Page 52 of Waking Roslyn

“No, you’re right,” she said as she stiffened her spine and tried to smile. “I have no right to give advice on choosing a spouse.”

It was the first time she’d admitted out loud that her marriage was difficult. “I’m still sorry,” I said.

“I know.” She took my arm and we resumed our walk.

I’d thought long and hard about my parents’ decision to go against society’s expectations. What it had meant for me. What it meant for them. But to wish they’d made a different decision would be to wish away my own existence—and my parents’ happiness. And once I’d come to that conclusion, I’d realized that the problem wasn’t with my parents’ decision. The problem was with everyone who thought they had a say in it. The problem was with all the nobility who made themselves miserable for the sake of preserving their own self-importance.

People hated me. But at least life with my parents had been happy. More and more over the years, I’d seen how rare that was.

12

Roslyn

It was with extreme trepidation that I left the house to meet John for our next training session. I had not been subtle in admiring him the other day, and though he didn’t seem to mind, I was a little worried that he might gloat, and I didn’t think I could handle being teased by him—not when I admired him so much. And not just for his physique—which was impressive, yes—but because every interaction I had with him was warm and kind. He listened. He didn’t talk down to me even though I knew I was an abysmal student. He had taken his sister’s criticism in stride.

I crossed the stream and spotted John. When he looked up at my approach, his smile was easy. “Hello,” he greeted, and the tension in my chest immediately eased. He held out a staff. “Ready?”

I dropped the bundle of flowers that I had gathered on my way and took it. “Ready.”

As we started walking, he cleared his throat and said, “So…”

I looked up to see him trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“Read any good books lately?” he asked, unable to keep the wicked little smirk off his face.

I could feel the blush rising to my cheeks, but I refused to shrink. “Yes, actually. I read a marvelous one the other day about a man who died tragically when he fell out of a tree.”

He burst out laughing, and I chuckled along with him. “How did he manage that?” he asked.

“Oh, the usual story. He was distracted by a devastatingly beautiful woman.”

He snorted another laugh and shook his head. “Poor bloke.”

He didn’t say anything else about the way I’d stared the day before. We never addressed the way both our gazes had been constantly drawn back to the other. And I knew that was for the best. He knew I was nobility, and I was fairly certain that made a difference to him. He probably believed that I thought of him as below me, even though he had started to become a good friend and the person that I most looked forward to seeing.

So I tried to keep my growing attraction to myself, knowing that no matter how much I might grow to care for him, I would be leaving in a matter of months, and I had a life waiting for me in Saldine. Hopefully.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm of training. I appreciated that he took his teaching seriously, while at the same time never being stern or disapproving. He was always encouraging, but he never shied away from correcting my mistakes.

But still, as the weeks passed, I didn’t feel as if I was progressing fast enough. My mother’s letters assured me that the queen’s pregnancy was progressing well and that she was nearing her time. She might deliver in less than a month. That meant my reunion with my parents could be even sooner, but so would the inevitable confrontation with the earls of Malladon and Ravenna.

So I trained as often as he would let me, mostly because I was determined to defend myself, but also because it meant time with John. And I did improve. I became less reticent and a better student, but I still didn’t like the actual fighting. So when I failed to perform a task well, I wasn’t anxious to get better, I was just frustrated that I hadn’t mastered it yet. And John couldn’t help but notice.

John

“I would be able to help you better if I knew why you need this.” We’d been meeting at least three times a week for nearly two months. She was committed, but nothing about the way she engaged indicated that she was enjoying it any more now than she had in the beginning.

“Who said I needed it?”

“You do. With all your determination and your frustration. I can tell this isn’t a curiosity or something just to pass the time. You feel like you need to know these skills. If you tell me why, I can help you better.”

She stayed stubbornly silent, staring at the ground.

“Who do you fight, my lady?” I asked, desperate for her to confide in me.

“Those who wish me dead,” she said without missing a beat, her eyes still fixed on the ground.

I smiled at her jest. “And are there many of those?”