Sword's Call (34 page)

Probably both.

Jorrin stepped forward, intending to pull her into his arms, but she placed her palm up, glaring. He froze in place. “Will you listen to me?”

“I can’t believe he’s doing this to me,” she ranted, pacing. Cera ignored his urgent plea. “After everything . . . he’d give it away? My home . . .
my
Province . . .”

Jorrin winced.

Cera hadn’t even considered him, she just wanted Greenwald.

His heart sank.

Taking a step back, he could feel her rage. His limbs tingled and burned from it. “He’s going to announce our betrothal tonight.”

Great, blurting the wrong words seems to be your only talent this evening.

“Betrothal?”

“Yes, Cera. The king wants us to wed.” Jorrin cringed.

That
had come out all wrong.

Her expression didn’t soften at all. She stared, wide-eyed.

“No, that’s not it.
I
want us to get married. I love you, will you marry me?”

Cera scowled.

Jorrin’s heart ripped in two.

He’d screwed everything up.

Nothing was going as planned.

The
king’s
plan.

This was all King Nathal’s fault.

Jorrin growled. The man had put him on the spot, but
he
wasn’t there to see it through. Jorrin was doing a horrible job of it.

“So, I’m supposed to get
married
to retain something that should have been
mine
in the first place?”

He blanched. “No . . .” Jorrin couldn’t tell her Greenwald was hers either way. If she knew, she’d never marry him. And
that
hurt.

“I thought you were different, Jorrin.” Cera’s voice was thick with hurt.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jorrin growled, suddenly angry. His magic throbbed, making his head spin.

They were both surrounded by angry red auras.

She gaped as the color drained from her face, her shoulders slumped. Horror flashed across her gorgeous steel eyes. “Is that why you made love to me? For Greenwald?”

Jorrin blinked and his stomach tightened. Bile rose in his throat.

“Did you tell him? So he would make us get married?” Recovering, she made tight fists and glared. Her chest heaved, as if she’d sucked in a great gulp of air. Cera broke their eye contact.

“Dammit, Cera. What do you think of me?” He clenched his fists at his sides, his blunt fingernails biting into his palms. He stared, but she wouldn’t look at him.

Jorrin wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her until she would listen to him.

Wanted to take it all back and tell her when he could get the words straight in his head. Hold her and wipe the hurt look off of her face.

Cera was wrong,
all wrong,
but he couldn’t find his voice to tell her so.

She’d accused him of using her in a way Jorrin couldn’t even fathom.

Cera ruined the memory of what had happened between them.

Their lovemaking had been pure and sweet and so
right.

Now she’d tarnished it with her words.

Jorrin hurt more than he’d ever hurt before.

“I don’t know
what
to think of you,” she bit out.

Air rushing from his lungs, he spread his arms wide. “This came out all wrong. It isn’t at all what I wanted to say to you.” He met her eyes and his heart clenched when he saw the tears on her cheeks.

Stepping forward again, he tried to take her into his arms, but she put both hands on his chest and shoved him hard.

Jorrin blinked and looked away, barely warding off his own threatening tears.

“Don’t touch me,” Cera ordered. So severe, as if silently reminding him of her station. As if touching her was a crime because he was not nobility.

The blood drained from Jorrin’s face. Jaw clenched, he reached for anger to cover some hurt. “The king will announce his intentions, even if you refuse me. He won’t allow you to do so. He said it’s what he wants for Greenwald.” His tone was every bit as harsh as hers had been.

King Nathal had told him he wouldn’t force her, but Cera didn’t need to know that.

She stared, silent and wide-eyed.

“I hate you,” Cera said.

She didn’t even pause when his expression was more crestfallen than it had been when she’d told him not to touch her.

Her chest constricted so tightly every breath was a dagger cutting into her. Her heart had been torn out and stomped on.

How could Jorrin betray her?

I…need to…go.

Cera fled, running back into the great hall, wiping tears away.

He’d never liked the noble class, but now Jorrin was a duke?

And the Duke of Greenwald?

Her
Greenwald.

