Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(47)

“What is it?” I touch the twine wrapped around the package.

“Open it and find out.”

Gingerly, I tug the string and peel the paper back. The wrapping falls away to reveal a simple pale blue gown. My fingers flutter over the scooped neckline and cinched waist. The unexpectedness of it takes me aback. I cannot fathom why Cohen would ever purchase me a dress.

“You had this made?” I cannot help the squeak of astonishment in my voice.

“The tailor had it already. Just needed sizing.” He studies my expression and then adds, “Gillian helped with your measurements.”

I find his actions sweet. Cohen does not often ask for help.

“It reminded me of the one you wore in Shaerdan.”

He’s right. It’s simple like the gown Enat gave me. Emotion burns in the back of my eyes. “Cohen,” I whisper.

“I know it’s not fancy like the king’s dresses.” His words carry an edge. He touches the arm of the gown. “Gillian wanted lace edges. But I thought it’d suit you perfectly as is. Same shade as your eyes.”

I duck my head to hide the smile eating my face.

“Wish I had more to give, Britt.”

“You’ve given me enough.” I close the gift box and wrap my arms around Cohen’s waist. Stepping closer, the need to eliminate the space between us is as essential as feeling the familiar edges of Papa’s blade pressed against my ankle.

It takes him a second to respond. I wonder if he’s still looking at the king’s gifts. Then he cups my jaw and drops his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle.

The silence aches for more to be said.

But I’ve never been good with words. Especially not when a conversation seems as precarious as navigating through an overgrown field full of rabbit traps.

Instead of talking, I hold on to Cohen for as long as he’ll let me.





Chapter

20


Aodren


I CANNOT EXPLAIN WHY THE IDEA OF BRITTA Flannery wearing my gift wakes something primal and basic within me, but it is a sight I am thirsty to see. Which is why I’m up in my hidden room again, peeking out the loophole slits like a madman.

I’ve lost my damn mind.

But the moment the tug alerts me she’s nearby, I couldn’t care in the least. The bond is too much of an addiction.

A voice from the yard calls out, directing a driver to stop. I grip the stones to prevent myself from bolting out of the room. The urge to be near her overwhelms. I press my face to the wall to glimpse her wearing my dress.

Miss Gillian Tierney exits first.

Miss Flannery follows, her hair gleaming under the lantern light like gold coils on top of her head. Though not a classic beauty with generous curves and dark lashes, Britta Flannery is captivating in her own way. It’s her strength, her press-forward attitude, her resilience.

Gods, I’m starting to sound like a drunken, besotted fool.

Britta lifts the front of her pale blue dress as she approaches the gate. The gown isn’t one I gave her. The realization sinks to the bottom of my stomach. Serves me right for sitting up here, waiting for her arrival. Foolishness.

And yet, even though I know I’m acting a bit touched, I cannot help the disappointment that comes as I move away from the narrow window. Regret is a companion I know well. It is absurd for a king to say, and yet that’s my life. Privileged to the point of solitude. If I were a different man, I could snap my fingers and change that aspect of my life, but it would be a falsehood. I don’t want that. I don’t want to surround myself with people who like me because I’m the king. I want them to like me because I’m Aodren.

I’ve spent too much time lingering here. I want to smack myself for losing my mind to Britta Flannery once again.

I sneak out of the room, dust off my suit, and stride toward the Great Hall. A smile attempts to crack my kingly composure, because despite my disappointment, I realize I should’ve expected as much from Saul Flannery’s stubborn daughter.

When I walk beneath the arcading, I do not scan the courtyard for her. Nor do I wonder if she’s meeting Cohen Mackay.

Omar and Leif approach me outside the Great Hall, where the lanterns aren’t as numerous. Shadows slide across the captain’s face, giving the angular edges around his eyes a more severe look than usual, which is severe, indeed. For a moment, I think Omar might chastise me for losing my guards like he used to when I was younger. But then I notice that Leif’s face mirrors the captain’s grim expression.

Omar cuts a glance to the right and left. “Your Grace, Lord Jamis has escaped.”

I stare at him, shocked. My legs turn to stone as the reality of what he’s just said sinks in. On the night of the Winter Feast, this is the worst thing that could happen. “Jamis is gone? How?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“What do you know?” Exasperation bleeds into my tone. It masks my rising panic. The man manipulated me my entire life. He sought to control the kingdom. He used a Spiriter to turn me into a royal puppet. I have a hard time swallowing. “Did the dungeon master see anything? Does he have a clue who might’ve helped? I want to speak with him right away.”

“I’m sorry, sir. He’ll be no help.”

“Why is that?”

“The dungeon master is dead.”