The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

He followed after me and pressed his palms against the watchtower wall, pinning me between his arms. A scowl darkened his eyes. “It doesn’t matter who or what I am or what the cabinet wants. You are what matters to me, Lia. If you don’t know that already, I’ll find a hundred more ways to show you. I love you more than a port, more than an alliance, more than my own life. Your interests are my interests. Are we going to let the conspiracies and schemes of kingdoms come between us?”

His dark lashes cut a shadow under his eyes. His gaze searched mine, and then the turmoil receded and was replaced with something else—a need that had gone too long unquenched. It matched my own, and I felt its heat spreading low in my gut. It was only Rafe and me. Kingdoms disappeared. Duties disappeared. Only the two of us and everything we had ever been to each other—and everything I still wanted us to be.

“No kingdom will come between us,”

I whispered. “Ever.” Our lips drew closer, and I leaned in to him, wanting every part of him to be part of me too, our mouths meeting, his embrace gentle and then passionate, wanting more. His lips traced a line down my neck and then nudged my dress from my shoulder. My breaths shuddered and my hands slipped beneath his vest, my fingertips burning as they slid over the muscles of his stomach. “We’re supposed to be keeping watch,” I said breathlessly.

He quickly signaled a sentry below to resume his patrol of the wall and turned his attention back to me. “Let’s go to my tent,” he whispered between kisses.

I swallowed, trying to form a coherent answer. “You aren’t worried about your reputation?”

“I’m more worried about my sanity. No one will see us.”

“Do you have anything with you here?” I didn’t want to end up in Pauline’s predicament.

“Yes.”

His tent was only steps away, but still almost as far as a lifetime when I knew how quickly the fates could turn on a moment and rip it away.

“We’re here now, Rafe, and the watchtower is warm. Who needs a tent?”

* * *

The world vanished. We closed the door. Pulled the shutter tight. Lit a candle. Threw a woolen blanket to the floor.

My fingers trembled and he kissed them, concern filling his eyes. “We don’t have to—”

“I’m only afraid this isn’t real. That it’s only another one of my dreams that I’ll wake from.”

“This is our dream, Lia. Together. No one can wake us.”

We lay on the blanket and his face hovered over mine, my prince, my farmer, the blue of his eyes as deep as a midnight ocean and I was lost in them, floating, weightless. His lips slowly skimmed my skin, exploring, tender, setting every inch of me on fire, the room and time disappearing, and then his eyes were looking into mine again, and his hand slipped behind me, lifting me closer to him, the yearning of weeks and months burning, and the fears that we’d never be together dissolving.

The vows we made to each other, the trust written on our souls, all of it swept past me as he brought his mouth back to mine. Our hands knotted, and the rhythm of his breaths surrounded me. Every kiss, every touch, was a promise that we both knew, I was his and he was mine, and no conspiracy or scheme of kingdoms had a fraction of the power that surged between us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

We hurried up the steps of the veranda, neither of us feeling guilty about being late for dinner, but we were both caught by surprise when we saw Kaden and Griz among the guests. Captain Hague took particular delight in whispering, “As per your orders,” as I passed him.

The timing for listening to me couldn’t have been worse, and he knew it. Rafe’s hand tensed in mine when he saw them. Making peace with Kaden was still a long way off for him. As uneasy as everyone at the table was with their presence, I knew none were as uncomfortable as Kaden and Griz. To Kaden’s credit, he avoided saying anything that might be construed as combative. He seemed contrite even, which I hoped was a sign he regretted his method of delivering “honesty.” The unsaid and the innuendo had tarnished his truth. I supposed we all needed practice at it. Truth was a harder skill to master than swinging a sword.

Even Jeb had come to dinner, refusing to be confined to bed any longer. I could only imagine the pain he’d had to endure to wriggle his arm and shoulder into the freshly pressed shirt, but he wore it with style and pride. Cruvas linen, no doubt.

Banter turned to the upcoming party plans and spirits grew lighter. Our dinner mates seemed to grow more at ease with Griz’s and Kaden’s presence—though even their smallest gestures were still monitored.

Rafe made it through the evening with considerable restraint, though several times during dinner, his hand strayed to my knee beneath the table. I think he enjoyed watching me stumble over my words. I returned the distraction when he was deep in conversation with Captain Azia. After having to begin the same sentence three times, he reached under the table and squeezed my hand, to stop me from drawing lazy circles on his thigh. Captain Azia blushed as if he knew the game we played.

* * *

The next day was crowded with more duty for Rafe. I saw the weight of it in his eyes. He’d had to muster incredible self-control back at the Sanctum, keeping up a charade day after day by playing a conniving emissary, and now he had been thrust into another new role—one that came with enormous expectation.

I was walking past his tent when I heard strained voices within. Rafe and Sven were arguing. I stooped near the curtained door to relace my boot and listen. A message had arrived saying the rotation of troops would be delayed a few days, but it also brought news of a growing rift between the assembly and the cabinet.

“That’s it,” Rafe had yelled. “We’re going back now, escort or no escort.”

Sven stood his ground. “Don’t be a damned fool! The message Bodeen sent has arrived at the palace by now. It will announce you’re alive and well and on your way, but you can’t discount the fact that enemies will also know you’re on your way. It’s too big a risk. A large escort is prudent. Knowing you’re alive is enough to calm the assembly until we get there.” Rafe’s reaction to cabinet squabbles seemed excessive, and I wondered if I had missed something, or maybe the news had simply added to his impatience.

Rafe wasn’t the only one growing impatient. With each passing day, I was more certain I needed to leave. The pull grew stronger, and I had restless dreams. In them I heard pieces of the Song of Venda, a jumbled melody punctuated by my own breathless running, though in the dreams, my feet refused to move, as if they had grown into the ground beneath me, and then came the low rumble of something approaching. I felt its hot breath on my back, something hungry and determined, the refrain sounding over and over: For when the Dragon strikes, it is without mercy. I would startle awake, trying to catch my breath, my back stinging with the memory of sharp claws slicing into me, and then I would hear the Komizar’s words as clearly as if he stood beside me. If any royals survive our conquest, it will give me great pleasure to lock them up on this side of hell.