The Province her parents died for.

Guilt and pain hit her in waves.

Crushing her eyes shut, Cera regretted the words she’d flung at him.

Cera didn’t hate Jorrin, she could
never
hate him.

She loved him so much it hurt. She’d shared more with him than anyone else, ever. Given herself to him.

She’d wanted to throw her arms around him and comfort him from the words she’d inflicted the moment they’d exited her mouth. Clenching her fists at her sides, Cera sucked in a breath. She was disgusted with her lack of control; he’d betrayed her, for Blessed Spirit’s sake.

Ordering her heart to stop pounding, she smoothed her hands down her gown. She’d had many compliments on it since Leargan had brought her into the great hall, including one from Queen Morghyn herself.

Leargan rose when she neared the table designated for the royal family’s personal guard just below the dais. The other knights at the table hastily did the same and Cera forced a smile and inclined her head. Her cheeks warmed.

“My lady.” Leargan bowed. His dark eyes locked onto her face, his expression worried.

She made her smile wider and suppressed the urge to wipe her cheeks again.

Dammit. He can tell I was crying.

Cera turned away with a slight bow and headed back to the dais. She took several deep breaths, mounting the stairs slowly.

What happened?

Jorrin asked me to marry him.

Her heart should be elated.

Why was she so hurt?

She wanted to marry him, didn’t she?

Having him made into the Duke of Greenwald made things easier for them, didn’t it? Cera wouldn’t have to worry about him being uncomfortable, out of place.

No.

Jorrin had betrayed her. He only wanted to marry her for the title. Didn’t even
want
to marry her; he’d only asked her while doing the king’s bidding.

King Nathal . . . he’d betrayed her as much as Jorrin had.

They’d teamed up to conspire against her.

He wanted her to marry—no, was
ordering
her to marry without even asking her if she wanted Jorrin?

That hurt.

It was his right, not even Uncle Everett could step in, but it wasn’t fair. Her father would never have made her choose a man she didn’t want.

Grief threatened to bowl her over when she thought about her father. He wouldn’t have forced her, but wait—didn’t she want Jorrin?

Cera cursed the voice that screamed she wanted him very much.

“Cera, are you all right?” Avery asked as she took the seat beside him.

The empty chair on her other side was meant for Jorrin, but Cera was in no hurry to have him join the table.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not realizing she’d done so until Avery’s expression was even more concerned than it had been.

He was staring expectantly when their gazes met.

No, I’m not all right.

Avery blinked.

Had she accidentally thought-sent?

“Yes, I’m fine,” Cera said finally.

Her cousin studied her for a moment, but said nothing.

Looking down the table, Cera noticed her uncle deep in discussion with Tristan’s father.

Seated next to him, Tristan caught her eye.

Cera trembled and fought tears.

He stared, his hazel eyes warm and concerned. Asking questions she wouldn’t answer. Tristan Dagget could see right through her.

She averted her gaze, biting her lip as the great hall wavered, suddenly blurry. Refused to look back at Tristan, but she could still feel his eyes on her. Cera didn’t bother trying to smile, he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“Cera, something’s wrong. Tell me,” Avery urged.

She met his gray eyes and shook her head. “I’m fine, cousin.” She offered a wobbly smile.

He said nothing. Finally, Avery nodded.

Cera thanked him silently for not pushing anymore.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She turned to Hadrian, seated on the other side of Jorrin’s empty chair, and struck up a conversation.

The elf wizard flashed a grateful smile.

It would have to be enough to distract her from Jorrin and her torrid emotions.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Cera ran away from him.

What a disaster.

Jorrin blinked when his eyes blurred with tears
.
“That went well,” he whispered sarcastically.

How could he convince her Greenwald had nothing to do with the reason he wanted her?

Did she think he was lying about loving her?

She’d believed him all this time.

Well, King Nathal had said he’d fix it if it went wrong.

Jorrin’s heart lifted a little.

Perhaps all isn’t lost.

However, the king would still announce the betrothal that evening and it would only serve to further infuriate Cera. The king would have no idea Cera had refused him . . .
and
accused him of being a power-hungry monster.

