Page 24 of Of Blood & Bone: The Young Queen

I take a drink of my ale and remain silent, as I fear the more I talk about what happened to Aaran and Barra the higher the chance I may accidentally reveal the truth.

“However, from what I've seen of your Khaleeni today, they're more than capable of violence.”

It’s at this point I can hold my silence no longer. Withholding the truth to spare him additional upset is one thing, but him suggesting the Khaleeni are capable of the same level of sadistic cruelty as that of his brother is a whole other matter entirely.

“It’s true, the Khaleeni are highly skilled warriors, capable of injuring and killing in a myriad of ways. However, they do not indulge in unnecessary violence and most definitely not in inhumane torture.”

“Be that as it may,” he responds, his voice like dark silk, “they killed Greythorne’s man today without hesitation.”

“Greythorne’s man was killed because if he had blown his horn he would have alerted a number of patrols to our presence and we would be sitting somewhere quite different right now. If they had seen a chance to stop him without killing him they would have taken it. Plus, Greythorne’s men aren’t exactly known as the most honourable soldiers throughout the realms, and if their shoot-first-ask-questions-later approach comes back on them to get one of their own shot in the neck, then so be it. I’m sure you’re as aware as I am, Greythorne recruits many of his men straight from the gaol’s gate.”

I take a large swig of ale to cool my anger and am surprised when I look back at him to find him grinning at me.

“You have quite a fire burning in your belly, Queen,” he says as he breaks off a chunk of cheese and pops it into his mouth. “I'm not too familiar with Ardvallan women, but I'm starting to think sharing a bed chamber with you might be fun.”

I'm so shocked at his reference to sharing my bedchamber that the ale goes the wrong way down my throat and I end up spluttering it out of my mouth.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask, a distinct undertone of outrage and embarrassment in my voice.

He pats me gently on the back. “There, there, Queen, there's no need to be so shocked by my reference to your bedchamber. That is where you want me after all, isn't it?”

His forthright approach to discussing what is to happen between us has taken me completely by surprise and I'm finding it difficult to formulate words.

“Erm… ah… I think…perhaps...” I stutter as he continues to stare at me with a distinct twinkle of laughter in his eyes. There's no doubt he's very much enjoying my discomfort.

“I feel it's important to point out, Prince Ronan, that we will only be sharing a bed chamber in the event your seed proves good. Until then, I feel it would not be proper to speak of such things.”

He lets out a hearty guffaw. “Proper? Proper!” he exclaims. “You speak of being proper, but my dear Queen, there is nothing proper about our situation. Admittedly, I'm unfamiliar with Ardvallan courting rituals, but I'm pretty sure abduction and restraint are not the norm and most certainly are not deemed proper. I think we left “proper” behind a few nights ago and I'm certain we can dispense with the regular observances of courtship.”

My cheeks are aflame with embarrassment and I look away from his mocking gaze, which only serves to make them burn even more.

“Or do you have other means of conceiving children in Ardvalla that I am unaware of?” he asks.

“No, we conceive children in much the same way you do in Ellerban, except we do not indulge in multi-partner arrangements.” Even I feel like wincing at the judgemental tone laced through my words.

“Ooooh, judgy, judgy there, Queen,” he comments. “I say don’t knock something until you’ve tried it.” He moves closer to me and whispers seductively into my ear, “You might find you quite enjoy it.” His voice is a dangerous mix of silk and sin and causes a strange stirring of something I can only think is desire low in my belly.

He doesn’t move and the added touch of his breath upon the delicate skin of my neck causes the feeling of desire to scatter like hot embers across my abdomen and move lower, where it settles into a light throb between my legs. I squirm in discomfort and move away from him in an effort to get control back over my body.

“Oh, Queen, you are an interesting prospect,” he laughs as he drains the rest of his ale.

“I think I should turn in for the night,” I announce. “We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow to make Valensia by nightfall.” I pull my cloak around me and turn my back to him as I arrange my travelling bag as my pillow.

“You are without a blanket,” he observes.

“Yes, I asked that it be used for your men’s comfort. The heat from the fire is sufficient for me tonight.”

Seconds later I feel the weight of a blanket being laid upon me. “You shall have mine,” he says in a quiet voice.

I immediately shake the blanket off and turn around and offer it back to him. “No. I can’t take it. You have no cloak to cover you and the night is cool. Thank you, but I must respectfully decline your kind offer.”

A look of mild annoyance flitters across his handsome face. “Respectfully, Queen, I must insist you accept the offer of my blanket, as what kind of man would I be if I allowed a maiden to go cold on account of the needs of my men, not to mention what kind of leader would allow such a thing? I am humbled by the efforts you and your Khaleeni have gone to in order to bring my men some small comfort this night, but I cannot watch you shiver as I warm myself under this Ardvallan wool.”

What kind of leader would he be? What kind of leader would I be if I asked members of the Khaleeni to go without their blankets while I warm myself with another’s?

“With the greatest of respect, Prince, firstly, I am a queen, not an ordinary maiden, and secondly, what kind of leader would I be to ask my warriors to go without while I fend off the chill of the night with your blanket? And thirdly, I have my cloak at least, but you have nothing else to cover you and that was an oversight on my part for which you should not have to pay the price.” I take the blanket and throw it at his feet. He grabs it up from the ground and his frustration is evident from the white of his knuckles and the hard set of his jaw.

He looks around the camp. Most of the Khaleeni are settling down to sleep and those with blankets are sharing with those who have none. He turns to me. “Then we will share it,” he announces emphatically.

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