Page 19 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)

T hey stopped for the evening as the sun began to disappear behind the mountain range in front of them, just as Rian predicted. Most of the ride had been nothing but pleasant quiet, allowing each of them to enjoy their own thoughts instead of caving in to the societal pressures of conversation for the sake of filling the air. Vrea appreciated that he didn’t push her to speak, and she left him to his own devices in return.

He led the horses over to the thin continuation of the stream that they’d followed for most of the day and hooked their harnesses to a nearby tree branch in order to secure them for the night. The water trickled and gurgled into a small pool, one that he assured her would end before too long. They’d have to find their way by other landmarks from that point out when they’d start up again in the morning.

During their ride, Rian suggested that they leave with the sun to gain as much light as possible and to not stay out in the open longer than they needed. Each of the twenty-seven nights could turn either way, depending on location and who was lurking out in the wild.

Vrea gathered the fallen sticks as he tended to their mounts, offering up apples and carrots to both as a reward for a long day and another to come. There weren’t many pieces of wood to find but once she’d collected them all and dumped them in a somewhat organised pile, she pulled a flint stick out from the nearest bag as Rian set it down beside her.

She inserted the end into the pile of sticks and began to turn it from side to side in her hands, rubbing her palms together as she tried to create their heat source for the night. It wasn’t frigid yet, there was no rain in the air to summon a cold mist but it wouldn’t be long before the autumn chill turned to a winter frost.

She hoped that they reached Niroula long before then.

Tendrils of steam danced upwards but no ember sparked, no flame ignited, no wisp of scarlet hissed to life. Vrea frowned down at them, pondering if she incorrectly remembered her brother’s lessons on how to start a fire in the wilderness. Before, when she’d made the trek across borders, she’d been accompanied by her mother’s men. They’d stayed by her side until she’d completed her task in Hawksmoor, escorting her back home and taking care of the menial tasks. Even if her hands had been soaked in crimson, she was still a royal heir and her mother commanded that she be treated as such.

Eamin had personally selected a group of sentries to accompany her on the last trip, ones that she hoped had run for their lives as soon as word spread that she’d been taken captive. The very last thing she wanted was for more blood of her people to be spilt on her behalf.

Vrea tried again, rubbing furiously until the point where her skin burned and she dropped it hastily, swatting her stinging palm in the air.

“Fucking fire.” She seethed, nursing the red mark that was slowly spreading across her brown palm.

A horse snorted from behind her, but she swore it was Rian based off of the twinge of disdain she heard in the noise. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to glare at him, like her first instinct suggested.

Actually, that wasn’t true.

Her very first thought was to remove one of her daggers from her hip and plunge it in between his third and fourth rib, and watch him squirm on the steel.

But she’d sworn that she wouldn’t do that.

And unfortunately Vrea kept her promises.

“Would you like some help?” He crooned from behind, merrily and irritatingly. “I could assist you.”

“No.” Vrea bluntly blurted out.

“Are you sure?” Rian prodded and she could make out the shuffle of his boots as he came closer. “That spreading rash on your palm seemed to suggest otherwise.”

“I can manage to produce a fire just fine, without any help from the likes of you.” She plucked the flint up from where it had fallen and re-inserted it into the bundle of sticks, which had slumped from her last attempt. “Get the bedrolls laid out.”

He didn’t move from his leering perch above her, observing her fail to light the fire like it was the most fascinating thing in either of the Kingdoms. “Might I remind you that until we cross into Niroulian territory, that we’re still in Carylim, Princess.”

“And?” She interrogated.

“ And , that means that I’m the one who gives the orders here.”

Vrea didn’t reply and sent all of her concentration down into creating the fire that they’d need unless they’d rather the cold creep in and steal a handful of their toes whilst they slept. Her hands felt warm, which she took as a good sign as they rolled together. More wisping smoke followed, enacting a surge of elation to rise up inside of her.

Then nothing.

Again.

Gloved hands came around hers and she flinched as Rian took up a place behind her, pressing his broad chest into her back as he silently instructed her on the correct way. Part of her wanted to send her sharp elbow flying back into his attractive face, or her backside straight into his crotch to send a message, but she ignored it.

For now.

“You were almost there, but turning your hands up and down the stick helps create the tension that builds the spark.” The Prince informed her and recreated his words as he pushed both of their entwined hands up and down.

A spark started, but it wasn’t within the sticks.

“You could have just told me what to do, instead of throwing your body atop mine,” Vrea grumbled but didn’t complain. In truth, she’d been a bit cold and his heat felt nice as it radiated into hers. Once the fire was going, she could use that instead.

“Do you ever say thank you?” He chortled as a flame ignited, which only caused him to jolt the piece of wood around even more as steam drifted upwards.

“Not if I can help it.” She shoved him off at last, and he laughed softly in a way that made her heart stutter.

“Of course.” He pushed off the ground and strode for the horses who’d found a tiny patch of grass amidst the dusty road, loudly munching. He untethered the bedrolls and tossed them towards her, letting them tumble until they stopped on their own accord.

She grabbed the smaller of the two and unclasped the buckle, standing and flapping it out until the entire thing had unrolled. It met the ground with ease as she spread the fabric out, making sure that there were no sides that doubled up. Rian did the same, laying his out a couple of feet away and propping himself atop it with one elbow draped across a folded knee.

