Unforgettable Lover (8 page)

Wrapping her long hair in the ribbon, she studied him. “Good morning, Papa. Not going to the Grand Hall for repast?”

“Don’t have time. Need to get to the hives.” Papa peered at her and raised an eyebrow. “You were out late.” 

Excited about seeing Nicholai and painting for him had inspired her to sketch, so she’d stayed late in the artistry chamber. She often sketched before painting. The activity helped flesh out her ideas before committing them to canvas. At the memory, remnants of the euphoria coursed through her veins, filling her with happiness. A smile tugged at her lips, and she gave in, letting the warm feeling raise her spirit. She felt taller, bigger, stronger than she’d felt in a long time. Eager to tell him about her commission to paint for the prince, she took in a large breath. “Papa, last night—” 

“Last night, you left your mother to handle the clean-up. When are you going to become more responsible?” His flat tone conveyed his displeasure.

Her elation deflated in an instant. “I—I’m sorry, father. I…”

“Riordan, let her be.” Maman entered the room, her hands still fiddling with the pins in her hair.

“Pia, she needs to learn—”

“Agreed, but we don’t need to attack her with responsibilities first thing in the morning, do we?” Maman placed her hand against Leonna’s back and rubbed her shoulder.

Leonna blinked rapidly to stave off the wave of tears that hit her full force. 

Her father wiped his mouth with his napkin and threw the cloth on the table. “I’m heading out. Lots to do.” He stood, and his eyes widened. His body swayed as if he were on a boat in a rough sea.

A kernel of dread formed in Leonna’s stomach. She leapt to her feet. “Papa!”

Both she and her mother reached him just as his knees buckled. He outweighed them both, but with their combined strength they managed to get him back into his chair. The rickety seat groaned under his weight.

“Riordan, what is it?” Anxiety filled her mother’s voice and mirrored the concern Leonna felt in her own chest.

He rubbed his pale face, his eyes focused on a spot over Leonna’s shoulder. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I stood up too quickly. Just a little light-headed.” 

“Papa, we should take you to see Gaetan.” 

“No!” He slapped his palm on the table. “I’ve already visited the Haelen. There isn’t anything he can do.”

Leonna flinched.

He let out a long breath. “I’m fine, really.”

Leonna glanced at Maman. They locked gazes. She could tell by the doubt in her mother’s eyes that she didn’t believe him either, but based on prior experience, there was no getting through to him.

Leonna stepped back, and her mother did likewise. Leonna’s hands shook. The lines in his face and his pale skin, made her want to cry. She couldn’t imagine anything happening to her father.

He stood. His fingers gripped the edge of the table for a moment, as if he needed the extra support for balance. He looked hard at her. “Meet me at the cart after you’ve eaten.”

He meant business. “Yes, Papa.” She bowed in respect.

He reached to open the door.

Knock. Knock.

He flinched at the noise, but turned the knob. “Ah, Blaine, good morning to you. Welcome, come in.” He spread his hand wide, beckoning her qithan into their home.

Her heart skipped a beat, and not in a good way. Her mother’s comforting hand squeezed Leonna’s arm.

Blaine strode into the room. He held a bouquet of red roses. The sickly sweet smell of the flowers permeated her senses. He lacked that special connecting spark in his eyes. She didn’t feel any sort of attraction to him, not like she did to Nicholai, and the difference was like a splash of cold water on her soul.

“H…Hello, Leonna. These are for you.” He extended his arm. The flowers shimmied in his grasp as if he was unsure about her reaction. 

Against her will, her desire to please kicked in. She took the flowers from him and glanced at the ground. “Thank you.” 

She turned to get a vase, eager to escape both males in her life.

“Well, then, I’ll be off.” Her father’s voice had an extra lilt. The door shut with a soft click.

Leonna cringed. She pulled out a vase from a nearby cabinet, filled it with water from their drinking pitcher, and placed the beautiful, yet depressing, flowers on the center of the table.

“May I walk you to your cart today?” His voice squeaked on the last word.

She wanted to run, hide, do anything but spend time with this male, but after the episode with her father, the reality that Blaine was to be part of her future weighed on her. 

“Sure.” Somehow, she managed to force the word out.

