A Bright Star in Centuries of Darkness--Chapter 4
Eleanor had been avoiding the male like the plague, skirting around him in the palace like a mouse desperately fleeing a hunting feline. She’d been at this since their awkward exchange days prior when he’d come to check on her and she’d halfheartedly muttered her thanks before claiming she felt faint and shooing him out.
Not that he’d been seeking her out; on the contrary, he’d been a right gentleman about respecting her space. She hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since that night, and she fully intended to keep it that way until he departed.
Grousing internally, she pulled her scarf about her shoulders and frowned. Men weren’t allowed to be that endearing, weren’t allowed to be that sincere and certainly weren’t allowed to be that pretty. He should have been a ripe ass, full of ego and entitlement like the other men she’d had the misfortune of knowing.
It was unnatural.
Walking briskly, she slipped into the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time as she shuffled toward the kitchen hoping to snag a tray of tarts and some stew before lunch was served. She’d been skulking around in the shadows, only leaving her room when she was certain she could avoid running into anyone.
As far as Glaston was concerned she was still recuperating, healing from her unfortunate accident and unable to handle company and therefore free of her hosting obligation. Even as gossip ran rampant through the palace like a pox, every recollection of the tale growing grander and more outrageous.
These retellings had included such nonsense as the fae soldier having faced fifty feral boars with nothing more than his bare hands to protect their dear and precious princess. Eleanor had nearly wept when the tale had cycled back to her, Evalin in fits at the absurdity of it all as she recounted all the stories she’d gleaned.
Eleanor noted that it was most unfortunate they did not possess a moat in which she could drown herself and be rid of such nonsense. Perhaps if she died she’d return as a banshee, wailing her woes and drowning the servants who kept the wheel spinning.
They’d learn to stop moving their lips then.
Eleanor was nearly to the kitchens when she heard the tap of footsteps and cursed as she glanced around. What if it was Gavriel? She could not bear to face the male any more than she could bear to sit through another of Dennor’s nasally speeches.
Quickly she darted to the great window on the left of the hall and slipped behind the golden curtains, pulling the thick fabric around her. Surely even the fae warrior wouldn’t notice her if she remained entirely still and held her breath?
She waited several long seconds, breathing slowly as she heard the footsteps pause before rapidly approaching. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side as the curtain was torn back away from her. She could just pretend she wasn’t there---
“Elle, what in hell’s realm are you doing?” She peeled open one eye, relieved to see Evalin holding the curtain back instead of a certain golden-haired male. She deflated.
“I was dusting!” She ran her hand over the window, already immaculately scrubbed. “See? Good as new.” Evalin narrowed her eyes in a way that assured Eleanor that she didn’t buy into such nonsense for a second. “Are you still hiding from our guest?” Her cousin pointed a lovely finger at her slippers. “A word of advice: if you’re going to hide, do so in a way that your shoes aren’t sticking out from the bottom of your hiding spot.” “Did you ever consider that the curtains may have started wearing shoes?” Eleanor poked her head out from behind the curtain, glancing sidelong to ensure she and Evalin were alone in the hallway. “It’s the newest in Adarlanian fashion, as you should know.” Evalin rolled her eyes as she dragged Eleanor out from behind the fabric. “I’ll make sure to note it. When was the last time you left the palace? You look dreadfully pale.”
“Not since the incident, if that’s what you’re asking. Do not fear, dear cousin, I’ve taken to the idea of becoming a cryptid, pale and monstrous, lurking through halls at night and preying on the innocent.” “Enough nonsense out of you,” Evalin shoved Eleanor forward, “you’ll go outside this instant, or so help me.” “Fine, fine!” Eleanor grumbled, stumbling forward as her cousin guided her toward the archway leading to the gardens. “Might we grab tarts first? I’m famished.” “You’ve eaten nothing but sweets for a week,” Evalin clicked her tongue. “Too much sugar. Get something with more sustenance.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes.
“Of course, Nan, forgive my ignorance.”
Evalin flicked her ear.
