jorrin of his father.

“I don’t know what to say . . .”

“Well, for your bravery and assistance with the cause, I’m knighting you,” King Nathal said.

Jorrin gaped, but the king didn’t react.

“Your father, as well, young Lord Lenore, and Master Rowlin. Young Lucan, too, the bravest one of all of us. Last, but not least, young Lord Dagget, though honestly, I should’ve done so a turn or two ago with all he’s done for me.”

Jorrin sputtered.

The king chuckled and shook his head. “I see I’ve shocked you. If Cera agrees to marry you—and I’m sure she will—you’ll be a duke, lad. The Duke of Greenwald.”

“I couldn’t . . . I don’t . . . it’s hers . . .”

The king’s eyes softened considerably and once again Jorrin was reminded of his father. “Do you want the lass?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Then that is what you focus on. After all, you have to get her to agree to marry you. She can be headstrong, you know.” King Nathal winked.

Jorrin’s heart pounded and he stared into his lap, his fingers laced together, knuckles white. He hadn’t been born for running a Province. Had no idea what it entailed.

He wanted to marry Cera, yes.

He loved her, but he wasn’t a lord, a politician, or experienced in anything relevant to what the king was suggesting.

“Look, lad. If you marry Lady Ryhan, it’s a win-win situation for me. I declared her heir of Greenwald; no one will dispute that, no matter how the pompous old lords will complain. She loves you, so I don’t feel bad about giving her to you. She’ll be married and you get a title. I’m going to give you the title regardless, Jorrin. You’ll be Lord Aldern. I’d rather award you Greenwald by marriage than some far-off tiny holding not worthy of being called a dukedom.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Jorrin whispered.

“You’re both young, so you’ll not go back to Greenwald on your own. I’ll send someone who knows how to run a Province.” The king winked again. “And replace all of the staff Varthan killed.”

Jorrin winced.

“Aye, I know it, lad,” King Nathal whispered.

“That’ll be a sad reminder of what she lost.”

“She’ll have you, lad,” the king said. “You and your children are her future.”

Jorrin managed a nod.

“I’m sad to see him go, but I’ll send Leargan, too. To train your men and captain your personal guard.” The king quirked an eyebrow when Jorrin growled aloud.

He composed himself, but when Jorrin made eye contact with the king, the big man chuckled.

Great. He can see right through me.

Jorrin cleared his throat.

“Also, Lord Tristan Dagget has expressed the wish to accompany you to Greenwald and act as your Second-in-command,” King Nathal said.

“All of this has been decided? I’m the last one to know?” Jorrin asked.

Should he be upset he was left in the dark?

The king gave him a long look. “It is what I wish for Greenwald. And you are not the
last
to know. Cera is. Blessed Spirit, I hope she forgives me.” King Nathal looked chagrined.

Jorrin grinned.

King or not, the man would be in hot water with his beloved.

“I needed to speak to you, before I announced your betrothal.”

“Announce it? I haven’t asked her yet.” Jorrin’s stomach fluttered.

“Tonight, in the great hall.” King Nathal’s pale eyes bored into him.

Jorrin squirmed, the hard back of the chair biting into his shoulders. “Tonight . . .”

Will Cera say yes?

What if she says no?

“If you announce it before I ask her, she’ll be furious for not being consulted,” Jorrin whispered.

“Aye, I know it,” King Nathal said, laughter wrapped in his words.

His stomach did a back flip. “What if she thinks it’s only for Greenwald . . . that I don’t want her, but I want the Province . . . the wealth?”

As soon as he voiced the thought, he pushed it away.

Cera knew him.

She knew he’d never do such a thing, didn’t she?

“Then I’ll explain things to the stubborn lass,” King Nathal said.

Jorrin looked him in the eye. “How long do I have?”

“About twenty minutes.” The king laughed.

“Twenty minutes?” Jorrin gasped and popped up out of the chair so fast it screeched on the tile floor.

King Nathal laughed harder, but Jorrin didn’t slow his retreat.

He ran out of the king’s ledger room, not pausing to worry about his lack of manners, either.

Jorrin had to get to Cera
.

Now.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Jorrin raced through the corridors, not contrite at the looks of surprise and disapproval he received from several courtiers as he ran by them.

Twenty minutes?

How could he convince Cera he wanted her to marry him in twenty minutes?

He’d never kept his distaste for the noble class a secret, but would she think a knighthood and a title had changed his mind?

Not to mention the wealth of Greenwald.

Slowing, Jorrin forced a breath; he didn’t want to burst into the great hall of the king’s palace. The giant double doors leading inside were open, a guard on either side.

They didn’t react to his hasty stop as Jorrin entered the hall.

