The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge (3 page)

She smoothed down the folds of her dress, thinking about the mother she had barely known. “I wish she was still alive. I’d ask her so many th
ings.”

“Mmm, yes, so wou
ld I.”

Glancing around his chambers, she admired the neat and orderly manner in which everything had been arranged. Her eyes stopped on a terracotta pot with a drooping white fl
ower.

“You mean to tell me that it
still
hasn’t blo
omed?”

He sighed melodramatically. “Alas, milady, I have still not found my heart’s de
sire.”

“I don’t get it. Mine bloomed weeks
ago.”

“Perhaps you harbor the incorrect assumption that I am your true love. There were several other young noblemen at your birthday ball,” he said, smirking. “Perhaps it was no
t me.”

She laughed. “Yeah, maybe it was Savino after
all.”

Without a word, he got up and lowered himself down next to her. His eyes locked on hers for a long moment before cupping her face with his hands and covering her lips with his
own.

She closed her eyes, allowing the warm firmness of his lips to carry her spirit away as her longing for him increased. The passion of his kiss demanded more and she broke off, gasping for
air.

“You’re really making it difficult for me to do something constructive with my day, do you know
that?”

He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. “Make no mistake, Maraya, you are my heart’s true desire. There is no doubt in my mind, and there should be none in y
ours.”

She blushed, overwhelmed by the depth of his confession. He only called her by her royal birth name during intimate moments when they were alone. As if he wanted to remind her that they had been betrothed since the day she was
born.

She shrugged. “Yeah, what does an old Wounded Heart know anyway? Maybe yours is defective or somet
hing.”

Nicodemo entered the room. “Sire, your tea.” When he saw that he had disturbed them, Darian’s footman set the tray on the table, bowing hastily. “My deepest apologies, Your Highne
sses.”

“It is quite all right, Nicodemo. That will be all. Thank
you.”

“Your Highness.” He nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind
him.

As Darian poured the tea, Marisa leaned back, staring out across the harbor toward the south end of town, toward the docks. Most of the capital city’s wealth depended on the tall ships entering and leaving with their precious cargo, and the port always seemed to be bustling with plenty of acti
vity.

“You know, your view is much better than mine,” she commented. “As the future Supreme Ruler, I find that odd. Why do you think that is, an
yway?”

He handed her the steaming cup. “I was here first, my love. That may have something to do wit
h it.”

“Hmm, m
aybe.”

“At any rate, our current housing arrangements are only temporary. After we are married, you may choose any chamber in the castle you wish for us to s
leep.”

“Any
room?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, eyeing her suggestively. “I do not mind sleeping in the broom closet, as long as we are toge
ther.”

She stopped. “Wait a minute. Didn’t we decide that we would stay at Beauriél after the wed
ding?”

His smile faded as he set his teacup on the table. “I thought this had been settled. You agreed to stay at the castle during the week and visit Beauriél on the weekends. Please, let us not quarrel about this a
gain.”

“We discussed it, but I don’t remember anything being settled,” she answered so
ftly.

He brightened, changing the subject. “How are the Carnelian history lessons coming along? Are you learning any dark and dirty secrets about our ances
tors?”

She shrugged. “I never really liked my history classes in school, but this is actually pretty interesting stuff. I guess when it’s your own family, it takes on a whole new dimen
sion.”

“Some of it is entertaining, but it can also be ted
ious.”

“Mark thinks it’s all bo
ring.”

“When I was his age, I loathed my history lessons. In fact, there was very little that interested me back then. Except women.” He chuc
kled.

“I’ll bet.” She smiled, trying to imagine him at six
teen.

“And sword figh
ting.”

Her gaze drifted across the walls of his room, studying the portraits of long-deceased relatives until one painting in particular caught her eye. It was of a young man dressed in full military regalia, with dark hair and a handsome face strikingly similar to Darian’s. He was mounted on a black horse, and his sword was thrust out in front of him as if he were about to charge into ba
ttle.

Studying the face of the young man in the portrait, it suddenly hit her who he was. “Da
rian?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you never talk about your fa
ther?”

He rose to his feet and moved over to the window, staring out at the fishing boats bobbing up and down on their way out to
sea.

“It has been extremely difficult for me to accept my father’s death knowing it was entirely prevent
able.”

“Preventable?
How?”

He hesitated. “It was—my f
ault.”