“Ow! Anneith’s bosom, Eva, I have need of that.”
“Then don’t call me Nan.”
She’d still snuck a tart regardless of Evalin’s lecturing after they’d taken an early lunch, nibbling on the edge of the pastry as they strode through the extensive gardens. Many of the flowers were dormant with autumn beginning to take hold over the earth, but the gourds and changing leaves provided an easel of color for their enjoyment.
Eleanor sincerely hoped the winter might bring a rare ice storm, though with the temperate climate it was highly unlikely. It did not stop her from wishing for it though. She’d always had a love for the cold, for the scent of pine and snow she’d had the pleasure of experiencing once on a trip to one of the mountain estates that their family owned.
She’d always wished to live in it, to enjoy the brisk chill and warm herself by the hearth. Not the continuous drone of heat and humidity that Wendlyn provided. And perhaps she’d get the chance, if she chose to follow Evalin. Gods knew she’d been getting her fill of snow when she went north to Terrasen.
“You’re going to become a queen of ice,” Eleanor murmured as she strolled lazily down the path next to Evalin, “encrusted in snow and holly. We should add more fur to your wardrobe.” Evalin gave a small laugh, her slim shoulders shaking. “You do know there are summers in Terrasen, yes? It was quite lovely during my visit.”
“Oh yes, they brought you there to give you the impression of how lovely it is before it’s buried beneath heaps of frozen ice crystals,” Eleanor put a hand to her mouth, Ashryver eyes twinkling, “I do hope that Prince of yours will be enough to keep you thawed in the dark, frozen nights. I have heard he is quite . . . delicate.”
A lie. Eleanor knew just how athletic and strong the young Prince of Terrasen was, but what fun was acknowledging that when it came to teasing Eva?
“He . . . he’s just yet to grow into himself,” Evalin griped indignantly, giving a rare flush as she defended her husband. “He’s very lean, mind you, and fast as an adder.” “Mm, excellent in a battle but agility will do little when you are turning into an icicle,” she finished off her pastry and dusted the powdery sugar off her fingers. “You will be queen; however, you can always hold a tourney to acquire yourself a bed warmer. Or two.”
“I refuse to be as uncouth as my dear aunt,” Evalin’s lips downturned, her features pinching. “I have no intention of keeping men as pets for my own pleasures.” “Really? That’s the one thing I think that queen got right, I’d be quite content with a palace full of lovely, pretty men to do my bidding.” “Funny, considering you won’t even talk to one of those pretty males.” “Note the difference there, dear cousin, males not man. I prefer mine mortal and capable of death. What point would there be if I couldn’t become a widow if the need were to arise?” Evalin stopped, looking incredulously at Eleanor. “You jest.” Eleanor kept her face neutral, willing seriousness to her features even as she felt a smile creeping onto her face. Evalin merely sighed and shook her head.
“Well, at least I shall never have to fear for your wellbeing. I’m starting to think I should be more concerned for your future love, however.” “That would be the wisest course of action.” She winked at her cousin, who gave a breathy laugh in reply.
“Nonsense. You speak nothing but nonsense.”
“Not nearly as much as the rest of the stuffy airheads in court,” Eleanor barely realized they’d wrapped around to the gardens in front of the palace, the training grounds stretching out before them where the palace guard sparred, the sound of practice swords clashing echoing across the grounds. “Have you heard the newest deliberations? Apparently, the latest argument is over whether the minstrels for the spring ball will wear blue or teal. It’s preposterous.” “I’m not even certain Glaston could tell the difference between those colors,” Evalin mused, stepping over a loose stone on the path. “He’s likely letting them bicker amongst themselves to buy himself a moment’s peace.” “Not a bad strategy, honestly,” Eleanor turned her attention towards the training grounds, hoping to spy some of the young and shirtless recruits training. “It’s the sole bit of proof that we’re related to soulless husk he’s become.” “He has changed in recent years,” Evalin agreed, longing entering her eyes as she no doubt reflected back on her brother’s youth when he’d been nearly as fierce as the two princesses in the garden. “Ruling has done him no favors.” Her voice trailed as though she thought to say more.
Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. A decision had formed in her mind as she spoke, one she’d been mulling over for the last few days when she’d confined herself to her room to wait out the rumor mill.
What better time to tell her than now?
“I assure you will never become so unbearably stuffy, it’s not in your nature. Besides I will be there to shake sense into you if you ever start acting so foolishly.” She squeezed her hand once more, hoping to the gods her cousin understood.
Evalin wheeled on her, blue eyes sparkling at the implication. “You intend to come?”
Eleanor shrugged noncommittally, “I suppose Terrasen couldn’t be too dreadful,” she nudged Evalin gently, “especially if the men are lovely enough to enrapture someone as levelheaded as you are.”
Evalin took both of Eleanor’s hands in her own, true joy sparking across her lovely features. “Swear it to me, swear you’ll come, and we’ll never have to be apart.” Eleanor rolled her eyes before conceding. “I swear it, Eva, I’ll join you in your little castle of ice.” Evalin swept her into a hug that nearly squeezed the air from her, her cousin’s grip tighter than any vice.
“You have no idea what joy hearing that brings me,” Evalin stepped back, relief glazing her features, “to know you will be by my side. I could ask for no better news.” “Don’t forget, Eva we’ll still have to break it to Glaston.” Eleanor wasn’t exactly keen on telling her cousin and family that she’d be flitting off to a foreign land on a whim, especially when she hadn’t so much as asked their approval to do so. “We might want to serve him several decanters of wine before we broach the subject.”
“We’ll make it work, I swear it.”
“I’m certain, but in the meantime,” she nodded toward the training field, “I would like to continue our walk and enjoying the view.”
Evalin gave a high laugh before linking arms with her cousin. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your afternoon’s entertainment,” her voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper, “perhaps they’ll take off their shirts off if we’re lucky.” “That is the hope.” Eleanor murmured back just as quietly, her spirit lighter than it had been since Evalin’s engagement. “If needed I can throw a bucket or two of piss on them to encourage it.”
Evalin snickered.
They quickened their pace as they trailed down the stone path, keeping quiet as they approached on silent feet. The sound of swords clashing, and shouting grew louder as they approached, trying to keep their presences unknown. How many times had they made this very walk as teens, feigning interest in their training when all they cared for were the bodies doing the training.
“Oh look, Captain Liam’s even joined the fray,” Evalin’s eyes were fixed on the man she’d held unrequited love for the better part of her teen years, a fleeting infatuation that had crumbled when Evalin came to the harrowing realization that said captain had a wife and a child nearly her own age. “Must be someone keeping him on his toes if he’s getting involved.” Eleanor rose slightly on her tiptoes, trying to see past the dark-haired Captain’s heaving back as he circled his opponent, the sword in his hand held tight, his movements calculated. It must have been some new recruit with exceptional skill, she’d never seen the man so much as winded when he trained.
She leaned closer, willing Liam to move more quickly so she could get a peek at just who was giving him a run for his money—
She sucked a in breath of disbelief, her eyes glazing as she caught sight of Gavriel circling on the other side of the captain, looking all the world like a storm of seduction that had her clamping her knees together. She hissed. What god deemed it appropriate to give him a torso like that, rippling with lean muscle? Even in his thin shirt she could see the panes of his taut stomach, smooth and no doubt glistening with sweat.
And his hair, pulled up in that half ponytail showing off that elegant jaw--
Were all the fae this forsakenly beautiful?
It was a sin for someone to be that damned attractive. Tawny eyes flickered briefly towards her before focusing back on his opponent as the captain rushed him in his moment of distraction.
“By the gods, Eva,” she wheezed, her eyes trailing over the thin shirt that clung to his torso, “look at him.” She missed the look of amusement that overtook her cousin’s features, even as her own eyes kept trailing toward the training warrior. “He’s not real, I swear it to all the gods.”
