Waking up to Karsyn reading in an armchair felt oddly comfortable. She watched him for a moment, his eyes tracking across the page, expecting to feel something—anger, wariness—and only feeling curious.
His winter grey eyes piercingly brilliant, thoughts sharp and quick behind them. Then she was studying his face, features, admiring the shape of his jaw and the way his brow rose slightly lopsided when a thought twisted behind his gaze—just like he did on the beach.
She wasn't entirely sure when she started to look at him differently. Or if she ever did. Rhosyn was sure her eyes snagged on the curve of his lips long before honest words fell from them last night.
But if she believed him, it meant he knew all along that her uncle killed his family. That his safe would hold proof and she was old Halvar Valewyn's last living dynasty. So why did he mean her no harm?
He reached the end of a page, then looked up and caught her watching. Instantly he straightened, the book forgotten.
"How'd you sleep?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper and she felt herself lean into it, as if to better hear it.
Rhosyn found her tongue, along with her breath. "Fine," she heard herself say, echoing a previous moment of theirs—and then she was counting moments.
A faint smile lit up his face and she was certain he could read her mind.
"What were you reading?" She sat up and all but regretted it when the morning chill slipped across her arms.
Karsyn was already up, crossing the room before she had time to shiver.
"Here," he offered, holding out a robe and she took it gingerly. "It's just an old fairytale book."
Rhosyn's brows rose, surprised. "Fairytales?" she asked, not hiding her amusement, as she pulled on the offered robe.
"Proper fairytales," Karsyn interjected, humour gracing his handsome face in the cheeky way she was used to. "None of that happily-ever-after spew you southerners rewrote. The original stories are of warnings and consequences."
It sounded like sermons the church would give. Stories to teach people through relatable events.
"Which one?" Rhosyn slipped her legs from the bed, half catching Karsyn with a hand as he turned away.
His gaze shifted, the greys turning liquid silver and she clung to his warmth despite herself.
"The one where the girl ignores every warning and still walks into the forest."
"Does she die?" she asked, curious—almost worried.
"No. But the forest changes her."
It sounded sad. Almost like she lost a lot to survive and maybe she mourned the girl she used to be.
"And how do us southerners rewrite it?" She set her lips, a challenge burning in her throat.
He took a breath as if the words of fiction bore more weight than he could carry.
"She's courageous... And brilliant. Takes on the dragon, outwits the riddler raven and in the end, she marries the prince."
Rhosyn knew the story. Her mother's voice glossed the words and she was five again, dreaming of growing up to be the brave princess who saved her kingdom and married a prince.
Something tightened in her chest, nervous and traitorous.
Somehow it was too elaborate, too much showmanship—like the story someone told in their victory. But it didn't feel completely real. A puffed up piece to hide the awful truth that the girl who walked into those woods never came out. Not truly.
"I promised you the town, if you still want to go?" he asked and she clung to him in a new way.
Rhosyn readjusted her grip on her horse's reins again. The path leading to the town hugged the cliff, waves cutting at its edge and the sea breeze stole her breath. It was dangerous and beautiful all at once. Salt in the air, wind in her hair and she felt the kiss of water spray.
The town was built around the castle, houses dotting along the winding road, precariously balanced on rocky edges or awkward slopes. Where they were heading was the town 'beginning,' which sat at the base of the hill, crowded houses huddled around where the road widened to form a communal square.
Karsyn had prepped a horse for her, though she was sure Caerwyn wasn't happy about it. But it made her smile. All the times she asked for a horse and was abandoned to a carriage, and then her mind slipped to the one time Karsyn offered her to share a saddle and she flushed.
"You alright?" he asked, pulling his horse closer.
She nodded, not trusting her voice and feeling the icy breeze burn at the heat in her cheeks.
Caerwyn rode close behind her and she caught the humoured look in his eyes, narrowing hers in return. Suddenly, there wasn't enough air to breathe. That or her lungs refused to take full breaths.
When their entourage arrived at the spot, half the town was out and it felt like their wedding day all over again. Smiles were worn throughout and the air hummed delight and cheer.
"Rhosyn?"
