A Husband for Deva

Not Alone

The bells for the third hour – and the midday meal – pealed over the Fortress.

Deva hovered near the wide entryway to the Great Hall, drawing back from the bustle of diners entering and finding seats. She wouldn't have to find a place, of course; her position at the head table was assured, as it had been since she'd graduated from the schoolroom and been permitted to eat in adult company. But...

Too many people. Too much noise. She backed away, edging toward the stairs. Ashlen and Hal hadn't been in the Hall, that she'd seen, and nor had Brialach or his brothers. Likely they were dining in private, carrying on with the exuberant chatter and teasing they'd been enjoying all morning. She'd be welcome to join them, Deva knew.

She couldn't make sense of her reluctance.

At the top of the stairs, she paused. The Crown Prince's apartment was only paces away down the first corridor, and Ashlen's laugh echoed over the rumble of male voices. A longing to see Brialach came over Deva, as a lost wanderer might crave fire. There would be food, too. All she had to do was knock and enter. They would all smile at her.

She turned instead toward the second corridor, and the grand new apartment she'd only occupied for one night. At least it will be quiet.

But it was not empty.

Some little noise – of breathing, or a small movement – told Deva she was not alone. And as she cast a startled glance around the sitting room, and then through into the bedchamber, she saw him.

Brialach sat on the bed, slumped in devastation. He raised his head at the scrape of her footsteps, and his face was pale as hoarfrost.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, wanting to run to him, but hesitating in uncertainty, wondering for a brief moment if she was the cause of his distress. Could he not bear being wed to her, after all? Still a stranger, despite everything.

"They locked you away," he said.

"Oh. Well, I was in my old rooms. It wasn't a dungeon or anything."

"They locked you away." He stood, and she could see that his whole body shook with tension. "As though you were ay darchadhe."

Was it guilt or shame he felt, for being the cause of it? She closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his arm for comfort. His eyes met hers, blazing. And she understood with astonishment that he was angry.

"I have been sitting here for some time," he told her, his voice so low she could hardly make out the words, "because I cannot trust myself to be near anyone. I yearn to find my sword and put the fear of morheidhi  into those who treated you so."

She stroked his arm. "It... it doesn't matter."

"To me, it does." He spoke with such intensity that the bandhi  in his hair flared up, glowing with barely-contained magic.

"Why?" Deva whispered.

Brialach shrugged. "Miya nith branót. It matters. You matter." He raised a hand and traced her lower lip with one finger. A ghost of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth at the inarticulate needful sound his caress drew from her.

And then his hands locked onto her shoulders and he slanted his mouth over hers.

He was a little rougher, less controlled than she'd ever known him to be – yet somehow, at the same time, more tender and ardent than she'd thought possible.

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The knock on the door didn't register through Deva's haze of satiated contentment. Beside her, Brialach slept. Inside her, the baby kicked, an assurance that all was well. When the knock came again, more forcefully, she heard it only as an irrelevant noise, unrelated to her bubble of optimism and joy.

Twin expressions of apology and dismay got her attention. "We did  knock," murmured one unfamiliar voice, while the other explained that there'd been no answer and they'd thought the rooms empty at this hour.

Deva sat up, pulling her crumpled smock over her head and doing up its ties.

The pair were completely unknown to her; a pretty and curvaceous young woman wearing the cap of a married woman, and a brawny man with a homely but pleasant face. "Who are you?" she asked, even as suspicion welled up in her.

"I'm Bekra, and I'm to be your lady-in-waiting, if that meets with your approval, Princess Deva. My husband Jaiad," the woman nodded at the man standing next to her, "will serve Prince Brialach." They were both smiling, unaware that anything could be wrong other than a mildly awkward intrusion on a private moment.

"What time is it?" Deva asked, and Bekra's face fell, thinking perhaps that she would be disciplined for entering without permission.

"Not long after the sixth hour, Your Highness," Jaiad said.

You may sit with me as I interview them. Come back just before the seventh hour.

"You were selected by the Queen?" Deva asked, to be certain.

Bekra nodded. "She said you needed a married couple to attend you. I do hope you'll find us suitable. My family is from Kumiavik but Jaiad's people have belonged to the Fortress for generations." She smiled hopefully, patently eager to please. "I would so love to be lady-in-waiting to a princess. And I adore babies..."

"Well," said Deva slowly, "I don't see why we wouldn't suit each other." I can't crush this nice girl's dreams just to stand on a matter of principle. And the Queen had probably counted on that.

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♥ So... what do you think of Brialach's reaction to finding out Deva was locked up until he arrived? Do you like Bekra and Jaiad? And how about the Queen going back on her promise?

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