Page 22 of Blood Weaver
His answer caught me off guard and I frowned. “Your soulmate? You look awfully young. Correct me if I’m wrong, butshe’s been gone ten years, which means you were just children when she disappeared.”
He nodded. “Yes, we were. Eleven, to be precise. But I know what I know, and Lyanna was …”
He paused and my hands trembled with nerves. To calm down, I reached for my cup again and took a restorative drink of tea. The warmth soothed my throat and distracted me from the conversation.
“Lyanna promised me,” he continued. “She promised to marry me.”
I choked on my tea and nearly spit it out. “What?”
He fixed me with a curious stare and handed me a handkerchief. “Here.”
I took a moment to wipe my mouth and think of what to say. “She promised to marry you? I apologize for my frankness, Your Highness, but you can’t be serious. The promise of a child is meaningless.”
“Maybe to you, but not to me.” His voice was soft and sounded far away. “It’s why I can’t let her marry Ronan. He’ll ruin her.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m sure she won’t marry him,” I said. “No one with an ounce of common sense would marry into the Crimson Clan.”
Caelan shook his head. “You don’t know Lyanna. She’s … delicate. She avoids confrontation at all costs. She won’t be able to defend herself, especially if they’re holding her captive.”
I barely restrained an eyeroll of epic proportions. Sure, I was a bit fragile when I was a child, but I wouldn’t necessarily claim to behelpless. Except Caelan didn’t know that. He didn’t know what I’d endured the last ten years. He was in love with the idea of the princess he once knew. Unfortunately, that wasn’t who I was anymore.
Caelan's earnestness was touching, but at the same time, it was a stark reminder of how much had changed. I stared down at my cup. The steam rose in delicate swirls, mimicking my turbulent thoughts.
“Perhaps the Lyanna you knew was delicate,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “But ten years can change a person. Shape them in ways you can't possibly imagine.”
His eyes met mine, searching for something. “I just want her to be safe. And happy.”
“Everyone deserves happiness,” I replied softly. I hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. “But sometimes, happiness doesn’t come from where or whom we expect.”
A thoughtful look passed over his face and he took another sip of his tea. The Tea House had steadily filled with more patrons, and the murmurs of their conversations blended into a comforting background hum.
“Whether or not you find her, it's important to remember that she might not be the same person you remember. She might have her own path to follow.”
Caelan nodded slowly. “I understand that. I just wish she was here so I could tell her how much she means to me.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Perhaps she knows,” I whispered. “Maybe she never forgot you.”
A faraway look settled in his eyes. “I hope so. I just ... I want to be there for her, protect her. I can't stand the thought of her being with someone like Ronan.” His upper lip curled in disgust.
“And what makes you think she can't protect herself?” I retorted, unable to curtail the touch of defensiveness that crept into my voice. “Like I said, people change. Maybe she learned to be strong. To defend herself and those she cares about. She is a blood mage, after all.”
Caelan seemed taken aback by my sudden intensity. “I didn't mean to imply she's weak,” he said gently. “I just care about her. A lot.”
Just then, a server stopped by to refill our teapot. The atmosphere had gone from teasing to tense, and we were both lost in our thoughts. I regretted snapping at him. I knew his intentions were pure, but it was hard hearing someone else define who I was or used to be.
Finally breaking the silence, Caelan asked, “Do you plan to attend the festival tonight?”
I blinked in surprise, startled by the sudden change in topic. “I ... I hadn't planned on it.”
“You should,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s beautiful, from what I saw last night. The lanterns, the music, the dancing. It’s a night to forget all the burdens and simply enjoy the moment.”
I smiled hesitantly. “Maybe I will.”
He grinned. “I hope to see you there.”
The storyteller stepped onto the stage and began his tale, but my mind was elsewhere. The weight of my identity, my past, and the uncertainty of my future pressed down upon me. But for now, I had a cup of tea, a potential friend, and a festival to look forward to.
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