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Chapter 10 ~ The Two Princesses

Rígan

Lou and Maya beamed when I told them my decision to stay and work for Dàibhid after we’d finished helping the Leancormacs. They’d agreed that once Dàibhid informed our lieutenant commander about our permanent leave—which he did the next morning—Lou and I should collect our belongings from our home. Old home.

With the quilt from Bryn tucked under my arm, our stuff in the cart outside, I took in one last lungful of the house. The permanent smell of spices that Lou experimented with. The new timber flooring we’d just installed. The indistinct, unique smell of us . My family.

“I know,” Lou said, pecking my forehead. He couldn’t.

Now, the quilt at the foot of my new bed and my clothing in the generous wardrobe, I let my mind wander. Unprompted, I smiled over the memory of Dàibhid with Saoirse and the other Leancormacs. Wondering if young Dàibhid would be as proud of himself as I was.

I bit my tongue to ground myself. Those thoughts would only prompt a desire to seek out his friendship, and that was definitely a risk I could not take. I scowled in the general direction of the hall as though he could feel it.

What had I gotten myself into.

My uncertainty over our new accommodations didn’t dissipate much over the course of the week. We were still waiting for Brí and her soldier to arrive, so there wasn’t much to do other than explore and talk and read until they got there. Not a horrible existence, but when exploring could result in bumping into Dàibhid, and when sticking to the castle meant not helping people, the experience grew tedious.

He dined with us and showed us around a couple of times when he could get away long enough for it. It was a lot of forced smiles on my part, a lot of easy postures wrapped around tension like bedcurtains concealing rigid posts. But his passion for his people, his dedication to the job, was palpable, and made me want to listen to every word he said. He wanted peace, desperately, but not so desperately that it was off-putting. Only inspiring. He was thoughtful, smart, determined. How anyone could believe he wasn’t fit for the job was beyond me.

And when he’d talk with us, it was laid-back. Like, despite the stress of why we were hired in the first place, he wanted us to be comfortable around him. Some of my smiles stopped being so forced.

But then he’d say something kind to me while I was at ease, and his eyes would linger, and that ease would melt away like spring snow, revealing the hard, cold ground beneath. I couldn’t let him get to me.

It was infuriating how easy it was to like him.

It was at breakfast the day before our reinforcements were set to arrive, the three of us huddled around the dining table in our apartments with fresh fruit and tea, that Maya finally said something.

“You’re on edge.” She kept her attention on her plate, but the words were directed at me. Lou looked up from their effort to butter their bread, crumbs slowing the process.

“What makes you say that?” I speared a strawberry onto my fork. Its tartness was lost on me.

“I doubt anyone here would notice. You’re good at acting with others. But I know the signs. Your jaw is doing that ticking thing it does when you’re frustrated. Something’s up.”

Lou’s attention flicked between us, uncertain if they wanted to contribute.

I chuckled. “Are you insulting my acting skills?”

“Rígan.”

The look she gave me quieted my next remark. Her knowing expression was so much like one Bryn would give that I couldn’t keep up the lie, not in good conscience.

Though I certainly wasn’t going to tell her everything.

“I guess I’m still adjusting to all of this. Being around the king all the time, living here. I never expected this would be my life.”

Lou gave up their buttering endeavor and ripped a chunk of bread off. “That’s understandable. But you deserve this. The king sees that, and living here will become normal, I’m sure. Seeing him will become normal. It’s an adjustment, but changes we choose are often worth it.” Lou would say that; they loved change. “And it’s not like you’ll mess anything up, if you’re worried about that. King Dàibhid doesn’t seem to care when you speak your mind. Shit, I’ve seen him happy when you do. I doubt there would be anything you could say to insult him.”

I smiled like that helped more than it did. This wasn’t about not feeling I deserved this, and Lou didn’t know exactly what I was worried about messing up. But the effort was appreciated.

“And it’s not like you’re going to start swearing like a sailor or dancing drunkenly in front of him,” Maya said.

“Don’t be so sure about that. There are many ways I could scandalize him.” I popped another strawberry into my mouth, but the flavor was just as dull. I was teasing her, but the truth was, some part of me still longed to have Dàibhid as a friend and probably always would. The last week had proven that. And that part of me wanted to swear like a sailor and get drunk in front of him. To have him feel comfortable enough to do the same with me.

But no. Our old friendship needed to stay dead, no matter how many times I stubbornly wished otherwise. My life was more important.

“Sometimes I feel like living in our own house would be simpler,” I said.

Lou flicked a crumb at me. It bounced off my forehead onto the table, where I instantly recovered it and flung it back at them. They caught it midair. “Since when does Morrígan Feighlí want to do anything the simple way?”

“Besides, this is the simple way,” Maya said. “Less travel, no couriers to bring us letters, less chance of intercepting said letters, right down the hall from where we’ll likely keep meeting the king, which lets us sleep in—”

“Alright, point taken.” I tried to stab a blueberry, harder in my frustration than I would normally, and failed spectacularly. The damn thing flung itself three feet down the table. “I just . . .”

