Page 84 of The Princess Knight
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was a tense hush throughout the castle in the days following Sarait’s poisoning. Ronan barely saw Clía. She hid in the fabric room, coming out only for mandatory training and food. He wanted to be there for her, support her—but he also wanted her to have space if she needed it.
So he turned his focus to his own work.
He ran laps. He drilled himself on maneuvers ranging from basic to expert. He ignored the pain that burned in his muscles and joints.
None of it could stop that small voice in his head from worrying over her.
That worry only grew as Ronan sat with Niamh and Domhnall in the meeting room, while the seat beside him—Clía’s—remained notably empty. This would be the first meeting since Sárait’s poisoning that Kordislaen would also be attending. Conversations overlapped as the other warriors awaited the general, but there was a pocket of silence on Ronan’s side of the table.
Clía arrived a moment before the briefing was scheduled to begin.
“I almost didn’t expect you to come,” he confessed in a whisper.
“I didn’t want to,” she whispered back.
His hand moved of its own volition. It wrapped around hers where she was resting it on her knee. He let his fingers curl into her palm, the rough feel of her new calluses brushed against his. Her eyes closed, and he felt a surge of pride at being the one to make her feel relaxed and safe.
He’d worried that when she avoided him after their kiss, he would lose this. The subtle comfort of each other’s presence.
When she opened her eyes again, it was with a question. “Where’s Kían?”
Ronan wondered the same thing. They may be reckless at times, but they never missed a meeting. “I don’t know. My guess—this is their way of proving a point to Kordislaen.”
“Are they a fool? Kordislaen won’t take kindly to this.” Clía sighed, but he caught the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
“Then let’s hope they come to their senses before he arrives.”
“Maybe he does need to be knocked down a peg or two,” Clía grumbled. Ronan turned to look at her. Her face was set, chin raised high.
Clía didn’t need to make an enemy out of Kordislaen. She deserved her spot here, and one wrong move in the general’s eyes would see her gone.
Kordislaen was looking for disloyalty in Caisleán, and he expected Ronan to report it.
He couldn’t lose her.
“Kordislaen is not at fault for what happened to Sárait,” Ronan reminded her, his voice falling to a whisper.
“I don’t care if he wasn’t the one who poured the poison downher throat,” Clía hissed. “He was willing to let her die. Until I have someone else to blame, it will fall on him.”
“He was focused on Caisleán, as is his job,” he argued.
Clía pulled her hand back, causing Ronan’s to fall. “She was suffering for gods knows how long before Kían found her, and he was content to let her die. How could you defend that?”
All arguments died on Ronan’s tongue. She was right, and her anger was deserved. His own mixed emotions burned in him as well. He didn’t know how the general who was willing to watch Sárait die could be the same man he’d known. The one who’d saved him, who had given him everything.
“He was wrong in doing that,” Ronan admitted. “But maybe a room full of his most trusted and loyal warriors isn’t the best place to discuss this. Not to mention—we need him if there’s a war against Tinelann. Scáilca can’t risk losing his talent, and we can’t risk being chosen as his next targets.”
Ronan offered her his hand once more, desperate to close this gap between them. “I know this situation isn’t great, but we need to prioritize. If we make an enemy of Kordislaen, we risk losing not only all we’ve worked for, but the winning edge in this political disaster.”
He prayed to the gods that she understood. That she would stop her line of questioning before it got dangerous. Her response was cut off by Kordislaen opening the door. Chief Ó Connor followed closely behind.
A hush fell over the warriors as they watched the general approach his spot at the head of the table.
“Before I begin, there is something I must address.” He faced their side of the room, no hint of surprise on his face at Kían’sabsence. “As some of you may know, our tailor Sárait Gráinne has fallen ill.”Fallen ill.As if it were a mere cold. “She is stable, and under the best care we can offer given the circumstances. I’m sure we will have a full understanding of how this came to be soon.
“I would also like to state that while I understand why some reacted the way you did, you will not show such disrespect to me again. Remaining at Caisleán is an honor I can easily revoke. Do you understand?”