“Your f
ault?”

He nodded s
adly.

“I can’t believe that. How was it your f
ault?”

“One day, when I was fifteen, I discovered that my father had enlisted me in the Carnelian Academy without my consent. I confronted him, and we had a dreadful quarrel. He thought that I needed to learn discipline and duty to become a good monarch. He said that I could only learn true humility by becoming a sol
dier.”

“And?”

“I respected my father, but it angered me. The last thing I wanted was to be told what to do.” His eyes grew distant. “He seemed to control every aspect of my life
then.”

“So what happ
ened?”

“I ran
away.”

“Where did yo
u go?”

“To Queen Sophie’s. Her family was in residence at the winter pa
lace.”

“Savino’s ca
stle?”

He nodded. “I climbed on my horse and rode toward Abbadon. But my decision to leave was hasty and ill-planned. I was already cold and tired by the time I reached Andrésis, so I used all the money I had just to rent a room. I sat in my room at the Blue Boar Inn, nursing a jug of ale and contemplating where my life was g
oing.”

“Then what happ
ened?”

“Later that evening, my father discovered that I had run away, and somehow he knew I was headed to Abbadon. He set out with some men to find me, and early the next morning, while I was still asleep, the party raced straight through the village, without stop
ping.

“After the effects of the ale had worn off, I came to the realization that my father was right. He was only trying to help steer my life back onto the road. But of course I was too stubborn to admit it. I went home with my pride severely damaged. But when I reached Crocetta, my mother told me that my father had gone off in search o
f me.”

“And your fa
ther?”

He swallowed hard. “His party attempted to cross the Mychen Pass during the most treacherous time of the year. Nobody ever crosses it in winter. But my father’s concern for me drove him to take chances that he never should have t
aken.

“One of the horses triggered an avalanche, sweeping my father and four of his men down over the cliffs. Three other men survived and returned to tell the story. My mother was devast
ated.”

“Oh, that’s so—
awful,”
she whisp
ered.

“I was the reason he died that
day.”

“But it wasn’t your f
ault.”

“I joined the Academy the following spring, vowing to devote my life in service to the kingdom and hoping to redeem myself. But, no matter what I did, the guilt would never go
away.”

She grabbed his hands. “Darian, it was
not
your f
ault.”

“I have been trying to convince myself of that ever since. But when I see the sadness in my mother’s eyes, it fills me with g
uilt.”

“She doesn’t blame you, does
she?”

He shrugged. “She says not, but I am not so
sure.”

“You’ve got to let i
t go.”

“That is much easier said than done. My last words to my father were spoken in anger. I can never take them
back.”

His gaze broke away from the harbor, his eyes locking on her face. “I suppose that is why I always struggle to maintain control. In all situat
ions.”

She smiled. “But you can’t control everything that happens. Isn’t that what you keep tellin
g me?”

His lips curved into a sheepish grin. “Yes, I suppose
I do.”

“And at least you’re talking about it. That’s a step in the right direc
tion.”

“I never had someone to confid
e in.”

Her hand moved to gently cover his. “You can always talk to me. You know that, r
ight?”

“Yes.” His lips brushed hers softly. “And for that, I shall always be grat
eful.”

“It’s nice to be needed,” she whispered against his
lips.

“Come. I need to get some work done before my appointment in an hour, and you should let others know that you are still a
live.”

CHAPTER 3

PERSUASION

Spotting Darian and Marisa at the end of the corridor, Uncle Al strode over to meet
them.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, giving his niece a
kiss.

“How are you today,
Baron
Macario?” she teased, knowing how much her uncle abhorred the pompous ti
tles.

“Very well,
Your Highness
,” he answered with a wry s
mile.

Ever since Alistair MacCallum had returned to Carnelia, he started using his birth name of Alessio Macario. Although he would always look back on his time on Earth with great fondness, it was time to pick up the pieces of his former life again. At last, he had returned to the place where he belonged, and that name was a part of his unique heri
tage.

“How are the archery lessons coming a
long?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess. But I can’t understand why I even need them, living in this guarded prison all the
time.”

“Here we go again,” Darian muttered under his br
eath.

“Trouble?” Alessio asked, arching his
brow.

Darian rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Like it or not, you are the Princess Regent. You must remain under the protection of the citadel at all times. It is just not safe at Castle Beau
riél!”