Maya put a hand on my arm. “Just what?”

“I don’t want to lose any freedom.” They wouldn’t know what I meant, but it still felt good to say.

“I can appreciate that. But would we really lose any? We had jobs for the city guard, too. Maybe not as long or as dangerous”—her mouth quirked to the side the way it did before she made a winning point—“but also not as impactful. The day you found me and Lou, we asked you what sort of sellsword you wanted to be. Do you remember what you said?”

I did.

Maya beat me to it. “You said you wanted to be one who made a difference. And not just any difference, but the kind that impacted thousands. You admitted it was unrealistic, but you didn’t care. And now it’s not so unrealistic. I get it’s different, but being here makes it easier for us to help those people.”

I closed my eyes, unable to look at either of them as they kept seeing me, in the way they always could. “I know.”

“And you still want to help on that grand scale, right?” Lou said. I nodded. “So do you think you can get past this discomfort? For them?”

I hope so . “I’ll do what I can.”

“I know you will,” Lou reassured me.

Another crumb pelted my face. I snapped my eyes open to find Lou’s fingers still in the flicking position.

Maya was smirking, complicit. “Good. You better.”

“Uncalled for!” I flung a blueberry at Lou. Just like that, we were all in a fit of giggles, only stopping when Maya clutched her side and begged us to stop.

“It’s still tender,” she said. Her lips pressed into a thin line. I could poke her and have her in another fit of laughter, but I wasn’t that mean.

“This breakfast sounds fun.”

I whipped around. Dàibhid stood in the entryway to the apartments.

Maya and Lou let me be the one to invite him in. Not wanting to make things awkward, I did.

He took the seat across from me. “We just got word that Brí and her sellsword will arrive midday tomorrow. A soldier from the Stone Fortress arrived ahead to inform us.”

My pulse slipped a beat, and a growing worry gnawed at me. Though we were the same age, Brí had been shier than me and had stuck close to her parents every Forest Ball. She hadn’t even met any of my sisters except for Willa, my father’s heir. Not even Bryn, who could make pleasant acquaintance with anyone. I’d seen Brí close up for all of thirty seconds at the last Forest Ball she and Dàibhid had attended. Dàibhid and I had always hogged each other’s time, never letting anyone else join in on our fun. Not that anyone asked to. We’d snuck away when we weren’t dancing.

There was nothing to worry about from Brí. She didn’t know me, and if Dàibhid hadn’t caught on, there was no way she would, either. I leaned back, opening my stance to cover the unease.

“Sellsword?” I asked. “Not soldier?”

“This is who Brí trusts the most right now,” Dàibhid said. “I won’t question it. And a sellsword is easier to ferry around than a soldier.”

“Will we meet them here?” Lou asked.

“At Bailanín, yes,” Dàibhid said. “But we’ll meet in the war room first. I trust my sister, but I’d rather not bring her companion into the apartments until I’ve met her at least once.”

“Nice to know the king doesn’t let just anyone into his chambers,” I said. Maya ducked her head to hide her smirk, and Lou coughed.

I was still determined to keep things less personal between Dàibhid and me, but I hadn’t come to another country to hide my personality. Besides, I’d promised my friends I’d try to get comfortable.

Dàibhid offered me one of his small amused smiles. One that he liked to give when I said something that should have toed or even crossed a line with any other royal. Like he appreciated me treating him as a man and not a crown.

Like I had treated him when we were children.

I shifted in my seat to dispel the discomfort.

“I have some standards, you know,” he retorted. I reined in a snicker. “They’ll arrive at the end of tomorrow’s petitions. I’ll greet my sister in the throne room, since people will learn of her presence soon enough, while áine—the woman she’s chosen—waits in the wings.”

My brows furrowed. “What if people start noticing that you’re sending the princess away all the time? Isn’t having her presence known a little counterproductive?”

“I’d considered that. But we haven’t provided much of a show of strength against the Exiles. And given how they think, we should. I still don’t want to move the army, but bringing our princess, who is also a commander, through the hall might send a message that I’m willing to have strong fighters by my side. At the very least, it should inspire hope that the people’s princess is prepared to protect them and lend her support in these times.”

I nodded. It was a smart diplomatic move.

“Can we attend, Your Majesty?” Lou asked.

“If you wish to be there. I’d ask that you stick to the shadows though, with the extra guards I’ll be posting, so as to not draw attention.”

Extra guards meant extra shoulders, and when I found myself next to them at petitions the next day, I had to squeeze between a couple to see the room properly past them and the pillar by me. I’d snuck off from Lou and Maya, wanting to see Brí without their commentary. There may have been little chance of her recognizing me, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have a reaction on seeing her.

The throne room was large, though not imposing, much like the rest of Bailanín. Banners hung from every wall and the handful of pillars lining the inner side of the room, and an intricate carving of Danna watched over the throne itself. The narrow carpet leading from the hall to the dais was green with threaded gold, matching the banners and brightening up the space. Tall windows spanned the wall opposite me, following the rug. Three short steps separated Dàibhid from his people, the throne carved in a similar style as the depiction behind it. The room was full of people waiting to speak, others simply watching like me. Soft murmurs rose, but otherwise, the space was hushed as Dàibhid worked, leaning forward to get rid of some of the distance between him and the current petitioner.

