Page 38 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Thierre stood, hands laced behind his back, as he and Raiden waited for Cahra and Wyldaern on the palace steps, his mind a whirlpool of uncertainty.

He was concerned his father would change his mind about the women leaving, but Sylvie had somehow reasoned with the King.

For that, he was grateful to his sister. Mostly.

Because there was a piece of Thierre that could not believe that it had come to this, a pang of despair that rioted in his chest as the fact echoed: he and Cahra could never be.

Squinting against the sun that glinted off the marble courtyard, Thierre scanned the castle city and Hael’stromia’s black peak beyond.

Despite his restless thoughts, he struggled to find the right wording that might sway Cahra from leaving.

He had lain awake all night, deliberating over how to extricate himself from his wretched engagement to Delicia, but with no evidence of her unfaithfulness, Thierre was at a loss.

And if Cahra was to leave Luminaux, all that he could do was precisely what he had done: approached her at breakfast to ask if she and Wyldaern would accept Queran, Siarl and Piet as their own kingdom-appointed detail.

That, and pay his personal tailor to do everything in her power to fortify Cahra’s garments – even if that meant enlisting Luminaux’s blacksmith and leatherworker and paying them to labour all night long to make it happen. It had been worth it.

In the dining hall, Cahra almost looked to be a different woman.

She seemed to stand taller, straighter, her lean muscles perfectly filling the fighting leathers, measured based on Cahra’s clothing.

Her transformation had been breathtaking, and even Sylvie had stared.

Thierre was glad that Raiden and Piet had trained with her, before everything had got so complicated.

With the reinforcement of her vest and armoured trousers bolstered by thick, tough leather for key joints and striking points, now Cahra could be a warrior, if she chose.

He eyed Delicia and his mother, their vanity drawing them from the steps to the shade. Their presence complicated the already daunting task of saying farewell to Cahra.

Thierre exhaled, feeling restless, while Raiden was predictably still as stone.

He never understood how his friend suffered the standing and waiting that was so much a part of his Captain’s duties.

He supposed it was the years of Commander Tyne looming over Raiden with a baton at the ready. That no doubt helped, he thought.

Before he could say as much, Cahra and Wyldaern exited the palace.

Their goodbye was a short affair, his family and Tyne bidding Cahra and the Seer farewell with stately courtesy. Delicia, who delighted in wielding her noble status like a bladed weapon, was obviously thrilled to see Cahra go.

Then all too suddenly, it was Thierre’s turn.

Wyldaern simply thanked him and walked on, leaving him alone with Cahra. All thoughts fled his head, and he swallowed.

Her first words shattered his stupor. ‘Thank you, for the clothes. They’re beautiful,’ Cahra said softly. There was no harshness to her words, and no explanation for her retreat after they had kissed last night. But she did not seem to be angry. It was a start, he thought.

A start, as all signs pointed to the end.

‘You are most welcome,’ Thierre found himself saying. There was still so much that he wanted to tell her, only without the prying eyes and ears. But would any of it matter?

Cahra was leaving.

Because what could he offer her, really?

This woman, who deserved everything, who deserved true happiness.

Thierre knew: if he chose her over Delicia, Luminaux’s court would never accept it, not in a thousand years.

Sylvie had said it; Cahra was a foreign commoner.

Their pairing was unacceptable, to everyone. Everyone, except him.

Thierre and Raiden had developed strategies to infiltrate hostile sister kingdoms, had spied and schemed and stolen information to report back to Luminaux.

They had ventured into the keeps of Atriposte’s Kolyath and Decimus’ Ozumbre – some of the most dangerous places in the tri-kingdom realm – yet for all his clever strategising…

…he was powerless to stop her from walking away.

‘Cahra.’ Thierre ventured a look into her earthy eyes. ‘I wish…’

I wish to the Oracles that you and I had more time.

‘Me too,’ Cahra whispered, and her smile hit him with the full force of the sun’s heat, right between his stinging eyes. Then she halted.

He managed a nod, fighting back tears. But as he did, she caught his hand. As he had touched hers in the light of a cave on his way home, after they had thwarted death, together.

Was that when I fell for her, this blacksmith from Kolyath?

It was too much. But Thierre was trained in courtly etiquette, in masks, so he squeezed her hand and returned that smile. Then he stepped away, her hand slipping from his.

Her farewell was nothing but the look of sadness in her eyes, as she took one step then another, farther and farther away from him until she was vanishing over the crest of the hill that would lead her from his life forever.

She wished to leave. He had to let her go. So, Thierre did nothing.

When Cahra’s silhouette was gone, Thierre turned on his heel and left, ignoring his mother’s calls and his sister’s sympathetic gaze. He simply had to get away, from everyone.

Alone in his chambers, Thierre grappled with his restless thoughts. He had done what was expected of him. He had let Cahra go. Yet he loathed the knowledge that something could happen and he would not be there, because he had been ordered to stay. It was not right.

Thierre rose, his urge to move overpowering the ingrained stoicism of his upbringing.

Pacing back and forth, he tried to place the source of his agitation, for it was more than Cahra leaving Luminaux.

It was the expectations placed upon him as the kingdom’s Crown Prince, and what they meant for any future Queen.

The never-ending threat of spies or assassination attempts in a realm that was at war.

Even more than that, it was how he and his family had been forced to cope, with repression and masks and guards, guards everywhere, his only friends those now charged with defending his life.

Thierre had never wanted this life, this loneliness, for anyone, certainly not for Cahra, not even for Delicia.

So, he had resigned himself to letting his feelings dwell beneath the surface.

