Rhosyn couldn't concentrate on Thorne's hesitation. She was all too consumed by the contact that held her against him, as if they were a normal couple. His heat washed over her and somehow she felt too hot.
When Thorne didn't speak, Karsyn's gaze turned to Rhosyn and she could feel how he studied her.
"You know everything that was in Uncle Halvar's safe," Rhosyn answered, anything to move his attention from her.
It didn't work. His brows only rose, thoughts being calculated behind eyes she refused to meet.
"Ah," he half-laughed. "Yes, of course I've read everything."
"Everything?" Thorne asked, a bit bewildered by how casually Karsyn was taking it.
But Rhosyn knew the way he laughed. He still hadn't read over the information yet and she wondered what made him procrastinate.
She could feel Thorne's distaste for her and something precariously treasonous respected the woman more for it. Thorne saw her as a threat, which meant Rhosyn had more power than she realised—she just needed to figure out what that was.
"Can I talk to you in private for a moment, Your Grace?" Thorne requested, side-eyeing Rhosyn.
Karsyn's grip tightened around her, his breath rolling down her neck as if he knew what it did to her—and he probably did. But she didn't give him the satisfaction.
"I should pray and retire, it's late and I'm tired," Rhosyn excused herself.
She nodded her respect to Thorne, earning her the lady's puzzled look—for the briefest moment. Karsyn didn't let her go immediately, his breath on her told her he was still watching her. Maybe he saw the lie—he most definitely did.
Rhosyn tried to move away, but his hand didn't fall away. Her gaze rose, meeting his and only then did he let go.
She stepped back and curtsied. "Your Grace."
What she didn't expect was for him to bow back to her. Murmurs drifted up around the room, a backdrop of hums of interest.
"Your Grace, rest well," Karsyn proclaimed, as he straightened.
She didn't let herself stutter. Instead, she turned for the exit and sighed in relief as the distance between them grew. She could finally take a full breath, yet that didn't dispel the heaviness that sat in her chest.
As she neared her escape, a figure stepped into view. An older man, wrinkles gracing his face, deepened by a soft smile he aimed at her.
"May I have a moment of your time, Your Grace?" he asked and though there was motive hidden behind his wizened eyes, there was no malice. "I am Duke Bram Caldren, but you may call me Bram if it pleases you."
He reminded her of her uncle, the way he tenderness lightened his features, yet a hundred calculations were ticking away in a brain that saw the world differently.
Rhosyn curtsied, appropriate of his station as a duke and won herself his endearing chuckle.
"Please, dispense with pleasantries, this is your household after all."
The words sank inside her. She couldn't decide if he was trying to be polite, or trying to get a rise out of her.
If the latter, she won't give it to him.
"Thank you, Your Grace, but I should be—"
"You look tired," he easily stole the next beat, but it didn't feel impudent. "People have been telling you their politics all night, but what about yours, Your Grace?"
"Mine is rather uncomplicated—the crown has authority given by God." But even as she said it, it felt like a script she'd read too many times. She couldn't feel the words anymore—they were empty.
"And what if that crown was handed down one day to a mad king—a tyrant?" Caldren asked, his words sharp and sure, unlike the calm demeanour he carried. "Do you think it's God's gift then?"
"So, what you're saying is…" Rhosyn paused, waiting for him to pick up her sentence. But he didn't. He waited patiently with a soft smile and she knew the next words. "We're all just people."
"We all sin, make mistakes, have wants and desires that drive our motives," Caldren elaborated. "We can all be wrong."
Her breath caught and she didn't let the thoughts wander—couldn't.
"The crown already has a council to advise the king, what we're suggesting is a committee of lords representing the regions who have a say in what laws are implemented—such as the raising of taxes."
It all sounded so reasonable and he knew it.
"I like you, Your Grace, I think you and Leoric would make a brilliant team," Caldren said as if finishing off a speech, rather than a compliment. "You have the same wit and passion."
"You speak as if you know His Grace rather well," she inquired.
"I helped raise him after his family's massacre," the old duke explained. "Though he was already mostly a man."
Rhosyn glanced back at Karsyn, catching his stare, but he didn't falter—she did.
"But he has not told you of that part of his life yet, and you were retiring to your rooms, so I will excuse myself, Your Grace—I hope you had a lovely evening, and I congratulate you on your wedding."
They bowed to one another and she tore out of the hall, her steps repeating back on her in the lonely hall. Even Caerwyn's following form didn't chase away the feeling of loneliness.
It all felt so dark and numbing. She could feel herself spiraling, Caldren's words echoing in her head and there was no escape from the doubt settling in.
As she turned a corner, sudden movement had her flinching as she caught herself before crashing into a body.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace," a man's voice apologised, hand reaching out as if to steady her.
Caerwyn took a menacing step forward and Rhosyn held out a hand to halt his advance. "It's alright, I just didn't expect—"
Her eyes fell on the man's face and her words vanished. He looked undoubtedly familiar, hauntingly so, but yet she couldn't place his face. At first she thought Karsyn was plaguing her, appearing in faces he did not belong. But then the man's dark hair reminded her of Edrien and something knotted within her.
"You don't look alright, Your Grace," he asked, voice thick with the northern accent.
"You just seem familiar," she explained, unnerved by it all.
"Maybe you've seen me around the castle, I do live and work here after all," he offered.
Rhosyn wondered to what capacity he worked, he didn't look like a servant and he surely didn't dress like one.
"Maybe…" she pondered. "I should go."
"Of course." He smirked and there was something damningly familiar at the way those lips quirked. "Goodnight, Your Grace, and congratulations on your marriage—I'm sure you'll make Leoric a happy man."
She nodded, retreating down the hall and stealing a look over her shoulder only once. He spoke so casually, as if he knew her, and maybe he did—know of her. If he was one of Karsyn's allies, he'd know everything.
Leoric watched her whisk through the doors, finally on her way to her room. It started to itch at him how long she lingered. He didn't need his allies to string her up and take shots, it wouldn't solve anything.
He knew he should've kept her away, but asking her to do anything was begging her to do the opposite.
Caldren started over to them, taking his sweet time and Leoric knew the man was enjoying himself. Thorne all but rolled her eyes and it made Leoric smile.
"So," Leoric premised his question, knowing that Caldren already knew what he was going to ask, saving breath and time.
"She's interesting," the old man started and somehow the word fit. "Her world view has already been shattered, I think she's just trying to put the pieces back—she doesn't want to be wrong, but she knows she is."
Just as Leoric expected. She was brilliant, she saw more than what most artists did. He'd been challenging her world view ever since he met her. Pushed her more than he'd bothered pushing anyone else and every time she bit back just as viciously. She wasn't going down without a fight, but she was losing—he'd been watching that war within her.
"But she still has some sort of allegiance to the Crown Prince, I think it's ingrained in her," Caldren continued, Thorne grunting as if proved right. "Just don't tell her about Valric yet—"
"She'd think we are trying to replace her prince," Leoric finished.
He thought she'd seen the threat in Edrien's eyes on their wedding day. She fled from him for Saints sake. But of course he'd still have a pull. Leoric had taken her away from her comfort and home, and everything felt foreign and isolating.
He tried keeping her safe, especially now, but she had a way of attracting danger. Maybe that was why she attracted him.
Movement shifted in the doorway and Valric entered, as smug faced as usual. It'd been a while since he'd seen him, but Leoric couldn't keep him away, there was work to be done.