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Chapter seventeen

Nerys

“ W hy do you care so much?” Nerys asked Idris one night after dinner. They were sipping brandy in the sitting room before retiring for the night, under the painted judgmental gaze of some likely dead nobleman.

“Care about what?” Idris asked, giving her a coy smile.

“Why do you care about what I saw?” Nerys pressed, ignoring how her heart skipped. “That shadow. I’ve seen nothing in weeks.”

“I didn’t say anything about it.”

“ Today . Yesterday you asked me after breakfast.”

Idris sipped on his brandy, deep in thought.

Fina had gone to bed before dinner claiming that she had a headache, and Nerys was left in the rare circumstance of being alone with Idris—a prospect both thrilling and terrifying.

Nerys let her eyes roam over his unbuttoned shirt and the hint of skin underneath—and ignored the portrait-ancestor’s disapproving glare.

Yes, this was much better than the days spent memorizing Callidora’s unremarkable existence—may she rest in a peaceful eternity as uneventful as her life.

Idris shook his head, sending his light hair rippling like milkweed down. Nerys quickly raised her eyes back to his face. Yes, his face. “Not again,” Idris said, “not the shadow. I told you, I will explain everything—”

“—after the lady arrives,” Nerys finished.

“I know. Oh, do I know. I’ve been here for how long now?

Six weeks? Eight? You want to know all these things about me, and I still don’t know where you came from.

” Nerys had learned young that the best time to ask someone a question was after they refused to answer a different one.

“I came from where all people do,” Idris said. “When two people are married, and sometimes before—often before—they—”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped, by now used to Idris’s pathetic attempts to deflect. Her eyes creeped back to his muscular chest—yes, there were better things about Idris to focus on.

Idris grinned, as if he knew what she was thinking. “And you know me too well to know that I’m not going to answer.”

“You do love mystery—were you a traveling performer in Cerdoran?”

A chuckle escaped Idris’s mouth. “In a way. What life isn’t a performance?”

“Mine. There’s little to perform when washing wool. Or anything else in Raven’s Crest, for that matter.”

“What about hunting?”

Nerys barked out a laugh. “Oh, there’s plenty of pretending there. I have to pretend to be quiet, for one.”

“I can’t imagine you willingly quiet.”

“I assure you—it can and does happen.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Living Gods, that was one thing she enjoyed about him—he never talked down to her.

He cared about her enough to return her family’s crystal rose, though the money was sorely missed.

He bantered with her, pestered her, treated her…

well, treated her unlike any other man she had ever met.

This didn’t include that he—apparently—liked her company enough to ensure that he could see her when this was done.

Shaul was kind. Too kind. The other men in Raven’s Crest left something to be desired as far as conversation was concerned.

If only he wasn’t so handsome, focusing on the R?ll would be easier. If she didn’t catch his gaze lingering on her, this would all be easier…

“I know you’re well born,” Nerys said, undeterred.

“And Cerdorani. A noble of some sort. You’ve admitted as much.

” Idris slowly turned to look at her, his eyebrow rising.

“I don’t know much about them, but…I think you’re someone important.

You know too much about Ca’mail’s court, their royal manners.

And then there’s your magic—only someone powerful would have your abilities. ”

“I’m a spy.”

“That doesn’t explain your magic.”

“Doesn’t it? I’m a talented spy. I can change my shape entirely.”

“Your clothing. Why would Cerdoran go through the trouble of sending a spy in such well-made clothes?”

Idris smirked. “I’ve always had a weakness for fine linen.”

“And you have the ability to promise me a title.”

That, Idris had no response to .

Nerys folded her hands on her lap and fidgeted with her fingers. “I get why you don’t want to tell me. I know you don’t trust me. Not fully. But I’m here, and I have just as much to lose as you. Maybe more.”

Idris scratched at the days’ old stubble on his chin. “Aren’t you going to hazard a guess? Of who I am?”

“I don’t know the names of any of Cerdorani nobility.”

“I think you know mine,” he said.

“Why would I—” Her mouth dropped open. “You’re royalty,” she whispered.

Idris leaned back and crossed his legs, his face bearing that amused, condescending expression again. “Took you long enough. You really didn’t guess? How many Cerdoriani would be worried about being recognized?”

“How would I know?”

“Not many in Cerdoran have my coloring.” Flowing pale hair. Blue eyes. Towering height. A muscular frame with hands that were unscarred, a lithe grace that only came from training. A complexion that was even and unmarred by both sun and battle. Impossibly handsome…yes, he stood out.

“How would I know what anyone in the Cerdorani royal family looks like?” Heat crept through Nerys’s face. “What’s more likely—that you are some well-connected noble, or that a royal is running through an enemy army?”

Idris shrugged. “We don’t believe in having others do our jobs for us.” 93

“So, what are you?”

“What?”

“A duke? A respected bastard?”

A grin spread across Idris’s face. “Think…higher than that. Much higher.”

“You’re not a prince.”

“No? And why would that surprise you?”

Her mouth dropped open. A prince? This entire time, she was talking to, learning from—and dreaming of—a prince ?

Nerys instantly pushed any hope of the two of them aside.

He didn’t want anything to do with her, at least for beyond one night.

It was impossible. She was a peasant, while he…

Men like him used women like her and then discarded them.

But he had offered he r a title... Nerys swallowed.

That offer now took on a new meaning. Was it a title that a prince would deem acceptable in a consort?

“And Fina,” Nerys asked, her mouth dry, “how does she fit into this?”

“How she always did. She’s my half-sister.”

“So, she’s…a bastard?”

Idris crossed his legs. “We don’t have those distinctions in Cerdoran. We have different fathers, but she is part of my family, since we share a mother—and she is royal, just as much as I am. She is fourth in line to inherit, after my other siblings.”

Nerys tried—unsuccessfully—to keep the shock off her face.

She had spent the last several weeks with royalty.

Actual royalty—not village festival royalty.

She needed a nap. A stronger drink. Something.

“Why are you here , teaching me manners like some governess? Isn’t a prince—I’m assuming you are a prince—supposed to be, I don’t know, engaging in princely things?

Surely there are others that could do this task. ”

The corner of Idris’s mouth twitched. “And what would my princely roles consist of, to your mind?”

“Everything that you’ve been teaching me, for one. That’s a royal’s duty. You’re supposed to be gambling, hunting, drinking—”

“That’s what Ca’mail’s princes do. I’m not one of them.”

“Obviously.” Nerys fell silent, letting the revelation wash over her.

How could she have been so stupid as to have missed the signs?

It explained why Fina was deferential to Idris, not merely a sister to a brother, but with hints of a subject to a lord.

And how he seemed to have so much control over what Cerdoran did in Ca’mail.

Though now she had a better idea of how she would ultimately fit into his life—she didn’t.

Her heart stung. Even if something had happened between them, it would only lead to heartbreak.

Idris watched her, like he was puzzling something out. Unlikely that he would deign to share his thoughts with her.

“I see why you didn’t tell me,” she finally said. “It could make things difficult for you, if word got out that you are here. Ca’mail would hunt you down.”

“‘Difficult’ is an understatement,” he said. “Try dead. My goal is to try to prevent open war between our kingdoms. Failing that, I’m here to mitigate the damage.”

“By sabotaging Ca’mail.”

“By letting them see what they want to see,” he corrected. “And protecting my home at the same time.” 94

“Idris, do you really think—"

A knock on the door interrupted them. A moment later one of the servants walked inside, an older man who had done little more over the last several weeks than give Nerys glances of rank condescension. The feeling was mutual.

“Sorry to interrupt, my lord,” the servant said with a bow. “The Sun Holder has returned.”