“You know he’s only trying to keep you safe,” Alessio offered. “After all, it’s what your father would have wa
nted.”

“Then why did he let mom live out at Beau
riél?”

“They only lived there until it became too dangerous,” he explained. “Once your father realized that, he brought all of you back to the cit
adel.”

“But can’t we just get more guards to protect the p
lace?”

Alessio shook his head, touching her shoulder. “Don’t you understand? Savino is out there, plotting against you. We have to be ready for him, not sitting d
ucks.”

“Your uncle is right,” Darian agreed. “Although we have spies in Abbadon tracking his movements, it is just too dange
rous.”

“Okay, I get the point! It’s not safe. But what about Matilda? How long will she be living wit
h us?”

Darian did a double-take. “At which point did Lady Matilda become the subject of this discussion? We were explaining the folly of you living alone at Beau
riél.”

“Uncle Al mentioned Savino, and it made me think of
her.”

“Fair enough,” Darian answered. “Lady Matilda shall be staying with us for as long as is necessary. I could not in good conscience send her back to the brother who tried to poison
her.”

“So now her stay is indefi
nite?”

He stared at her. “You are not still jealous of her, are
you?”

“No,” she said defensively. “But she is a Fiore. Maybe Savino thinks you’ll change your mind and go back to
her.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Is that what you t
hink?”

There was a moment of awkward silence between them before Alessio clapped his hands, rubbing them toge
ther.

“Well, this conversation has taken a turn I don’t care to navigate, so I think I’ll be moving a
long.”

“See you later,” she said softly. Her uncle waved, disappearing around the co
rner.

“We need to talk,” Darian said, gently steering her down the corridor and into the Jade
Room.

Darian opened the doors of the balcony and, as they stepped outside, a blast of cold air hit Marisa’s face. Pulling her cloak tightly around her, she gazed out at the breathtaking mountains bright with snow, marveling at the way the jagged peaks turned into steep hills that sloped all the way down toward the harbor. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Darian studying her thoughtf
ully.

“What was the meaning of that?” he asked fin
ally.

“Meaning of
what?”

“Something is troubling you. Do you plan to tell me what it is, or must I tickle it out of
you?”

Smiling, she stared at the ground. “No, that won’t be neces
sary.”

“What is it
then?”

“I, uh—” She felt ridiculous even bringing it up, but she would have no rest until she knew the t
ruth.

“Yes?” he said, gently coaxing
her.

“I was just wondering—was Matilda ever under the impression that the two of you would be mar
ried?”

“
What!?”

“Well, I—uh, mean, as a casual observer, it seemed obvious even to me that you would marry her,” she stammered. “She must have been pretty disappointed when she found out that we were eng
aged.”

“First of all, you were
never
just a casual observer. Second, I have known Mattie all her life, and I have never left her with the understanding or impression that we would someday be
wed.”

“Oh.” The tension in her shoulders eased a bit. “But it must have crossed both of your minds, right? I mean, once Princess Maraya was out of the picture and
all…?”

He crossed his arms across his chest. “Why are you suddenly so insecure about my feelings for
you?”

“I don’t know.” She avoided his eyes. “Maybe because the two of you have a history toge
ther.”

“History?” He threw his head back and lau
ghed.

“What’s so f
unny?”

“Ah, my dearest, do not forget that we too have his
tory.”

“That’s different. We were kids back then. In fact, I can hardly remember any o
f it.”

“Do you mean to tell me, madam, that you cannot recall the time that I pulled out your frilly hair ribbons and tied them to the roast pig’s tail at the Feast of the Ordination?” he asked, gently tugging on a long lock of her chestnut
hair.

She smiled. “Of course not. But that sounds like something you’d do,” she said, pointing at him accusingly. “And don’t change the sub
ject.”

He sighed. “Although a match with Matilda had been suggested by others, it was never my intention. I was never attracted to her in that
way.”

“So you wouldn’t have married the beautiful Barbie doll even if she were the last Fiore princess ever?” She eyed him skeptic
ally.

“Bar-a-bee
doll?”

“Forget it.” She waved it away. “Just answer the ques
tion.”

He paused for a moment, wiping a smudge off his
boot.

“I must admit, there was a time several months ago when I briefly entertained the idea of marrying her to keep Savino off the throne. But I never said a word to her, and I never misled her in any way. Of course, I never assumed that love would be a factor in any marriage I might enter
into.”

