The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [82]
“My lady,” King Boreas said to Grace. “Or, I should say, my queen—it is a brave thing you do this day, for the Dominions, and for all of Eldh. Nor will I insult you by pretending it is not a most perilous thing as well.”
She managed a weak smile. “You know, that's not really all that comforting, Your Majesty.”
He flashed a toothy grin. “Isn't it? Well, take heart, my lady. While it will be difficult, you need only hold Gravenfist Keep for a short time. The men of Vathris have heard my call. It will not be long until a great host assembles here. When they do, the Warriors of Vathris will march north with all haste to relieve you.”
Grace nodded, hoping the terror wasn't too apparent in her eyes. Perhaps it was, for he moved in close and took her right hand in his.
“It was a lucky day when Sir Durge found you in Gloaming Wood, Lady Grace.” His voice was low and gruff, so that only she could hear. “Lucky for Eldh. And for me as well.”
He smiled, and this time the expression was only slightly fierce. “I loved Queen Narenya, and when I lost her I thought I had no more need of women, that ruling a Dominion was enough to occupy me. But last winter, when you came into this castle and brightened its halls, I realized how mistaken I was. There are times when I occupy myself with a fancy, my lady. And a most beguiling fancy it is. For in it, you and I sit side by side on the thrones of Calavere, ruling wisely. Together.”
Grace could do nothing to hide her astonishment as all words, all motion, fled her. The king bent his head, and his lips passed near hers, almost brushing them. She did not retreat. However, at the last, he turned his head and kissed her cheek—gently, chastely—before stepping back.
Grace trembled. In that moment she was struck by how like Boreas was to the god he followed. Like Vathris, he was a man so strong, so powerful, no one could deny his wishes. How would she ever resist him if he desired to make her his own? Only he had let her go, and was that not more powerful than even the sternest command?
Grace lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Your Majesty, I am in your debt for the kindness you have shown me. More than that, I care for you, so I won't lie to you. The fact is, I don't know if it's possible for me to love someone as you loved Queen Narenya. And I'm fairly sure I wouldn't be much of a wife. But if you ever have need of a queen by your side, you have only to ask, and I will be there.”
Her own words astonished Grace, but she knew they were true. However, the king did not accept her offer. Instead his smile faded, and a strange light shone in his eyes, though what it was—joy? regret?—Grace couldn't be sure.
He touched her cheek with a rough hand. “May the gods go with you, my lady.” Then he strode away. He paused to raise a fist for the benefit of the small army below, this action eliciting a cheer, then the bullish king of Calavan vanished through the castle gate.
“What was that all about?” Falken said. The bard drew close, along with Melia. Both wore thick riding cloaks.
“He wished me luck, that's all.” Grace gathered her own cloak about herself. The sun was bright, but the air was bitter. The Feast of Quickening was only a month away, but winter had not loosened its grip on the world.
“Tell me, dear,” Melia said. “Did you see Prince Teravian on your way out of the castle?”
“I'm afraid not. I suppose he's lurking somewhere.”
“Almost certainly.” The amber-eyed lady sighed. “That's unfortunate. I had hoped to say good-bye to him.”
The cold must have numbed Grace's brain. “What do you mean, Melia? Teravian isn't going anywhere.”
“No, dear,” Melia said, “but we are.”
Grace stared at the bard and the lady. “You mean you're coming with us to Gravenfist Keep?” Hope soared in her chest, but was dashed as Falken shook his head.
“We have our own journey to make. Shemal is still loose in the world, and so is the other Runebreaker. I'm guessing that if we find one, we'll likely find the other.”
Melia took Grace's