The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(11)

Giving Jor a meaningful look, Aren waited until his honor guard made themselves scarce before saying to his sister in a low voice, “I won’t make you marry the prince, if you don’t wish to. I’ll compensate them some other way. Harendell is more pragmatic than Maridrina; they can be bought.” Because it was one thing for Aren to take a girl he hadn’t chosen and never met as a bride for the sake of peace. Quite another to give his sister to a foreign kingdom, where she’d be alone in a strange place to be used however they willed.

“Don’t be an idiot, Aren. You know I’ll put the good of our kingdom first,” Ahnna muttered, but she leaned against his left shoulder, where she’d stood with him and fought for him all of their lives. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

That was because he didn’t know what he was going to do with Lara.

“We can’t let our guard down,” Ahnna said. “Silas might have promised peace, but don’t for a second believe he intends to honor that for the sake of her. The bastard would probably sacrifice a dozen daughters if it saw us lowering our defenses.”

“I’m aware.”

“She might be beautiful,” his sister continued, “but never believe for a heartbeat that isn’t by design. She’s the daughter of our enemy. He wants you to be distracted by her. She’s probably been instructed to seduce you, to find out what she can about Ithicana’s secrets on the hope she’ll be able to pass them back to her father. We don’t need him holding that kind of bargaining chip.”

“How, exactly, would she manage that? It isn’t as though we’ll be sending her home for visits. She’ll have no contact with anyone outside of Ithicana. He has to know that.”

“Better to be safe. Better that she be kept in the dark.”

“So I should keep her locked up in our parents’ home on this empty island for the rest of her days?” Aren stared at the glowing embers of the fire. A gust of wind drove rain into the hole in the roof above, the droplets hissing as they struck the charred wood. “And if”—he swallowed hard, knowing he had obligations to his kingdom—“when we have a child, should I keep him or her locked up here as well?”

“I never said it would be easy.” His sister took his hand, twisting it upright to regard the cut across his palm, bleeding where he’d picked at the scab. “But our duty is to protect our people. To keep Eranahl a secret. To keep it safe.”

“I know.” But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel an obligation to his new bride. Whom he’d brought through the dark stretches of the bridge, knowing that when she woke, it would be in a place entirely different than any she’d known. Not the life she’d chosen, but one that had been forced upon her.

“You should go up to the house,” Ahnna said. “The sedative will wear off soon enough.”

“You go.” Aren lay back down on the bench, listening to the thunder rolling over the island, the storm nearly passed, though it would soon be replaced by another. “She’s been through enough without waking up in a room with a strange man.”

Ahnna looked for a moment like she might argue, then nodded. “I’ll send word when she wakes.” Rising, she left the barracks on silent feet, leaving him alone.

You’re a coward, he thought to himself. Because it had only been an excuse to avoid seeing the girl. His mother had believed that this princess was the key to achieving greatness for Ithicana, but Aren wasn’t convinced.

Ithicana needed a queen who was a warrior. A woman who’d fight to the death for her people. A woman who was cunning and ruthless, not because she wanted to be, but because her country needed her to be. A woman who’d challenge him every day for the rest of his life. A woman Ithicana would respect.

And there was one thing he was certain: Lara Veliant was not that woman.





6





Lara





Lara woke with a start, her head aching and her mouth tasting sour.

Without moving, she opened her eyes, taking in what she could of the bedroom. She spotted an open window, through which poured a humid breeze filled with the scents of flowers and lush greenery she possessed no names for, having spent her life surrounded by sand. The view was of a verdant garden, the light flat and silvery, as though it were filtered through thick clouds. The only sound was the faint pitter-patter of rain.

And that of a female humming.

She relaxed the hand that had instantly balled into a fist, primed to attack, and slowly turned her head.

An extraordinarily striking woman, perhaps five years older than Lara, with long, curling dark hair, stood in the center of the room wearing one of Lara’s dresses. One of Marylyn’s dresses, she realized with a pang.

Seeing the way she’d cocked her head, Lara knew the other woman had heard her move, but she carried on as though she had not, swishing the too-short silken skirts from side to side, continuing with her humming.

Lara said nothing, taking in the carved fruitwood furniture that was polished to a shine and vases of brilliant flowers sat on nearly every flat surface. The floors were made of tiny pieces of wood laid out in elaborate designs; the walls were plastered white and decorated with vibrant artwork. A door led to what appeared to be a bathing chamber and another, shut, which she assumed led to a hallway beyond. Satisfied that she had the lay of her surroundings, Lara asked, “Where am I?”