His heart pounded, and it wasn’t from his run. He forced a few more breaths and surveyed the huge room.

The meal was not yet being served, as it was customary to wait for the king, but pleasant music drifted from the raised stage in the corner of the room. Four bards concentrated on their instruments while a fifth—the only woman of the group—added words to the melody with her sweet voice.

At the head table, on a dais higher than any Jorrin had ever seen, the queen was already seated. Against tradition, the king and queen’s two children were also at the table.

Prince Roblin was perhaps twelve or thirteen, and young Princess Mallyn was no older than nine or ten turns.

Another testament to the fact that King Nathal was a good man. He adored his family.

Jorrin swallowed a gasp.

Cera was seated at the table with the queen, as were Avery and his parents, Tristan and his father, Lucan, and an obviously very uncomfortable Hadrian. Jorrin didn’t see his own father, but didn’t expect Braedon to be very far behind. The empty seat next to the elf wizard was no doubt for him.

The queen herself caught his eye as he jogged up the several steps onto the dais.

Jorrin fell into a polite bow as she smiled and inclined her head.

She was a very beautiful woman, hair done in an elaborate fashion, woven in and out of the golden jewel-encrusted crown atop her head. It was about the whitest blond color he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were a very dark brown and rather stunning. He’d half expected them to be blue. She was definitely King Nathal’s lioness. And
she
knew who he was.

Nerves fluttered in Jorrin’s stomach.

“Good evening, Lord Aldern,” Queen Morghyn said with a wide smile.

Cera looked at him sharply, as did Avery.

Neither Lord and Lady Lenore, nor Tristan and his father, looked surprised.

As a matter of fact, the elder Lord Dagget looked rather pleased.

Avery’s parents smiled at Jorrin.

That should be flattering, shouldn’t it?

Cera’s family approved of him, at least.

Hadrian didn’t look up; he appeared to be brooding.

Lucan didn’t show a reaction, either. Eyes as wide as saucers, he looked stunned to be where he was, a sentiment Jorrin was quite familiar with.

“Good evening, your Highness.” Jorrin flashed a tight smile, wanting desperately to grab Cera’s hand and drag her from the dais.

He needed to speak to her
now,
especially since the queen had inadvertently spoiled a part of the king’s surprise announcement.

Cera would know the queen would never make the mistake of calling him by the wrong honorific.

“Lady Ryhan,” Jorrin said, begging her with his eyes. “Will you accompany me for a moment?”

“Of course,
Lord
Aldern,” Cera said through clenched teeth. She rose from her chair with grace, but clutched his outstretched arm with a bit too much force.

Jorrin winced as her nails bit his skin.

When they reached an empty sitting room in the nearest corridor, Cera whirled on him. “What did the king want to tell you, Jorrin?”

Neither of them sank into the lavish chairs. Or the couch. Or the padded seat up against the bay windows.

“Nothing bad, love.” Jorrin had to speak fast. “Why are you angry?”

“I think King Nathal is playing games.” Cera tapped her foot. “I don’t like to be the butt of his jests.”

“There are no jests.” Jorrin wanted to ask her to marry him before he told her about Greenwald . . . or should he do it the other way around? “I love you, Ceralda Ryhan,” he blurted.

Her face softened and she took a breath. “I love you, too, but . . .”

Jorrin stopped her from finishing her statement by tugging her into his arms and kissing her. It was probably the coward’s way out, but Cera would respond to his kiss and touch.

“Somehow, I don’t think this is what the king wanted to discuss with you,” Cera whispered against his lips, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him away just when he was getting lost in the movement of their lips.

Drat.

She wouldn’t be distracted so easily.

He quirked a half-smile. “Actually . . .”

Cera gave him a long look.

Sighing, Jorrin dragged a hand through his hair.

“What are you so nervous about?”

“Nervous?” He met her eyes. “I’m not nervous . . .”

Her expression shouted that she saw the lie for what it was. “Just tell me what’s going on. Why did the queen call you,
Lord?”

“That’s the proper way to address a duke.” Jorrin cringed.

Dammit,
he’d wanted to explain things to her.

Why had he blurted it out?

“Duke?” Cera asked, her eyes wide, but he took a deep breath when his magic sensed curiosity, not disgust or anger. “He made you a duke?”

Jorrin couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded.

“Of what lands?”

He looked down, forcing a breath and grasping for words. Jorrin had to say it the right way, but he’d taken too much time to compose himself.

Color drained from Cera’s face. “Greenwald . . .”

His stomach roiled, heart pounding so hard it threatened to exit his chest. “Cera . . .”

She couldn’t really be looking at him that way, could she?

As if he had betrayed her.

No.

“No.” Her denial was whispered.

Was it for him or what his silence had confirmed?