He eyed the fire and popped his gloves off, holding his hands out towards the amber flames that were growing in colour and size. The light bounced off his golden skin as he rotated his palm back and forth, angling it over the heat for the best warmth.

“My mother used to call me Fireheart when she’d come around, mostly for the sake of my red hair and my spirit,” Rian said out of nowhere as she observed his curious, almost youthful interest in the inferno. He was perceptive, as it seemed all his siblings were, Castil included.

“Did you know her well enough?”

“No,” Sadness coated his tone as he continued. “Only a couple of years that I can somewhat remember, between gaps of missing time. She was young, I know that. As young as you are now if I can recall correctly and had ginger hair that was a shade brighter than mine.”

“What happened to her?”

Because there was a comfort in sharing these sorts of details with him, knowing that they held a common thing in their lives. Castil was ice, cold, unwelcoming and downright frigid with his intrusive ways and vexing comments. But Rian, as his mother had said, was fire. He was bright and warm, light and welcoming with his boyish charm and impish smile that lifted to one side of his face instead of spreading across it all. Easy to start and hard to put out once his spark had ignited.

There was a part of her that was inexplicably drawn to him like a moth to candlelight. For once, Vrea didn’t feel so alone.

So she let herself be drawn in.

She let herself enjoy his company, even if she was supposed to hate him.

Rian let out a taut breath, dragging his dark blue eyes up to meet hers. In the smoke-ridden light, they danced between sapphire and aquamarine, a stunning mix that she found herself intoxicated with.“My father never remarried after your family killed his wife. I don’t blame either of them for that, since it’s far too easy for our partners, our siblings, our children even if we ever have any, to be taken away from us at any point in life.”

It was the exact reason why her mother never found another permanent lover, always finding pleasure in the arms of strangers, with the occasional return to an old flame, like her father. The Queen of Niroula was far past any childbearing years, surprising them all with Tessa at a late age that seemed impossible. But she still took lovers to bed, and Vrea didn’t blame her.

“But he also didn’t like to share.” Rian drew her from her thoughts, letting his arm fall back to his side as he applied his pressure on it instead of his knees. “He found her tangled up in another’s arms, a guard in the castle actually, and had them both put down as punishment. I don’t remember when, or how, but that he came up to my room after and informed me about it.”

Her blood chilled.

“How old were you?”

He looked up towards the midnight sky as he calculated the gap of time in his head, only to come back down to her after a good while. “Six, I want to say? It all jumbles together after a bit, so it’s hard to pull exact dates and ages out of my brain.”

She couldn’t imagine it.

Couldn’t think of her mother finding her at such a young age and telling her about her other parents death, letting her know the reason behind it and that she’d never be seeing them again. Her mother was not the loving type, one that would sacrifice children for the sake of her Kingdom in the long run, but there was an occasional gentle streak about her.

“What about yours?” Rian changed the sour mood into something that she assumed he thought would be more pleasant, but was mistaken.

“My father was a baker, and he sired Teminos as well, but that’s all I know.” Vrea told him. “I don’t care to know him, and he didn’t care to know us. There were no special nicknames, nor fond memories to dredge up from the depths of my mind.”

“A baker? As a consort to a Queen?”

She lifted and lowered her shoulders. “My mother wasn’t too particular about who entered her bed. If she got pregnant, then another heir was added to the line of succession. Her only husband was Malik’s father, who was killed by your side.”

“Far better than my father.” Rian scoffed. “They had to have some sort of noble blood in them in order to be granted the honour of joining him in his bed. And yet some nights I walk by his chambers and I swear that most of his company no longer bear the correct parts for bearing a child. Once a month, there’s talk of a male slipping out of his room.”

“Kings can do whatever they like.” She quickly corrected herself. “ Who ever they like.”

Rian smirked. “Indeed it would appear so. I have no issue with him bedding another man, but he’s never struck me as the sort. I wonder if he’s the one that does the riding, or if he’s the one that’s being ridden.”

Not that it was a topic that she particularly wanted to voice any sort of opinion on, but her sarcastic wit and sassy nature took over before she could bite her tongue and keep out of it. “I can’t imagine he’d let any one ride him. He doesn’t seem the sort to give up control, even in bed. I know it might be a lifestyle for some in roles of power to want to feel powerless for once, but not him. He likes it all too much to give it up, even for a night.”

Rian considered her thoughts and agreed. “Nor do I. I think it would take quite a bit for my father to ever give up his power, and I highly doubt it would ever come willingly.”

Vrea felt the flutter of her lashes against her cheek as tiredness seeped into her. She tucked her arm under her and propped her head over it, curling her knees into her chest. The heat licked her weary bones, comforted that chill that occasionally still bit into her as she watched the fire dance in the wind.

She thought about the King, about his death- often, and by her own hands most of the time, but for a brief second she pictured what it would be like to hand that task over to someone far more deserving of it. Vrea supposed if anyone should have the opportunity to kill the vain bastard, then it should be one of the children that hated him most. Far more personal, far more reason to allow someone with his own blood to do it than one of hers.

A different way to prove that he belonged on the bloodstained throne of Carylim.

“Maybe when you kill him.” She uttered.

“No,” He didn’t hesitate to say. The determination in his statement struck her as odd. “I won’t be the one to kill him.”

“You won’t?” Confusion cut through her like a sword to her side in the middle of battle as she peered towards him, finding it difficult to make out his handsome features in the dark.

Rian shook his head. “I’ve already promised Castil that he could be the one to end the King of Carylim.”