Tempered Hearts (Hearts of Valentia Book 1) (15 page)

“Perhaps I will, but wouldn’t you like to find out?”

Back then, the entire world could’ve been ablaze and he’d have no fear. She was wild, dangerous, exotic, and he lost himself in the deep violet pools of her eyes. There were no cares about the future, as, for them, every day they lived could easily be their last. They stole what small comforts they could. Naya and he found refuge in one another, never daring to speak of tomorrow. Everywhere they went, death surrounded them, monsters hounded them, blood colored the ground as they slashed through every enemy. Their lives were hurricanes on the open sea, colliding in one massive storm with only the two of them at the silent center.

All wars end eventually, and so do storms.

Neither of them knew the road ahead; how could they? The tiniest thing, a mark carried from birth, paved an unchangeable path for him, and one she could not walk by his side. Another war raged in Naya’s heart, and she sought to quell it. Her fate laid elsewhere.

If she found peace, he didn’t know. Their goodbye was the last time they spoke. Vennic heard things from time to time, but even when Darius asked, he was vague with his answers. He understood their separation was unavoidable and did his best to keep his friend from dwelling on the past too much. Honestly, Darius thought the elf only stayed out of concern for his sanity, but he was glad for it.

His reverie faded from white hot memory back into the dull ache time granted him. It was always there, but rarely so sharp as it was that moment. Seven months without Naya and it was slowly getting easier, but not enough to allow him love for another.

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, asahana.”

Chapter 15

Arden

Each breath was a battle. Her inhalations came in wheezing gasps, her exhales in forced, choking spasms.

“Just turn around and look in the mirror. Once you see how lovely you look—”

“I can’t!” The words wrenched themselves from Arden’s throat as her eyes stayed firmly shut. “I can’t do this. There’s no way.”

“Arden, be reasonable,” Elena said. “It’s your wedding day. I know you’re nervous, but—”

“Queen and married to a man who’ll do nothing but offer me apologetic placations for the rest of my life? I can’t. I can’t do this. How can I do this?”

Strong hands gripped her shoulders and whirled her around. Her eyes flew open in time to see Paitra’s palm flying at her face, connecting with her cheek in a loud smack. Arden stumbled back into Elena’s arms, gaping in stunned, painful shock.

“Stop being a selfish child. The man cares for you a great deal, and you have an entire kingdom expecting you to act like the adult you are now. You are far, far better than the simpering, whining adolescent you sound like. Knock it off.”

Her skin burned where she struck, her eyes welling up with tears. “But…”

“He already gave you a way out, and you were reasonable enough to pass on it then. It’s too late to change your mind now. Get a hold of yourself. It’s time to live with your choices.”

Lifting shaky fingers to her face, Arden tried to wrestle her panic back into submission. She knew Paitra spoke the truth, but getting herself to come to grips with logic was astoundingly more difficult than she ever dreamed.

Paitra’s expression softened and she stepped towards her, gathering her in her arms as Arden crumbled into her embrace. “I’m sorry I struck you, but hysterics don’t suit you, dearest one.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right, but…” Arden mumbled into her shoulder.

“I know it’s not easy, Arden.” Her hand rubbed calming circles against the white satin of the dress. “But I also know what you’re capable of. This fatalistic attitude isn’t who you are. Just think of all the good that will come of it, and the not so good will fade from your heart.”

“And now I’ve ruined my face, too.”

Paitra chuckled and eased away, holding her at arms’ length. “Not too bad, actually. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

All day, with everything she did, Arden couldn’t stop herself from realizing it was the last time she’d do anything as a Tanarien. That morning was the last time she’d wake in that bed. Lunch was the last meal she’d eat in that room. Her bath was the last she’d have as an unmarried woman. Her body would soon know a man’s touch, though she wasn’t sure what that would change or how she would feel about that in particular. Rationally, she knew those things weren’t her last anything, as she wasn’t dying, but her entire life would be something other than what it had been before.

It was terrifying.

“There now,” Paitra said as she finished the final touches on Arden’s face. “No one will ever be the wiser.”

She stood from the small padded stool, taking a deep, calming breath, and let Elena lead her back to the mirror. With a reassuring smile, she crooked her finger, signaling her to put her head down. The tiara settled into place in front of the ringlets cascading down from the pile on her head, and Paitra attached the comb for the veil, concealing it within the tresses. Arden straightened and closed her eyes, allowing them to turn her to face the full-length mirror.