“So if I’d been a common girl, you would’ve married
her?”

A mischievous smile spread across his lips. “The day I discovered you up in those woods, the notion of ever marrying anyone else vanished comple
tely.”

She stared at him accusingly. “So then, why did you ignore me and pay extremely close attention to her? You sat next to her at every meal. You escorted her on the hike up to the f
alls.”

“Now wait just a moment t
here—”

“Even
on my birthday boat trip, you avoided me like the plague but never left her side! When she got sick, you took on the role of the concerned boyfr
iend…”

“If you would
just—”

“That in itself told me that you two were—uh, together. Why would you go to such lengths to mislead me if you really love
d me?”

“Are you finished yet?” he asked, crossing his arms with an amused s
mile.

“Yes.”

“I was sending signals to someone else. Or at least tryin
g to.”

“Sig
nals?”

He sighed. “I was ignoring you on pur
pose.”

She stared at him blankly. “
What?”

“I could not let Savino discover the truth. There has always been a bitter rivalry between us, especially with women. If he were to discover that I loved you, I knew that he would try to steal you
away.”

She stopped. “But what about his marriage prop
osal?”

He looked at her skeptically. “Did you not think it strange that a man should propose marriage to a woman so soon after they had been introduced? Especially since said scoundrel believed your station in life to be so completely beneath his
own?”

“Well, yeah—but I just assumed that was how things worked around here.” Her eyes widened. “You mean he never wanted to marry me in the first p
lace?”

Darian shrugged his shoulders, smiling apologetic
ally.

She stopped for a moment to mull it over. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that Savino was never interested in me? At all? He just didn’t want
you
to hav
e me?”

“I am truly sorry to be the one to tell you, my love, but it was his intense dislike of me and not your charm and beauty that enticed him into making you an offer of marr
iage.”

She stared at him, dumbfou
nded.

“Somehow he must have sensed that I loved you from the first moment we arrived at Abb
adon.”

“And the whole ploy with the peace tr
eaty…?”

“The treaty was genuine. At least from my side. When he countered with the proposal of making you his bride, he took a very risky ga
mble.”

“How?”

“He wanted to see whether I would fight for the woman I loved or sacrifice that love for the sake of duty and the kingdom. He was betting all along I would choose
you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t have to do ei
ther.”

“I prayed that he would not recognize you as I had nor discover your true identity. From the first day I met you, I had to make it
seem
as if I was indifferent to
you…”

“—and convince everyone else that you loved Mat
ilda.”

“Yes. As far as Savino knew, his sister was the only woman I could marry and still ascend the th
rone.”

“Why are you only telling me this
now?”

“You never asked be
fore.”

She leaned back, studying his handsome profile. “You are quite a talented actor, do you know that? You even had me fo
oled.”

“Little did Savino know that another Fiore princess had already stolen my heart,” he whispered, winking playfully at
her.

“So it
is
my royal title you’re a
fter.”

“No,” he said softly, pulling her close. “It has always been the woman behind the title that I care a
bout.”

“You’ve had a tough burden to bear, haven’t you?” she asked, tracing a finger across the silvery scar along his jaw
line.

“Indeed. Why do you think I fought so hard for you to stay back in Andrésis? I knew what would happen if you went with us on to Abb
adon.”

“I think I’m feeling an ‘I told you so’ comin
g on.”

“In fact,” he said sternly, “I specifically remember saying that you would only end up complicating mat
ters.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve made a note to trust you more in the future.” She looked at him coyly. “And in exchange, maybe you’re willing to offer a compro
mise?”

“On which matter do I need to compro
mise?”

“If you let me stay at Castle Beauriél until after Christmas, I’ll move back into the castle the day before my corona
tion.”

“What is Chris
tmas?”

She stared at him. “You don’t
know?”

He shook his
head.

“It’s the day we celebrate the birth of J
esus.”

Darian said nothing, staring at her bla
nkly.

“He was a man who lived on Earth more than two thousand years ago,” she explained. “He healed people from their sicknesses and performed miracles. He died a horrible death but came back to life three days l
ater.”

“How is that poss
ible?”

“He claimed to be the Son of
God.”

“And your people celebrate this man’s birth each
year?”

“Yes, and it’s my favorite holiday. Families get together and give presents and enjoy delicious meals. Can we celebrate it at Beau
riél?”