She found sleep, but rest eluded her. Instead she was plagued by dreams that caged her in pleasurable torment. The mind went to terrible places when under the influence of liquor—it was the reason why she normally avoided the stuff.
Rhosyn stuffed down the creeping memories that rang in her mind, begging to be remembered, and she loosened another arrow which went wide. Again she clenched her teeth, fuming at a made up fantasy of a person who was not—
Boots crunched gravel behind her and she quickly nocked another arrow, bent on ignoring the man.
She thought archery would calm her mind, give her something to focus on and picture a person to aim at... But clearly it was failing.
With another release of her fingers, the arrow flew, connecting with the target but barely. Rhosyn glared at the painted wood a fair distance away, as if it was the source of her problems.
"How'd you sleep?" Karsyn asked as if it was the most normal thing to do in greeting. Yet all it did was summon images that Rhosyn had been trying to stuff down for the better half of the morning now.
"Fine." In the only way that sounded like the complete opposite.
She hoped he'd retreat, disappear back into his castle and leave her in peace. But of course he wouldn't fade away. Instead he stepped closer—typical.
"You're too tense," he said, voice close.
Rhosyn started to retort. "I wonder why—"
His hand slipped around from behind, palming her stomach and Rhosyn tensed.
"Relax," he breathed near her ear, his breath warm and for some reason it made it ten times harder to comply.
Maybe she just didn't want to give in to him. But something in her middle gripped dishonestly.
His hands were gentle. An adjustment here, a crease ironed out there. His touch moved across her with cautious questions. Fingers stroking across her torso, a hand rising to lift her elbow slightly—almost seemingly for no reason—then it traveled, skimming her arm and she all but shut it out lest she fumbled the arrow.
In one controlled movement, Rhosyn drew the string back, Karsyn's hands present every moment of the action. His chest pressed against her back and his breath on her neck. But she tried to tune it out and focus on the action at hand—and just as he'd instructed, she relaxed in his hands.
"Loose," his voice travelled through her, vibrating from his chest and into her core.
Just as the word slipped from his lips, the string released and the arrow flew true. With a thud, it buried into the target a good hundred yards away.
"Perfect," Karsyn chirped, his smile audible in the word, though he didn't fall back or make a move to retreat his hands.
The thud of the arrow still rang satisfyingly in her ears when she realised he hadn't moved away.
"See?" he said, his fingers caressing hers against the bow's spine. "You can hit what you're aiming at. You just don't trust yourself to."
"I don't trust you," she shot back automatically.
"You did for a moment." His smile flashed, quick and sharp. "That's a start."
Heat crawled up her throat. "One arrow doesn't make a habit."
"We could make it one," he said, voice turning lazy. "Every time you hit the centre, I answer one question honestly. About the Northern Bloc, the plan... Me."
That was far too tempting—and they both knew it. She shoved the bow at him and started towards the castle.
"We're not bargaining over archery, Your Grace."
"We bargain over everything else," he said, easily matching her stride. "Why stop now?"
They rounded the corner and nearly collided with Kaly who startled, blinking at them for a moment. Surprise registered on her face and Rhosyn was all too easily reminded of last night—though alcohol tried to drown that memory from her too, and she wished it had.
"What's the matter, Kaly?" Karsyn asked, reading her expression easily enough.
The woman curtsied. "Your Grace, My Lady," she said politely, snapping back into a composure Rhosyn was familiar with. "You have guests, Your Grace."
"Thank you, Kaly." He nodded and the woman slipped away, peeking back once, a coy smile laced across her face.
Rhosyn also tried to edge away, but the duke held out a hand as if in invitation and she hesitated. Her fingers traced each other as she contemplated, eyes snatching up to find him observing her in equal measure.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. What words he uttered were truth—and if they all were, what did it mean? Because he made her stall. Question herself. And it made her uncomfortable.
Last night's blurred images pressed at the edges of her mind—the heat of his mouth, the feel of his hands, the way her body had leaned in before her senses could catch up. He had no right to sit so clearly in her thoughts.
Rhosyn set her fingers in his, hating the way the contact steadied and unsettled her all at once.
"You're insufferable," she muttered under her breath.
His mouth tipped, the barest hint of a smile. His thumb brushed the back of her knuckles as they walked, a thoughtless gesture that felt anything but.
It was only Rhosyn who burned under the weight of it as they crossed into the heart of his castle.
The lounge was how she remembered it, a library of lifetimes displayed as objects and trinkets littering the room in a colourful mess. It made the room noisy, but Rhosyn liked it.
Lord Dowly and Lady Naome paid the objects no heed, their attention consumed by each other in the way madly in love people orbit one another. Their gaze locked. Slight touches, like whispers and promises. An openness that curled uneasy within Rhosyn.
"Lord Dowly, Lady Naome," Karsyn greeted the two, who turned at his voice with brilliant warm smiles.
When their eyes flickered to Rhosyn beside him, she could practically hear their thoughts buzz a little too loudly. Interest flickered excitedly in Naome's eyes and she curtsied politely, a kind smile delighting her face.
"Duke Karsyn, Lady Valewyn," the couple hummed.
Rhosyn tried to ignore the duke next to her, but just like the archery, his presence pulsed beside her and she couldn't completely shut it out.
"What brings the happy couple here?" Karsyn said, a smirk curling at his lips, humming in his words.
"Well, we were heading back south and thought we'd stop by," Dowly explained, a secret answer hidden within his words.
She could tell by the way Dowly's eyes flickered to her quickly, a nervousness she'd come to expect from him. Dowly was too easy to read, wearing his emotions like most wore battle wounds—a weakness displayed to be exploited. But he'd been trained well, he knew his slips and learnt to cover them well with vague words that only Karsyn could decipher.
It told her two things. They still saw her as the opposition, and they knew exactly how cunning she could be.
"Congratulations," Naome spluttered out as if she couldn't contain herself anymore.
Dowly blinked at his wife with an awkward stutter which she shook off.
"I know, but they look so cute together," she defended. "And besides, it's still an engagement."
Rhosyn stiffened, her chest skittering unusually and she took a breath to clear her head. But it refused to silence.
"You told them?" She bit at Karsyn, fury curling in her stomach as she set accusing eyes on him.
It didn't look like anything fazed him, a satisfied smile still curled across his smug face, which only drove her anger deeper.
"Of course I did, I've told all my allies," he answered smoothly. "As you've informed yours."
He wasn't wrong. She did share the deal with those she trusted most, but that was only a handful of people—and most of them were her staff. If he told his allies, practically the whole north knew, which twisted unpleasantly inside her.
It wasn't that she regretted the deal—mostly—it was having witnesses, an audience, that unsettled her. It made it harder to contemplate how to escape the marriage deal without scrutiny, and that made her hesitate for some reason.
Her words caught in her throat and he could see that he had her there.