From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [9]
Bran bowed low and smiled. “Nice to see you again, Your Majesty. Where are you off to?”
Not a shred of the animosity Achan sensed came from Bran. “I plan to visit Grendolyn Fenny,” Achan said. “Sir Caleb keeps me busier than a squirrel in fall, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had since my arrival.”
Bran’s face tinged pink—at the mention of Gren’s name, perhaps?—but he went on as if nothing were amiss. “Do you know the way? If not, I would be happy to take you there.”
Achan glanced at Bran’s companions and found their disdainful expressions fixed on him. Bran might not be angry, but everyone else seemed to be.
“You’re not due elsewhere?” Achan asked.
“I ate in the barracks and was heading to my post.”
“And your post is?”
“In the great hall, Your Majesty.”
“Lead the way, then, Master Rennan.”
Bran waved to the squadron. “I’ll be along in a bit.” He started toward the southeastern gate. His posture seemed to swell, as if walking alongside Achan were some sort of treat.
Shung followed on Achan’s left.
“I’m glad to see you’ve embraced your calling since last we met, Your Majesty,” Bran said.
“If I did not, someone else would have.” Achan glanced at Bran. “When do you leave for Armonguard?” For this was one of the first orders Achan had given, that Jax mi Katt, Sir Rigil, and Bran return to Prince Oren to assist the southern troops and the Mârad rebels.
“In the morning.” Bran led them over the drawbridge of the southeastern gate and followed a wide path through the surrounding vineyard. The nearly ripe grapes made the air smell sweet. Bees gathered around the bunches of fruit, helping themselves to a taste. Achan followed Bran past three women carrying baskets of grapes. All three glared at Achan.
“For Lightness’ sake!” Achan stopped and turned to stare after the women. “What is the matter with everyone?”
“It’s my fault, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” Bran whispered. “The people have heard whose token you wear and they feel you have… um… stolen my intended.”
“Yes, I am aware of this.” Achan huffed a dry laugh. “But Bran… I stole?” He set his hands on his hips.
Soldiers were one thing, but the peasants too? After all the debate over the best match for Achan—to find the lady who could unite the biggest army, the lady Achan was betrothed to nearly against his will—now the people of Carmine thought he had stolen Bran Rennan’s love? It was almost funny, especially since Bran had broken his own engagement and stolen the heart of another. Gren Fenny’s, to be exact, whom Achan had once longed to wed.
“Well,” Achan said, “this is awkward.”
Bran looked at his boots. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I understood you severed your relationship with Lady Averella amicably. Was that not the case?”
“As well as I could. But the people were not told.”
For who would tell them? Nobles did not make a habit of announcing their decisions to every peasant in their manor. Still. “Rumor has not circulated?”
“It has, but…” He lowered his voice. “Forgive me. The people think I’m covering for the duchess. That she withdrew her consent to make a better match for Averella.”
Averella. So informal. A long history of friendship, likely. Similar to what Achan and Gren shared, perhaps. Achan struggled for words that would not insult Bran or Lady Averella. “It is not my wish to marry anyone. I—”
“Completely understood, Your Majesty,” Bran said. “I know you did not choose Averella for yourself.”
“I would never knowingly take another man’s love.”
Bran’s complexion darkened. The comment had been cruel, perhaps. An unnecessary stab. Achan had no future with Gren Fenny—Hoff. He shook the thought away. But Bran had courted Gren, ignorantly perhaps, but still knowing that Achan had loved her.
Bran took a long breath and bowed his head. “You are a noble man, Your Highness.”
In word alone. If Bran could bloodvoice, he’d sense how ignoble Achan’s thoughts were at present. Oh, pig snout. He did not want an enemy in Bran. He had few friends, as it was. Maybe asking Bran’s aid could