Page 66 of Under the Mistletoe
“I said they were dressed in the long pale-green capes of Kenthor. You know my mother is Kenthorian as well. I would bet my life that not one of the swine had a drop of Kenthorian blood in their veins. Their tribal war makeup was all wrong, and I didn’t see one ceremonial braid among them.”
“Then why…”
“To frame Kenthor for the murder. Why else leave me alive?”
“How do I know you are not one of them?”
Timus’s eyes hardened, and he pushed forward until the sword drew a thick line of blood along the soft flesh of his neck. “Kill me for failing my king if you will, but don’t question my loyalty. I would have died for him. You know that.”
“No.Iwould have died for him.” Rand’s whole body shook, and he finally lowered the sword. “I should’ve been there.”
“Then you would have died too. They were quick, and we were on our own land. No one was prepared. Most of the men died with their meals still in their hands.” Timus’s voice was feeble now, barely audible. “I checked all of our men. But…they’d been…thorough.”
Rand’s head cleared enough to see the man, the shoulders slumping in shame, the grief in his eyes, the weariness of going without food or sleep. His rage poured away at seeing this proud warrior reduced to utter despair. He placed a hand on Timus’s shoulder but had no words.
Timus swallowed hard. “I walked several miles before I found a farmer. He returned with me to the camp, lent me this horse to return the king’s body, and agreed to see to the burial of the rest.”
His stomach rolled over once more. The body of the king. The body of his brother. Rand’s head dropped forward as the grief hit him anew.
“Rand, what are you going to do?” Timus’s voice was tight. “You are the king now.”
Rand sat on the edge of the cart as the truth sank in. He was king. He didn’t want it. He’d never wanted it. He wanted his brother back.
Rand snatched a rock from the ground and sent it crashing into the wall of the castle as a guttural scream ripped from his chest. “It should have been me. Not Orin. Orin was meant to be king, not me. Never me.”
“No, Your Majesty. Origin spared you because?—”
“Then Origin made a mistake.” His anguish echoed through the silent courtyard, not a soul daring to make a sound. “I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be saved. He was.” Rand glowered at his brother’s body. Fire raced through his veins. “Bring my horse!”
The shout hadn’t been directed at any one person, but several went running.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to save Astryn.”
“Astryn is fine. She is at her castle. Surrounded by her father’s guard.”
“Whoever did this did it to stop the alliance. Stop the marriage. And if they came for Orin, they will go after Astryn next. They took her from under the guards’ noses before, they could take her again. She won’t be safe until the alliance is official.”
“What can you do? Orin’s dead.”
He grabbed Calavar’s reins as a groom ran forward with the big stallion. Rand pulled himself into the saddle.
“As you said, I’m the king now.” Rand drew a slow breath as the words burned through him. “I’m going to marry her.”
Rand turned Calavar toward the open gate and kicked his heels, never looking back.
eleven
It had been about six hours since Devin had shared that kiss with Logan, and her legs still felt a little shaky every time she relived it. Freezing or not, she could have stood there all day kissing him. She hurried up the steps at her house and flopped back on her bed before sending Logan a text.
Devin
All done.
She typed outready when you are. Then erased it. That was a little too needy-sounding.
Devin