Jorrin squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and groaned.

King Nathal would
have
to help him. Jorrin had spoken the truth. The king
did
want their marriage for Greenwald.

I can’t lose her
.

“Jorrin?” A lilting female voice with a distinct Aramourian accent pulled him from his tormented thoughts.

A very familiar voice that warmed his heart.

No . . . it couldn’t be . . .

He slowly turned.

His father approached with a very diminutive woman on his arm and a brilliant smile on his face.

Jorrin had tears on his cheeks and wasn’t ashamed one bit. “Mother!”

Closing the distance between them, Jorrin swept her into his arms and swung her around.

His mother wrapped her arms around him and laughed.

Eyes slipping closed, Jorrin set her to her feet and she clung to him in a fierce hug.

After the interaction with Cera, he
needed
his mother. The concept hadn’t crossed his mind since he’d considered himself grown, but it was true nonetheless.

Jorrin squeezed her tight.

Braedon chuckled.

The ache in Jorrin’s chest eased a little, despite the fact he still burned for Cera. Unless things were righted
that
wouldn’t change. “But how . . . ?” he asked, looking from his mother to his father.

“A gift from the king.” Braedon voice’s was thick.

Jorrin grinned and hugged his father.

Braedon’s arms shot around him, and he felt his father’s pleasure and shock that he’d reached out to him.

His magic tingled, and his heart skipped. Clearing his throat, Jorrin glanced down at his mother, taking her slender hand in his. “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve missed you.” He looked into eyes that mirrored his own.

“Oh love, I have missed you, too,” Vanora said.

Jorrin made eye contact with his father, who looked close to tears. Smiling, he gripped his father’s forearm.

Braedon nodded his thanks.

He couldn’t imagine how it truly was for his father with his extensive empathic magic. Everything emotional would hit him full force, including Braedon’s own feelings.

Jorrin didn’t think he could deal with intense emotions being thrown at him all the time whether he wanted them or not. The amount of empathic magic he had was bad enough, and nowhere near as strong as Braedon’s.

Seeing his parents standing side by side should have been a shock.

Something he’d never seen, but it wasn’t odd at all.

It was
right.

His mother loved his father as she always had, as if no time had passed. From the look on Braedon’s face—as well as what Jorrin’s magic told him—the feeling was mutual. His heart didn’t know whether to ache with envy or burst with pride.

His parents gazed at each other and at that moment they were oblivious of his presence.

Cera.

She looked at him like that, or she used to.

Jorrin’s chest constricted. He crushed his eyes shut, only to find his father staring at him when he met his amber gaze.

“What happened with Cera?”

He looked down. “Nothing, Da.” When he glanced at his mother, she also looked concerned.

Vanora was a bit of an oddity among elves; she had no magic, but she had excellent intuition and could definitely tell when her only child wasn’t being honest.

Recalling all the times he’d gotten a tanning as a child, Jorrin bit back a groan. He’d never been able to lie to his mother and get away with it.

“Love?” she prompted.

“Jorrin . . .” Braedon started at the same time, tone and expression concerned.

“We can discuss it later. Mother’s here . . . it’s cause for celebration.” Jorrin plastered on a smile that didn’t fool either of his parents.

Braedon gripped his arm and squeezed in comfort, and he almost lost his control when he saw the emotion in his father’s eyes. He genuinely hurt
for
him, and not only because of empathic magic.

“Let’s go into the great hall. We’re to be seated on the dais with the king and queen.” Jorrin’s voice trembled, and he cursed it.

“Aye, I was informed,” Braedon said.

Jorrin sighed, ordering his emotions to calm. His father was going to leave it alone for now, and he was grateful.

“I am very anxious to see Hadrian,” Vanora admitted, fidgeting at his father’s side.

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you, Mother.”

As they entered the great hall, all eyes were on Jorrin and his parents; a hush fell over the crowd as they neared the dais, most likely in reaction to his beautiful mother, who didn’t look a turn over twenty, though she was actually closer to sixty.