The Heart of a Wielder (Book One of The Wielders Trilogy) ✔️

Chapter Nine

Maren was sitting in her favorite spot in the garden.  It was reasonably secluded as it was a good way into the gardens, but still visible from the main stretch of lawn. She was pretending to read a book, but was actually meditating. Maren liked meditating in the gardens because it added just the right amount of distraction to make it more challenging. She pretended to be reading because it was far more socially acceptable than sitting alone and staring blankly in the distance.

But, because she was actually staring blankly in the distance, she did not notice Prince Donovan had arrived until he said her name.

She looked up at him and was suddenly unsure how he wanted her to greet him when others were likely watching. They were supposed to appear to have been lovers for almost two months, and a curtsy would be entirely too formal for that. But any other greeting would be uncomfortably familiar for her. 

He seemed to sense her dilemma and offered his hand out to her. She decided that was acceptable and put her hand in his. He kissed it and said, "My lady."

"Your Highness," she said.

"You have found quite a pleasant spot in the gardens," he observed.

"I have been enjoying it," she said.

He looked somewhat uncomfortable for a moment and then asked, "Would you come with me? I'd like to have a word with you."

"In private," he added as she glanced at the bench beside her.

"Ah...yes, that would be fine," she said, feeling rather uncertain. Their last exchange over breakfast had ended civilly enough, but she had no idea what he wanted from her now. She very much hoped she had put the whole "almond incident" to bed.

He offered his arm, and they walked into the palace, nodding and smiling and greeting courtiers as they went. Once they were inside his apartment, she moved as though to sit in the receiving room—it was neutral territory, after all – but he stopped her.

"Would you come to my sitting room, please?" he asked.

Maren looked at him in surprise, he had never asked her to his private quarters.

"I do not want any servants to overhear us," he said by way of explanation.

Maren kept looking at him, she was not thrilled at the idea of going into his sitting room, but as he had sworn her an oath, she really couldn't object without being monstrously offensive.

She nodded and followed him into his quarters. His sitting room was similar to hers, although a good bit larger. It had the quality of a room that was lived in, versus hers that had the impersonality and sterility of guest quarters. It was decorated richly but not garishly, with comfortable-looking leather furniture and polished wooden tables holding lamps. The effect was rather pleasant.

"Sit wherever you like," he told her.

She chose a place on a sofa that was situated between two armchairs. It was indeed comfortable.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, going over to what must've been a bar.

"Do I need one?" she asked. She rarely drank alcohol apart from wine with dinner, but she had a feeling a drink now would be medicinal.

The Prince laughed wryly and said, "Probably."

That sounded rather ominous to Maren. A thousand terrible possibilities of what he might be about to tell her popped into her head. She pointedly decided to ignore them.

He handed her a glass half-full of a dark, reddish-brown liquid.

"Brandy," he told her.

She took a sip; it was excellent brandy.