She kept her gaze to the floor at first, giving herself a few more seconds to steel her courage. She took in the hem of white satin, following the delicate blue gemstones gracefully swirling up into Marillion morning glories, fully bloomed as they faced the golden sunburst pattern reaching out from the embroidery at her waist. The shining threads spread up the bodice, curling and curving around her breasts until they faded into thin tendrils at the V of her neckline. The sapphires accentuating the edges of fabric glinted, offering bright promises alongside the dripping pearls of the necklace gleaming as they laid across her collarbone. Long white sleeves flowed from her shoulders, revealing her hands peeking out from the material like the stamens of lilies.

At last, she found her eyes in her reflection, wide irises gazing back at her in deep blue wonder. Her pink-stained lips parted in awe as she took in the whole of herself, amazed that the person before her was not the girl she held in her mind as the image of herself. That woman was nothing like her. She was graceful, composed, filled with the glow of life and a future of hope. Is that what everyone saw when they looked at her? Was it truth, or a pretty lie covering the tentative heart trembling beneath the beautiful shell?

A gasp behind her woke Arden from her trance, and she turned to see her mother standing in the doorway of her dressing room, hands covering her mouth. “Oh, Arden. You’re…” She dropped her hands, her face beaming with happy pride. “I’ve never seen such beauty.”

Near to tears, she walked towards her, gathering her in her arms. “You’ll always be my little girl, but this is how I will remember you from this day forward.”

“Please don’t make me cry, Mother.” Arden squeezed her tightly. “I’ve already messed myself up once. Any more of this and I’m sure to do it again.”

“I just can’t believe…” She pulled away and swiped at her eyes. “It really goes by so fast, dear. I’m sorry. I’m just a little emotional is all. You know how I am at weddings.”

A small, but genuine smile eased its way onto her face. Her mother was prone to waterfalls of tears at weddings, regardless of who the couple was. “Yes, I know.”

Her fingers fluttered through the air, attempting to brush away sentimentality. “Your father’s here to escort you. Best not keep everyone waiting.”

Arden nodded, then swallowed nervously, glancing at Paitra for a boost of courage. She grinned and dipped her head, effortlessly flung the lace of her veil over her face, and shooed her after her mother. A step or two out, the handmaiden gathered up the end of the train and they were off.

Arden’s resolve to keep from crying again nearly broke when she saw her father’s face. Overcome by the sight of her, all he could manage to say was a whispered “I love you” in her ear when he hugged her. Not lingering on the moment, she took his arm as they stepped into the hallway, and their journey to the throne room began in earnest.

Again she found herself under the unforgiving gaze of the carved king’s hollow eyes. Soft strains of stringed instruments drifted out from under the door, but not the music that would announce her arrival. She waited there, her father’s hand over hers as she tried to quell her nerves. Behind her, two young girls took over the handling of the ten feet of fabric trailing her, and, without looking, she knew Paitra was falling in beside Elena, both behind her mother. Her heart raced once more as two guards came to attention in front of her, their armor clanging together as the sound of trumpets blared.

The doors parted before them.

Her final march as House Tanarien began.

Darius

Vennic nudged him, urging him forward, and Darius nearly drew his sword on him he was so caught up in his tension. Despite Ingram’s admonishments to take it easy that morning, he spent hours hacking away at practice dummies and dodging the arrows his friend sent his way. He spent every last moment doing anything he could to distract himself from what was coming.

The event he could no longer avoid or ignore was upon him.

Rather than draw the almost useless ceremonial sword from its sheath, however, Darius remembered where he was and stepped from his spot at the side of the stairs to the center where Arden would meet him. His heavy fur-trimmed cloak was unbearably hot over already stifling clothing, but his damp brow was the least of his worries.

He stopped on his mark and took the first step to wait. It was time. There was no going back.

The grand trumpet fanfare blasted through the throne room, and the rows upon rows of gathered guests all turned in their seats to face the entrance. The massive doors parted, revealing two armored guards at the head of the bridal party, but behind them…

A glowing vision in white floated down the carpeted aisle, lace obscuring her face, but there was no mistaking her. She sparkled without the help of jewels and precious metals. Arden shone like the sun, and he couldn’t breathe for several moments. Her journey across the room slowed time itself, and he was a captive prisoner.

The guards before her split to either side, and Duke Tanarien stopped five paces from where Darius waited. He turned and smiled at his daughter, leaning in close to leave a loving kiss on her left cheek and whisper something, which prompted a nod of acknowledgment from her. He took her hand, and they stepped forward.

