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My beautiful friend shrugs her shoulders with an effortless grace. “I was told what I am telling you: that if you do not have the courage to give him that trust, you will lose him. Forever.”
Adalind reaches out a hand and gives mine a comforting squeeze. “I know it is difficult. The most difficult thing you may ever have to do, opening yourself to such vulnerability. But it can be the best thing too, to have such complete faith in a partner and have them have it in you too . . . and if he ever hurts you, I will have him executed, forthwith.”
That surprises a laugh out of me, and I am still laughing when King Rognar enters the room. He gives Adalind a scorching look that makes me feel seriously out of place, before turning a polite gaze on me.
“Regent Santir, I hope you are feeling better? Adalind’s been beside herself as you slept.”
“I am feeling well, My King, if a tad weak. The healer’s work was exceptional.”
“Yes,” he replies, “I have heard much about the strength of Adrikian healers. I should have them come and teach our Orikesh healers a thing or two. Though the orcish half-elves’ innate magic isn’t as strong as humans.”
“That would be a fine idea,” I say back politely, though truth be told, after my interactions with Verrick and Adalind, I am feeling tired and want to rest. The inanities of polite conversation are escaping me.
“Well,” declares the king, “I do not mean to interrupt the conversation of friends, but it is past time for luncheon and I have come to retrieve my queen.”
“You could have sent a servant to do that,” smiles Adalind.
“Then I would not have the pleasure of escorting my wife across the castle,” teases back Rognar.
They are too adorable, just as I remember them to be when I saw them last at Garden Manor. I am truly happy for my friend that she has her happy ending. Could I truly have the same if I listen to her words? If I can give Verrick my trust? I am beginning to think I want to try.
“King Rognar?” I ask. The two rulers leave their teasing to look at me. “After the luncheon repast, could you send Warchief Verrick to my room? I have something that I need to discuss with him.”
Adalind smiles at my words, but Rognar frowns. “I am sorry Regent Santir, I thought you knew. Warchief Verrick and his orcs left nearly an hour ago to head back to High Citadel. It was not long after you woke up.”
“He did what?” Adalind and I ask at the same time. We exchange a look, Adalind’s wide-eyed with confusion and me with incredulous rage. For I am angry. He wants to avoid me so badly that he will leave me so soon? Oh, that will not do at all.
I try to stand up, saying, “Where is my horse? I need to go catch him.”
But Adalind shoos me back into bed, a stern look on her face, “Oh no, you don’t. You still need your rest. Healers’ orders. You just barely woke from a sleep that lasted a week. You cannot seriously think of riding all the way back to High Citadel. Even an hour’s ride is too much for you right now. Not to mention you’d be on horseback and they are on warbeasts, so you’d have to set a punishing pace to catch them. No, your talk with the Warchief will have to wait until you are entirely better.”
Defeated, I lay back on my pillows. But my heart burns with indignation toward Verrick. He wants to avoid me, does he? Well, as soon as the healer allows me, I will follow him. I aim to talk to him soon.
He can’t avoid me forever.
Chapter 27
Verrick
Aweek passes until the day the news that I have both expected and dreaded reaches me in the human capital.
“Regent Santir is back,” Friza reports, coming to the room in the palace I use as an office. “She has just arrived at the gates.”
My heart lurches in my chest and my Mating Instinct beats furiously at its confines, desperate to see her. Has she regained all her strength? Is she well? Is she as lost without me as I am without her? But I pull back using my iron control. I swore that if she escaped the Nether and returned to the land of the living that I would never bother her with my feelings again. That I would ask nothing of her that she does not willingly give.
So I merely grunt at Friza and say, “It is good that she is back. The Council has missed her guidance.”
It is a neutral, diplomatic thing to say. Almost human in its way of saying something and nothing all at once. I hate it. But if I let my longing show, I know Friza will push me to go see Pellia, to speak to her, to beg her to choose me, to accept my love. But I will not do that. I won’t bother her with something she found so distressing before, especially when she is so newly healed.
Friza rolls her eyes at my non-answer, as if entirely tired of my nonsense. “Why can you not go to her? I still don’t entirely understand why we left.”
“I made a vow.” I speak the words solemnly, even as I wonder after Pellia. Is she in the castle or still in the courtyard? Where will she go first? Perhaps I can watch her from afar and assuage the tearing feelings of my Mating Instinct, to at least assure myself that she is well and taken care of.
My second merely laughs bitterly at me. “Ah, yes. The vow to ‘never ask anything’ of the regent again if she woke up. But what if she wants you to ask something of her? I told you, you didn’t see how desperate she was when you were missing. Even as I suspected her, I could see that she was distressed. Now that I know she was innocent . . .”
“She is a kind person. Of course, she would be distressed if she thought someone was in peril.”
“It was more than kindness!” exclaims Friza. “She has feelings for you! Any fool can see that—just as any fool can see that you have feelings for her. Why make this complicated?”