With tentative steps, she approached him. He held out his arm, and she wrapped her hand in the crook of his elbow. 

“Leonna, I’ll meet you there. I forgot my shawl in my room.” The soft padding of her mother’s feet receded.

She peeked at Blaine. He stared at her mouth. With a sense of dread, she licked her lips. He cupped her head with his free hand and kissed her. 

No. Sparks. Whatsoever. 

Instead, a weird sense—like kissing her brother crossed her mind.
Eww.

He released her and cleared his throat. “We should get going. The carts open soon. We both have responsibilities to our families.”

A thought occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, he had been coerced into this arrangement as much as she had. She wanted to ask him, but maman reappeared in the room. The opportunity was lost.

As they exited her family chamber, a strange sensation, like tentacles from a giant octopus, clamped around her chest, taking her breath away. She felt trapped and hopeless, with nowhere else to go.

Chapter Thirteen

Leonna picked at her food. The carrots and corn on the cob blended together as tears formed in her eyes. She fisted her hand and blinked, willing herself to take control, to not let a single drop spill from her lashes.

A group of warriors at a nearby table caught her attention. They laughed and chatted among themselves, their plates loaded with the pulled pork and vegetables from the evening repast. One male had a marking that ran from his elbow up his arm until the line disappeared under his shirtsleeve. She wondered if his mark looked anything like Nicholai’s. 

She inhaled at the thought.
I’m qithan. I shouldn’t think about Nicholai.
But that was all she wanted to do. She bit the inside of her cheek, and a new round of tears threatened. 

The line of Stiyaha in front of the food tables wound into the hallway. Good thing she’d arrived early. She needed to eat and get to the artistry chamber to meet the Prince. A lump formed in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow the bit of carrot in her mouth. She held her breath and forced herself to calm down. At last, she swallowed, but the effort left her with a bitter tang in her mouth.

Chantel approached with a full plate. Her face beamed, and her mouth curved into a mischievous grin. As she closed the distance, her smile faltered. “Why are you sitting over here by yourself?” Her best friend snuggled beside her on the bench and ran her hand up Leonna’s arm, but the friendly gesture didn’t ease the ache in her heart. 

“Chanty…I’m qithan.” Leonna raised her arm, and the bracelet dangled from her wrist like a rope, one attached to a male she didn’t love.

Chantel’s quick breath gave away her surprise. “….and that explains your happy mood, right?” Chantel wrapped her into a soft embrace. “What can I do?” 

“Nothing. Just…nothing.” The heat and aroma from the pulled pork didn’t help Leonna’s stomach. She clamped her mouth shut to hold back the nausea rising in her throat.

Chantel pulled back and stared into Leonna’s eyes. “Who is he? Do I know him? Do you even like him?”

So many questions Leonna wasn’t sure how to respond, so she shook her head.

“Then why are you qithan with him?” Her friend tightened her lips and gave her a troubled glare.

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s not an answer. Please tell me…or I will tickle you until you do.”

A short laugh burst from Leonna. Her friend always had a way of raising her spirits. A small smile pulled at her lips, and a bit of her tension abated. 

“I made you laugh. That’s a start.” Chantel pushed her uneaten food away and stood. “Let’s walk—get the blood flowing. It’ll do you good.” She stood and grabbed Leonna’s hand.

Leonna went along, suddenly eager to escape the Grand Hall, now filled with so many of the Keep’s residents. As they walked down the corridor, their pace picked up. Fresh air filled her lungs, providing oxygen for her muscles and her brain. Her friend was right—she felt better.

“Now, tell me what happened.” Chantel’s tone was encouraging, yet demanding.

“My father…he selected Blaine as my mate.” As Leonna said the words, the chain around her wrist grew heavier.

“Blaine? I must be wrong, but I thought he preferred—” 

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as a deep desire to let it all out hit Leonna. “Papa doesn’t trust me to run the honey cart on my own. He thinks I’m too impulsive and disorganized.” Leonna took a big breath. “He grows feebler each day…and my mother, what with her bent back, she can’t run the wagon. So, he selected Blaine to help me. He didn’t even ask what I wanted. He—” The floodgates burst and the tears flowed. She inhaled to prevent the wail that threatened to escape.