Arden curtsied low, nearly touching the floor before Darius. Seeing her show such fealty, radiant as she was, he had to stop himself from correcting her, instead bowing to her father before taking her hand from him. Her touch was light as a feather, so soft he worried his hands, calloused from a life of violence and rough living, felt akin to sandpaper to her. If it bothered her, she made no mention of it, and they proceeded up the stairs together.

He wanted to say he remembered every inspirational word the High Cleric spoke, or the feel of the ring as he slipped it over her finger, or even how she sounded when she repeated the vows of marriage, but his entire memory blurred from the moment he took her hand until he reached for her veil.

Stupid as it was, a single, minuscule thought weaseled its way into his head.

What face would he see beneath the lace?

Arden was beautiful, her cheeks flushed with innocence, but he had to force a happy smile. He closed his eyes as he leaned in for the kiss that would seal their union.

His only thoughts were of Naya’s lips as he met Arden’s instead.

As he pulled away, her lids opened with a slow flutter. Her clear blue eyes searched his, hope and fear swirling together as he tried to look reassuring. The moment passed and they turned to the guests, immediately met with congratulatory applause. He weaved her arm in his and waved to their guests, allowing the young bearers of Arden’s train ample time to remove the fabric from their path back down the stairs. He felt Arden’s weight falter a little, and adjusted his hold to keep her standing.

“I know exactly how you feel, asahana,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get through it together.”

When she looked up at him, his shoulders straightened, surprised at his sudden urge to protect her so fiercely. He wanted— needed— her to trust him. He would keep her safe.

His words seemed to ease her fears, and they descended to the carpet for the first time as man and wife.

He didn’t know if his happy smile was at all convincing at the banquet. His stomach was knotted with dread at what he knew was set to happen in only a few short hours. By the little Arden ate at dinner, she wasn’t any less nervous than he was.

There were speeches and wishes of nothing but happiness and prosperity over the course of the evening, and more than a few awkward jokes about the many children the guests were sure they’d have. As the wine flowed, it only got worse. When even Arden drained her goblet and asked for another, Darius decided it was time to put them both out of their misery.

At a look from Darius, Ingram stood and banged his cup on the table, motioning for the traditional
forshaiya
bench to be brought forth. Arden’s shoulders went so taut, he was slightly worried her muscles might snap from the tension. Leaning over, he touched her hand to speak with her. She jerked, startled, but he offered her a reassuring smile.

“
Da’na’mene, asahana
,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

She swallowed and answered with a tight nod.

The rowdy cheers and laughter drew his attention from her wide eyes to the group of burly men bearing the newlywed bench upon their shoulders. Their chairs were hauled away, and many hands delivering congratulatory slaps on the back herded the couple toward their royal palanquin. As nervous as she was, Darius insisted on lifting Arden himself, a guard boosting him up after her. Amidst shouted farewells and whistles, they were carried away, off to the hall he avoided for months.

A group bearing bells and noisy horns followed them the entire way, as though the racket was somehow going to make the task ahead easier for either of them. It did serve as a small distraction from where they were, and he was facing away from the room he used to share with Naya. Still, not even a horn blown in his ear could drown out the ghosts of his past whispering to him.

Darius jumped to the ground outside the bridal suite, immediately turning to collect the perfectly petrified Arden. Setting her by the door, he turned and raised a hand to quell the rowdy mob.

“Gentlemen, if you would excuse us, your company is no longer required. Please feel free to rejoin the festivities in the ballroom, however.”

“If His Majesty needs a hand tonight…” one of the men said, followed by another round of guffawing.

His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, knowing full well they wouldn’t disperse until they were sure he had the situation under control. He gave them all his best confident sneer, and turned to face Arden, who was all but cowering against the door.

“
Forgive me this indiscretion, asahana
,” he whispered in elvish.

“What—” He cut off her question by whisking her into his arms, one hand around her waist, the other sweeping up her neck and into her hair as he pulled her mouth against his. At first stricken, she melted in an instant, and he released her enough to turn the door handle. He kicked it open the rest of the way and dragged her in with him, a total surprise to her judging by her yelp of alarm. Once she was safely out of sight, he stepped back to the door and grinned at the men outside.

“Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”

The sound of their laughter stopped the moment he closed the door.

Darius leaned against the frame and sighed, nervously raking a hand through his hair as he cast a glance at a stupefied Arden. “I apologize for that. They’re weren’t going to leave without some sort of proof of…” he trailed off and looked away.