Her name called to her and she glanced down to find Karsyn holding her horse's bridle still. Maybe he could see the panic in her posture. The way she gripped the reins a little too tight, and maybe he thought she might bolt if not for his arresting hand.
Maybe he was right, it wouldn't be the first time she contemplated running after all. Caerwyn waited for her to dismount first—smart.
When her feet met the ground, Karsyn offered his hand and she took it, his fingers wrapping around hers gently. Like a question and she wondered how many times she answered.
Rhosyn looked out at the crowd who came to meet them and marvelled. She'd seen gatherings for royalty, even been a part of a few—thanks to her close association with Edrien. But those were hungry and disassociated, very much like that of courtrooms.
These people here looked at Karsyn with familiarity. They loved their duke.
His hand squeezed hers, encouragingly, picking up on the tension within her. He probably knew she was overcome, but not what by.
"Your Grace!" one man shouted above the soft mumbling of the crowd. "Congratulations on your wedding."
People cheered in response to the sentiment.
The duke's hand carefully wrapped around her waist, offering her support and she leaned into him with a smile. His people were warm, just like him, and Rhosyn couldn't help the flutter that curled in her middle.
"Thank you for coming," Karsyn's voice easily rang out and people naturally quietened for him. "As you know, I got married a week ago—"
Then the crowd came to life again, cheering lightheartedly and she just enjoyed it for a moment, knowing that Caerwyn was probably on edge looking for danger.
The hand at her side tightened slightly, calling for her attention and her eyes answered by looking up before she could catch herself. His winter eyes softened for her and she found herself peculiarly sober, breath stalling.
When their audience quietened again, he continued. "And I wanted to introduce you to my wife—" the word ran electric through her, "—and introduce her to all of yous, of course."
There was woops and whistles in response. Then Karsyn pulled her against him somewhat, his face leaning in and angling for her ear.
"Are you ready?"
His breath ran down her neck and she had to catch herself before her mind slipped to teeth on skin and tongues—
"Yes," she breathed a sigh, ignoring the heat in her chest.
One boy stepped forward after his parents prodded him, anxiety shrinking his frame. But he didn't look scared of them, just nervous.
"My Lady... I mean, Your Grace," he started, his accent thick and Rhosyn found that she liked it. "Are ye really a lady from the south? Do all southern ladies look like angels?" he asked with all seriousness, earning a few endearing giggles from further back.
The boy was probably ten, though knowing northerners, he was likely eight. He held his chin at a prideful angle and she saw wonder light within his eyes.
"I am just a lady," She answered solemnly, enjoying that he didn't quite believe her.
"And no," Karsyn added, pulling Rhosyn's interested gaze and she knew she'd regret it immediately. "I assure you, Ren, I found the most beautiful one of them all."
Heat sat heavy in her cheeks and he relished her look of trying to swallow it down.
"You have to say that, we're married now," she joked, trying to soften the moment, with deflection.
His eyes didn't falter. "I don't say anything I don't mean."
"Of course, Mr Hardly Wrong," she purred back her challenge and won a quirk of his lips.
Rhosyn was used to performing for an audience, but normally her words were practised and everything was to win an emotion. Here, she was losing, because she couldn't concentrate long enough to compose herself. Karsyn's fingers ran little circles along the inside of her waist and a plan lingered behind his bright eyes.
She couldn't help but bite back when she felt cornered—only, it was in defence to how her body reacted and she tried to actively resist.
"Come," he prompted, leading her into the group of northerners.
Caerwyn half stormed forward, barely catching himself before she had to signal him to stand down.
The crowd opened for them and she was surrounded by warm smiles, softly hummed congratulations and little bows of the head in respect. It was surreal and yet she was living it.
"Your Graces," an older man called and Karsyn halted in front of the man.
"Old Jak," he greeted the man and Rhosyn started to ponder how many of the people Karsyn knew by name.
"You're a lucky man, Your Grace." Old Jak laughed, breath catching in his old lungs.
"I am."
"You better keep this one happy now," he continued, a bushy eyebrow raising expectantly.
"Always," Karsyn breathed.