Page 149 of Ashborne Forged

All I could do was beg God to make the path forward clear, because it seemed that every step I took revealed something new that I hadn’t anticipated. And I walked the line of a cliff.

And, while that path offered freedom, one wrongly placed foot on the journey would send me tumbling off the edge, and straight to my death.

49. Gratitude

~ GRACE ~

That night, walking into the dining room on Breckon’s arm felt strangely familiar—which made me dizzy.

My body was strangely twisted about returning to this place. It was frightening, because I’d felt so suffocated when I was here. The constantly ticking clock, counting down toward these very events. And yet, this was also the point at which the Creator launched me on an entirely new purpose. One I deeply did not want to give up.

Without having been here, I would never have met Koa, or Voski. Yet, by the same token, these nobles were the very court that had rejected me, leaving me trapped without hope, except in a betrothal contract to this man I despised.

I saw it in their catlike eyes, their mental claws sharpening as Breckon led me forward, and we came into view to the whole room—some shock, a lot of judgment, curiosity, and smug satisfaction. None of these women had wished for Breckon for themselves. And while some weren’t cruel, none had been true allies. They all thought me odd. Or beneath notice. My name was respected, but I was not. And they knew it. I couldn’t bring them influence, so why would they bother offering time or energy to me, beyond gossip?

And still… Breckon, who had never been a name at Court, whose family had only been raised to the nobility three generations earlier, who was regarded for his wealth, but seen as a bit gauche because he continued to keep a hand in the actual doings of his estate, was now favored by the king.

How that had happened, why, I didn’t know. It certainly hadn’t been part of the marriage contract discussions months ago. But I’d seen the evidence on our arrival today. As had the others, no doubt.

At the sight of Breckon, their eyes lit up—with malicious delight, or wary caution, depending.

Everyone stood in the dining room, taking drinks, while they awaited the arrival of the royals. No one would take their seat before the king and queen, and so they hovered, chatting and gossiping, laughing quietly, and assessing each other.

Breckon knew each by name, and began a circuit of the room immediately, speaking with the booming expectation of a warm welcome. And to my surprise, received it. Mostly. While some of the older men were clearly less impressed, most of the younger, and all of the women fawned on him.

That is, until we’d made it halfway around the room, and after I’d made a somewhat ill-advised reference to horse riding while the others were flirting with their double-entendres. That comment invited several dismissive sniffs, and more than one set of rolled eyes. Breckon excused us a moment later and took a slow stroll across the room, leaning into my ear.

“I love a good ride as much as the next man, but you promised me a demure fiancée,” he growled.

I frowned. “I was speaking of riding horses. I attempted to turn the conversation back to something less suggestive.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come, Grace. You know better. In this circle? Remain quiet, or flirt. But for God’s sake, don’t bore them.”

He’d just turned me back toward the windows, obviously intending to wade back into the fray, but I stopped short as we almost walked directly into a tall, broad chest.

The owner of said chest had hair as black as midnight, slicked back from a high, wide brow, and startlingly intense eyes. For half a second, my heart leaped. But the man was nearly of age with Breckon, perhaps a few years younger, yet he carried himself with a lot less pomp, and a great deal more elegance than my betrothed.

I was surprised, and genuinely pleased to see him. “Lord Hanson!” I gasped. “I didn’t know we could expect you!”

He gave a small smile, and an elegant dip of his head and shoulders to offer me respect, took the hand I offered, and a brushed a kiss to my knuckles.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Lady Grace. I understand congratulations are in order?”

I did my best not to react, but Hanson’s gaze had always been unnervingly sharp, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my smile falter before I yanked it back up and gestured toward Breckon.

“Lord Hanson, this is my betrothed, the Lord Breckon.”

“It is, of course, a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Hanson drawled, his smile dropping to match the flat tone indicating it was anything but.

I dearly wished I could giggle.

Breckon arched one brow and tried to look down his nose at Hanson, but Hanson was an inch taller, and carried confidence as easily as the shirt on his back, while Breckon, always confident, struck me as impressing himself on others.

“Likewise,” Breckon muttered, which bordered on rude, given that they’d just been introduced.

After two seconds of bristling silence, I was forced to babble inanities about both men to the other. But God had mercy on me, because just as Hanson’s flattening gaze made me wonder if he was about to eviscerate Breckon, and I couldn’t decide if I would clap or not, the crier stepped through the door and announced in a sonorous baritone, “Their Majesties, the King and Queen.”

Everyone in the room turned to face the door to bow or curtsey, giving Breckon a reason to turn his back on Hanson, which suited both of them.