The Hijacked Bride

CHAPTER 9

           
CHAPTER 9

FOUR DAYS. SHE had been gone for four days. And here Alastar sat, dining with his parents and Ciara and her father.

Why wasn't he dead? Why was he still living the way he always had, as if everything was normal? He pushed the slice of roast lamb around on his plate instead of eating it, and then lifted his head up to look across the table. Warm hazel eyes met his. Ciara. She'd been by his side ever since that morning when he'd poured out his heart to her as they sat by Monika's grave.

He hoped that she knew he felt nothing for her. He realized that she was no mastermind attempting to force her way into a marriage with him, but he had begun to suspect that she might harbour some uncalled-for feelings for him.

Ciara and her father had only been at the Ceol palace for three days, and that wasn't long enough for a girl to make up her mind about a man. Al played with his food again as he thought. He'd have to tell her, outright, he decided. After dinner.

"Alastar," Queen Padraigin chided. "Eat, my son. You must keep up your strength."

Al flashed his eyes at his mother. "I am not hungry. May I be excused to my chambers?"

Padraigin frowned, but looked to her husband to sort the matter.

"Very well," King Odran said. "You may be excused."

Hastily, Al rose and exited the room. He made his way up the marble palace stairs and then closed the door behind him once he'd entered his own room. He'd felt as if he were suffocating in the dining room. No one spoke of Monika anymore, not since they'd put the gravestone up. It was as if everyone was all too happy to let her become a thing of the past.

But Al was not.

There was a knock at the door just as he had sat down and dropped his head in his hands. "Come in," he mumbled.

There was another knock. Whoever it was had not heard him. Heaving a sigh, Al rose and walked to the grand double doors that served as the entryway to his bedchamber. He opened them and stood back. Before him stood the small and elaborately dressed form of Princess Ciara. She wore an emerald dress that matched the green flecks in her brown eyes and complimented her skin tone.

"Please, come in," Al said, half-heartedly, glancing right and left at the guards who stood on either side of the doors, staring straight ahead, as was required of them. They were not meant to involve themselves in his business. "I was just about to get some fresh air out on the balcony. You're welcome to join me."

"Thank you," Ciara said, meekly.

They made their way to the other end of the room that led out onto a tiled balcony. It overlooked the extravagant and colourful palace gardens. The breeze carried a sweet smell with it, one that told of rain to come, and the dark sky stretched out above them was sprinkled with stars.

"My father says I am going to marry you," Ciara spoke, startling Al out of his thoughts.

"What?" he blurted. He'd thought she had come to comfort him again, and he most certainly hadn't thought her capable of being this direct.

"We're meant to marry. At least, my father says so. He says that now your fiancé is...no longer here, there is room for me in your heart and home." She looked sideways at him shyly, a blond strand of hair escaping the up do on her head and brushing her cheek.

Al stared straight ahead, the gentle wind ruffling his own hair. "Ciara, I haven't known you all that long."

She was silent for a moment, and then she turned to face him. "Al," she murmured, as she tucked the loose strand behind her ear. "You misunderstand me. Our marriage is what my father desires. Not what I desire. I left someone I care for very deeply back at home, in Angeal."