He dictated solutions and promised aid with a confidence born from practice and his need to help. His crown, a thick, dark iron circlet studded with four equidistant emeralds, engravings of intricate knots weaving between them, caught the light when he’d tilt his head, listening with the same intensity to everyone who approached. I’d known Dàibhid was good at his job—he’d have to be for the loyalty he’d acquired and the praises I’d heard over the last two and a half years—but seeing him working petitions, conversing with his subjects and putting them at ease, was mesmerizing.

But then someone would bring up the Exiles, and he’d pause. I doubted it was entirely in thought. And then he’d make promises that felt like over-deliveries. Things he couldn’t guarantee. Was it confidence driving those words, or guilt?

I’d have bet guilt.

About a half hour out from the last petitioner, I decided to stretch my legs and go for a walk. Given the general population couldn’t be in the castle halls, I only passed a few staff. Apparently, before the Exiles, it was common for nobles and people of note to visit Bailanín. Now they were hesitant to travel to the capital if they didn’t have to. The only exceptions were the council members, who already lived in Ardanna, and they only came to Bailanín when there were meetings.

Despite the tense change, the staff had grown used to our presence, and offered me polite nods as I passed.

I got a few raised eyebrows with the nods, but all that did was make me stand taller. I wore a dress for the first time in a while, having worn some form of trousers for so long that my body had begun craving the loose flow of a gown. The dress clung to my chest and stomach, naturally accentuating my waist, before it tapered out to flow around my legs, the light-gray fabric silver in the sunlight. Delicate fabric encircled my upper arms before giving way to translucent cape sleeves that trailed to the floor. It all fluttered against my skin as I walked. It wasn’t the most elaborate gown I’d ever worn; I’d left those in Fenwald. But I still commanded it like it was.

I half wondered what Dàibhid would think when he saw me in it. If he would drink me in. If he’d stammer over forgotten words while his cheeks turned adorably red.

I stopped, alone in the hallway, and huffed so hard my throat protested.

But my chest turned comfortably, traitorously warm.

Eventually, my feet led me out to a private garden so big you couldn’t see the back wall, likely just as high-bricked as those I could see. It had been tended by Dàibhid’s mother, and his grandfather before her. Whether they’d groomed it neatly was unclear, as it was currently half-wild. Still, the lack of weeds in the walkways and the thriving flowers proved it was cared for by someone. I had no idea if Dàibhid gardened, but the image of him caring for it still made me brighten, just a bit.

I wandered the weaving paths between flowers and trees, enjoying the summer breeze sweeping through my unbound hair, carrying with it the scents of roses, daffodils, and irises. A few red waves flicked in front of my face, obscuring my vision and tickling my nose. When I pulled them away and rounded the corner, I darted behind a tree, bark scraping my palms.

Two people sat on a bench beside a small pond, one with tightly braided honey blond hair. Her green eyes were noticeably lighter than Dàibhid’s, her frame a bit slighter, but her facial structure was all too similar to his. Her smile was easy, but there was a tightness to her countenance that the occasion warranted. The hilt of a sword peeked over her shoulder, and her formal military attire marked her as a commander. Princess Bríghid. Which must have meant the willowy figure next to her, straight black hair falling to her waist, was the fifth member of our team, áine. Dàibhid had told us the little about her that the soldier had shared. Which included her name, her pronouns, and her status as a sellsword. Beyond that, nothing.

áine’s features were sharp, dark eyes set in a fair, cool-toned face. Daggers were strapped to her waist and thighs, and she was dressed in head-to-toe leather. Definitely not the uniform of the army. Where had Brí found her?

I was about to turn back, give them whatever private moment they were having, but another voice stopped me. A royal guard appeared in my line of vision, drawing all our attention. I willed the birds to quiet and the breeze to die so I could hear his words. By the way the women’s attention shifted to his left, I assumed he was introducing someone. The sounds of the garden finally hushed enough for me to catch the word sister .

“Your Highness,” a feminine voice said. Everything halted.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brí said. “What brings you from Glaochnamara?”

I stopped breathing. There was no way . . . But that voice . . .

It was achingly familiar.

“My sister lives in Ardanna. I was asking for her at one of the city guard stations, and was told she’d been relocated. One of your royal guards overheard and told me the king might be of assistance? Thomas was his name.”

“Thomas would know. Why don’t you accompany us to the throne room? We can help you find her once our affairs are taken care of.”

“Thank you, Princess, that would be most helpful.”

The guard took his leave. His retreat revealed the third woman, and my heart thundered like a herd of wild horses.

Her bright blond hair was half-up, half-down, her long, loose ringlets bouncing as she spoke. The light-blue dress flattered her thick, round body beautifully, and her eyes, a shade darker than the dress, shone bright. My hands flew to my neck, and I blinked a few too many times, both out of disbelief and to clear the tears that threatened to spill.

Bryn was here.