Page 36 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

Twenty-Two

B orin removes his cream and burgundy jacket and drapes it over the white sofa sitting before a sleek marble fireplace.

He strolls across the drawing room with his hands clasped at his back.

The deep brown skin of his bald head reflects the lights from the candelabras meticulously placed throughout the room.

He reaches the glossy sable piano I sit at and turns on his heels, walking back toward the sitting area.

As soon as everyone finished the crumbly pastries and creamy pies served for dessert, Micah invited those who wished to stay for a nightcap in the billiards.

Most of the guests made their exit for the evening, including my mother and my siblings.

Borin saw them to their carriage and informed them I needed to stay longer.

And so, for the past twenty minutes, he has paced the drawing room, setting the tempo to the soft melody I play on the piano with his unwavering steps.

My tutor stops just short of where I sit, and I drop my hands to my lap.

“You're promised to be married, Raelle,” he states, with an edge to his voice.

I wave my ring finger at him. “Not like I can forget, and Kyron and I are friends. ”

“You understand the boy is a Stigian.”

“Is he? I just thought his black eyes were dreamy to stare into.”

“You will watch your tone. I have not shown you disrespect, Your Grace.”

I spring up from the piano bench and meet his disapproving gaze with one of resentment. “Haven't you, Borin? You question my ability to make sound judgments, my intentions to keep my promise to marry Leif—as if I could choose differently—and my loyalty to this kingdom.”

“All I'm saying is you should keep your distance from the general.”

“If Micah trusts Kyron to lead in my father's absence, isn't that because he's proven his past has no bearing on who he is today? Not to mention my father cared for Kyron as a son. Why is my friendship even an issue?”

Borin cups my cheeks like I'm fragile and will crumble under his touch, but his tone is a sharp contrast. “This isn't up for debate. You may keep your word to help the general find a suitable wife , since you made it publicly, but once he leaves, you will cease all communication with him.”

I step away, jerking my face out of his palms. “You're acting ridiculous and treating me like a child.”

“And your recent decision proves you need to be treated like one.”

“Fuck you, Borin. Don't you dare chastise me for doing what was best for my family.”

“And still you were not able to bring your father home.

You ran a fool's errand, jeopardizing our kingdom's future. Micah can only anoint one as his heir, and if something were to happen to you, all of Lucent would fall to Esmeray. Your choices no longer affect just you and those close to you.” I blanch at his strident tone, and he runs his palm over his smooth head.

He releases an exasperated sigh, and coolly says, “Get it out of your system, Raelle, because as soon as your friend leaves, it is time to grow up and lead your people.”

Borin brushes past me, leaving me staring straight ahead.

My tutor has always exercised strict discipline when it comes to my studies, but love guided his firm redirection and built me up.

Tonight, his words knocked me down from the pedestal he created for me.

Self-doubt for the task ahead has always resided inside me, but never have I felt completely incapable.

Never have I wanted to deny my crown as much as I do now, but it's too late.

I made my promise, and it can't be broken .

The drawing room suddenly feels too small, making it hard to breathe and heating my skin.

I march to the double doors along the back wall and yank them open.

The cool night breeze greets me with the scent of roses and fresh cut grass.

I step out into the palace garden and sink into the first stone bench I pass.

Covering my face with my hands, I fight back the tears begging to run down my face.

I'm torn by duty and matters of the heart.

How can I lead with love when it pulls me from my responsibility and demands I put it first?

I'm told it's fickle and blinding, and in the next breath, it is powerful and necessary.

No matter what I do or don't do in the name of love, I’ll never make the right choice. Love makes a fool of me.

“That didn't go well, did it?”

I run the back of my hands over my eyes and glance up.

Kyron leans over the balcony of one of the second-story bedrooms. His arms rest on the iron railing with his hands folded together as he stares at the stars.

The jacket and vest he wore earlier are gone, and his hair is a mess from his fingers running through it.

The sight of him instantly soothes my aching heart.

I weakly smile up at him. “You heard all that?”

“Most of it. The fuck you had a special ring to it.”