Chantel wrapped Leonna in a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry. Why don’t you tell him what you want?”

Leonna’s body hitched as she tried to control her sobs. A vision of Nicholai crossed her mind, but the thought of being with the prince was futile, so she focused on her other love—art. That wasn’t a viable option for a living. She used to be a fabulous painter, one with the promise of a great career. Ever since the accident, her paintings just didn’t quite have that same spark, the same beauty. 

An unwanted memory coiled itself from the depths of her brain. As a newb, she’d run off from her father and their honey cart, excited to paint. As she ran down the market aisle, an older female appeared in her path. Unable to stop, Leonna crashed into her and both fell to the stone floor. Pinned underneath the other female, Leonna couldn’t move, her arms sprawled out in front of her. A nearby vendor’s cart rolled down the aisle. Before she could scream a warning, the cart’s wheels ran over her hand, cutting off three of her fingers. As much as Gaetan had tried, his healing stones couldn’t reattach the severed digits. Even today, the creak of cart wheels sent goosebumps along her arms. 

Leonna pulled away from her friend and looked into Chantel’s eyes. “I have a responsibility to my parents to run the honey cart. It’s our family legacy—our contribution to the Keep. What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Not true. What you want
does
matter.” Chantel traced her finger over Leonna’s hair. “Oh, honey, why you can’t see that I’ll never understand.”

“Thank you for helping me work through this, but I have to get to the artistry chamber. I’m meeting someone for a painting.”

Chantel’s gaze roamed Leonna’s face, as if she evaluated whether she was ready to let her go. She glanced at the stone floor and stepped back. “Okay. I’d love to see the picture when you’re done. I’m sure the painting will be beautiful.” 

Leonna’s muscles relaxed. She pulled Chantel into a quick embrace. “You’re a good friend, Chanty.” 

Chapter Fourteen

There she was. The female he’d commissioned to paint his portrait. She brushed a stroke of paint over her canvas, the movement sensual, beautiful. That she used her damaged hand was remarkable. Her thumb and index finger grasped the brush with ease. Mesmerized, he could gaze upon her face for not just hours, but days on end. As he walked past the other artists in the room, none caught his attention, not like this female. 

Nicholai’s body responded as if he knew her, as if she was the one he’d been with during the Betram ritual. But she was not. As a qithan female, she wouldn’t have been allowed to participate. Then, why did he respond to her this way? He ground his teeth. The last time they’d talked, he’d failed to get her name. He would rectify that immediately.

Her back to him, she didn’t appear to notice his approach. He gazed upon her fine, blond hair. The stands fell down her back. The tips graced the top of her rounded behind. He had a sudden urge to get close, introduce himself by showing her what she did to him. That was inappropriate, but his beast liked the idea.

Not wanting to startle her, he stepped past her so that he’d be in her line of sight. She jumped anyway, and a drop of red paint from her brush landed on her cheek. The bright spot made her all the more delectable. She didn’t seem to notice. 

Her eyes widened. 

“Oh, you’re here.” She blushed a bright shade of pink that blended well with the dab of paint. He longed to wipe it away, but contained his desire.

“Yes, as promised.” He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lip. She brought that out in him. The smile overtook him and turned into a full grin.

If possible, her cheeks colored even darker shade of pink, and his chest expanded from the warmth she exuded.

“I have a fresh canvas.” She removed the painting she’d been working on and pulled a white board from her stack. “It’s brand new, and—”

“What’s your name?” A burning desire to know ate at him. 

She bit her lip. 

A warmth spread into his groin. He wanted to nibble her lip as well.

“Leonna.” 

“Leonna.” The way her name rolled around on his tongue was like a gentle caress. So, he said her name again. “Leonna. What a beautiful name. I am Nicholai.”

“I know.” She stiffened. “I mean…I recognize you, Nicholai…you’re the prince. Everyone knows who you are.” 

Hearing his name come from her lips made his beast sit up and take notice. If it wasn’t for the qithan bracelet and her misshapen hand, he’d swear she was the one from the Betram ritual. 

The red dot of paint on her cheek turned lighter as it dried along the edges. He couldn’t wait any longer. With the back of his finger, he wiped her cheek. His skin lit up at the contact.