It was his shameful secret: that his life was a glorious cage, while Cahra’s was a life of freedom. He wanted her to live it.

But now, he felt strange, frenzied even, and his chest pained him. It was not her kiss, or even the idea that he might wring some confession from her as to her feelings for him. Cahra and Wyldaern faced real dangers from Luminaux’s enemies, yet he was languishing, useless, in his chambers.

Thierre eyed Cahra’s longsword, the one that she had crafted for him in Kolyath, brought to his rooms on the previous eve. Its pommel twinkled under the candelabra’s flames. Cahra had not hesitated to warn him of the danger in Kolyath, Thierre thought.

And he could not stand idly by and let her face such threats, he realised with clarity, when he could do something more than letting his guards handle it. Her burdens were not his, that much was true. However, if he was not with her and something happened…

He would not endure it.

So, though he had scarcely returned and not yet unpacked, Thierre prepared to leave his kingdom once again.

Thierre was almost ready when there was a sharp rap at the entrance to his quarters, the door flying open. Only one man knew him well enough to be so bold.

‘Thierre,’ Raiden warned, marching in.

‘I cannot permit Cahra and Wyldaern to go into the Wilds alone,’ Thierre told him. ‘Not with our enemies uniting at our backs.’

‘You haven’t,’ Raiden argued. ‘You sent your three best guards to protect them. If you can’t trust your own people, you may as well not have them.’

‘It’s not about trust! It is about an unholy alliance that we have no intelligence on, no figures, no logistics—’

‘Exactly why you cannot even think of doing what I know you’re thinking of doing. The risks are uncharted.’

Thierre switched tactics. ‘And what if Cahra has more to do with the prophecy than we thought? Wyldaern never told us her reason for taking Cahra to meet the Oracle. What if there is more to her actions than we know? Unless, I – we – accompany them.’

Raiden was yet to reply, which was a good sign. They both knew how the King and Commander Tyne desired every advantage regarding the prophecy. Resisting a grin, he opened his mouth, but Raiden cut in, cursing, ‘Damn it, Thierre! Then we leave now. We order three companies and—’

‘No, our time is past. If you and I do not leave now, we will not reach them before they exit the gatehouse, and I do not know where Wyldaern is taking Cahra.’

Raiden looked ready to throw something. ‘ Fine . But any of our people we pass on the way through will escort us.’

Thierre nodded. ‘Agreed.’ He placed a hand on his friend’s arm. ‘Pack with haste and meet back here in five minutes.’

Costumed as Lord Terryl and keen to find Cahra, Thierre messengered a scribbled note to Sylvie, who would be furious, both at him and the second-hand blast she was sure to receive from their father once he learned of his son’s defiance.

But as time ticked by without Raiden appearing, a creeping fear gnawed at Thierre. Something was wrong.

With a glance to Cahra’s longsword, Thierre buckled it to his belt, hoisted his pack and set off for Raiden’s rooms.

Thierre rounded a corner, and instantly ducked back.

Perhaps his note had made its way to Sylvie too quickly, for Commander Tyne had accosted Raiden outside his quarters.

The Captain spotted him, his face weathering a storm of emotions as Thierre watched Raiden struggle with whether to halt his plan altogether.

Finally, Raiden threw up his hands in what looked like intense agitation, until Thierre glimpsed the signal to go forward.

His old friend had come through for him in the end.

Thierre nodded his thanks to Raiden and spun to make his getaway, appraising the exits.

There was a servants’ passage beneath the palace that came out by the second-last turn before leaving the kingdom proper.

With any luck, he would catch Cahra and the others there.

Thierre drew his hood and hastened along the dim torch-lit path, tossing a ‘Hail King Royce’ to anyone who gave him a second look.

He prayed Raiden had managed to convince Tyne not to launch a full-scale mission to apprehend him.

After what felt like an agonising stretch of time, the dimness of the tunnel gave way to light at its far end.

He charged it, adjusting his cowl as he slowed to enter the flow of traffic, sweeping for anyone he knew.

For the briefest of moments, Thierre’s heart sunk as he failed to spot Cahra and Wyldaern, or Piet, Siarl and Queran.

But… There! Before the gate, the ermine fur-lined hood that he had been so adamant about.

Cahra .

Thierre moved towards her, trying to hurry without drawing attention. Approaching the gate, he pulled a map from his pocket and pretended to consult it, noting his father’s own Royal Guards, who looked set to halt him, when a voice rang out:

‘Guards!’ The helmed men stood quickly at attention as a fellow officer approached. ‘The Captain requests advanced support at the sky terrace, immediately!’

Thierre exhaled. It was one of his and Raiden’s coded phrases, created on the off chance that one day Raiden might need to aid Thierre in escaping the kingdom, if overrun.

The guards suitably distracted, Thierre folded his map and replaced it in his pocket, resuming his search for the black and white fur hood.

At last, Thierre neared the gatehouse, the kingdom’s final checkpoint, and its jet gate.

He watched as Cahra and the others proceeded forward, Piet speaking with the guards, the man’s imposing bulk unmistakable.

Thierre knew that they would be enquiring about the group’s return and he strained to listen. What would Cahra’s response be?

Her reply floated to him on the breeze: ‘We’ll see.’ Despite the thoughts tumbling around inside his head, it warmed him to hear the possibility in her voice, even now.

He knew the ranking guard on duty, so, as he had done so many times before, Thierre moved for the checkpoint.

The guard offered him a dutiful nod, before stepping aside to let the Prince pass.

Then, moving through the black gate, Thierre quickened between the trees to reach Cahra, his focus solely on her and making sure that she was safe.

Thierre didn’t see the weapon coming down behind him until it was too late.