I chuckle; his presence is already chasing away my bad mood. And I'm not ready to let the feelings he invokes in me go just yet.

“Will you come walk with me?” I ask.

“I don't know if that's such?—”

“I'm ordering you to come on a walk with me. You heard Borin; I'm irreplaceable and need a strong escort to fight away the rabid owls.”

Kyron laughs. “You've become quite bossy, but you make a good point. I can't leave you to the vices of rabid owls.” He climbs over the railing and grips the stones protruding from the wall. With pure grace, he scales down until he can let go and easily land on his feet.

“Show-off.”

“I'd go with strong, agile, and handsome,” he counters.

I bump him with my shoulder. “That too.”

We walk side by side down the sandstone walkways lined with an array of sleeping flowers and granite statues depicting people surrounded by the different gifts of the Statera.

The hedges are manicured into perfect circles and each flower placed to complement the one next to it.

Even amidst all this beauty, I long to return to Basecamp, with the smell of campfire and chatter of rambunctious conversations late into the night.

It's too perfect, too quiet here, and it unsettles me.

My mind replays my argument with Borin and my unease heightens. A lot was said between us, and most of it I wouldn't want said in front of Kyron.

“Did you hear everything Borin and I said?” I ask.

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “For the most part. It was difficult not to.”

“I'm sorry. He knows you're a capable leader, and the army is in good hands.”

Kyron smirks, but it's not enough to hide the hint of hurt etched into the rest of his features. “You know I've heard worse, princess.”

“It doesn't make it right.”

“You should keep that opinion to yourself. I doubt your people would take kindly to you sympathizing with a Stigian.”

I stop and take his hand in mine, running my thumb over his scarred knuckles. “You're my people too, Kyron.”

His lip twitches, and he tucks it between his teeth, looking away from me.

Has no one ever told him he belongs outside of Basecamp?

I can't help but to feel like he’s misplaced and fighting a war for a land that doesn't value him in return.

Kyron deserves to know he is more than his body count.

Despite the color of his eyes or his choices in the past, he is a Lucent.

I slide my hand inside of his and pull him forward. “Come on. I have something I want to show you.”

I lead him deeper into the garden, across the wooden bridge, over the pond of koi fish and lily pads, and past the ornate fountain in the center.

We veer from the path and into a small orchard of cherry trees, where the moon lights our way as pink petals dance around us in the wind.

Kyron stretches his fingers and runs them along the blossoms adorning the tree branches.

His childlike wonder and the pink flowers peppering his black hair make it impossible not to steal glances at him.

We step out of the orchard and the wall protecting this side of the palace greets us with the calming scent of night blooming jasmine. The fragrant vines cling to its surface, thick and speckled in white flowers.

When we reach the furthest corner, I hold out my palm to Kyron and say, “May I?”

He nods and a ball of fire forms in the center of his hand. I untangle my fingers from his and take the flame.

“What exactly is it you want to show me?” he asks.

I brush the vines to the side and run my hands along the wall. My fingertips find the cool metal of a familiar latch and I press down. With a click and a shove of my shoulder, the old wooden door opens, scraping across the ground. “You'll see,” I say, lifting my chin toward the dark tunnel.

He follows me inside, and I close the door behind us.

The narrow river-rock-lined passage is long and set at a decline.

Neither of us speaks as we hike further underground, mesmerized by the sound of rushing water and the wind howling through the tunnel.

We reach another battered wooden door, and I release Kyron's flame.

With an aggressive yank, the door opens, and we step out under the clear night sky.

“Almost there,” I say, hiking up the hem of my dress and following a crude dirt trail.

We reach the top of the hill, and Kyron sucks in a breath. A huge gazebo made of white stone covered in wisteria sits on what appears to be the edge of the world. He pauses to take it in, but I lace my fingers with his and lead him inside.

A flame burns brightly in a copper basin in the center of the open space. Stone benches sit along the outer edge, blending with the pillars holding the dome roof. The gazebo is magnificent in its simplicity, but it doesn't compare to what awaits beyond its borders.