She watched, transfixed, as he easily sidestepped Liam’s blow and matched it with one of his own, sending the Captain of the Guard flying. Liam hit the ground with a resounding thump and let out a groan of pain. Gavriel immediately sheathed his training blade ad strode forward to offer a hand to the grounded captain, easily lifting him to his feet.
Evalin clicked her tongue. “He’s a bit broad for my taste.”
Eleanor’s dress suddenly felt too warm, too tight and chaffing, the words mindlessly tumbling out of her slack jaw as she murmured, “I wouldn’t mind if he walloped me like that.”
“Excuse me?” Evalin inquired, laughter coating her tone. Realizing she’d said the words aloud, Eleanor snapped her mouth shut, heat racing up her cheeks.
“I mean training, perhaps I should ask him to train me,” she finished weakly, her knees wobbling a bit beneath her dress. He was nothing but a menace in her life, a pest that needed to take its beautiful self back to Doranelle at the earliest convenience—
Gods, even the way he moved was enticing. She watched as he strode for the table set beside the training ring, his thighs and backside lovely in his tight breeches, and lifted a pitcher of water and promptly dumped it over his head before shaking the excess water free, sending glittering droplets dancing into the late afternoon sun. She nearly squealed. She needed to leave right that moment—
“Come on, Eva,” she started tugging at her cousin, willing her to move as she dug her feet into the stone path beneath her. “We should head back to the palace, go do some needlework or something, anything—”
“Why?” Evalin’s lips had quirked as she remained solidly rooted to the spot. “He’s headed this way to say hello, I think we should stay and greet him.” “Eva, please—”
“Your Highnesses.” Eleanor snapped her attention towards Gavriel as he approached, his tawny eyes alight with the rush from sparring, broad shoulders shifting beneath his now translucent shirt—had he no decency? “I am glad to see you are finally well enough to be up and about, Princess Eleanor.” He stopped opposite the path and inclined his head toward her. “I assume your shoulder is not giving you any trouble?” She swallowed, letting go of her hold on Evalin’s arm before turning to face him, scrambling for the words. “It’s . . . fine.”
How terrible would it look if she just bolted for the palace? She could claim she’d got a severe case of nausea, feign illness again--
“Good, I had hoped as much.”
“I see you’re training,” Evalin noted, nodding towards the training ring, something tightening in her voice, “I assume our training protocols are satisfactory to you. I know they are vastly different than what you are accustomed to in Doranelle.”
Eleanor hadn’t expected the bite that came with the question, the way Evalin had straightened her shoulders as she stared him down. It took her a moment to realize the reason for Evalin’s discomfort—she feared he was gleaning tactical information, noting their forces and their abilities.
Understanding filled Gavriel’s tawny eyes.
“Ah, you’re correct, Highness,” he nodded over a shoulder, looking almost sheepish as though he hadn’t thought about what he was doing. “Some of the men asked if I’d be willing to show them a few of our maneuvers during my stay, I’d hoped to help them, and as I’ve had a large amount of free time . . .”
Even though it shouldn’t have, hearing the words from him gave Eleanor comfort, his tone lacking the manipulation and hatred she’d expected of one of Maeve’s personal soldiers. It seemed Evalin felt the same as the tension fled her shoulders, her tone softening. “Then please continue, do not let our presence hinder your drilling. I imagine the men are grateful for any instruction you have to offer them.”
“I’m happy to teach what I know.” He gave a polite smile, “It was a pleasure to see you both.”
“Likewise, my lord,” Evalin said with a curtsey, something like shame flitting over her features. From the way Gavriel bowed graciously in return, Eleanor got the feeling he did not blame her for the suspicion.
Which was such foolishness, given that he was one of Maeve’s personal guard.
“And, my Lady Eleanor,” a nod to her, “might I expect to see you tomorrow for our early morning ride?”
Eleanor went rigid. “Err, I suppose so.”
“Then I shall meet you in the stables at sunrise.” Another smile brightened by golden sunlight. “Hopefully we can avoid any wild boars this time.”
@seekingformangoes
