Page 128 of Rook of Ruin
I run to Simon’s study, but he isn’t there, then I hear wonderful laughter outside. I pause at the glass doors to observe Simon instruct Milo with a wooden sword. They are both grinning, and it’s heartwarming to see them so happy.
“Milo, move your hand up here.” Simon leans down and adjusts Milo’s grip.
I open the glass door. “Simon.” Noting the way I speak, he raises his head.
“I’ll be back. Keep practicing.” Simon smiles, but when he sees my face, his dimples leave his handsome cheeks. He walks over,his eyes lingering on my stomach questioningly. I adjust my leathers and shake my head. He gives me a small smile, but I can see a flash of disappointment in his eyes.
I take a deep breath, trying to wrangle all my emotions. “How is Milo?”
“Doing better than this morning.” Simon and I watch Milo practice his footwork. “He still won’t speak of it.” He shakes his head, a worried look on his face, and I know it mirrors my own. Milo had an awful nightmare about his mother, and we know he was a witness to her brutal murder, but he refuses to tell us any more details. Simon turns his attention to me, changing the subject. “Something happened. What is it?”
“Paul received a letter today. Acros is sending Rooks and warriors to the villages near the Serus Mountains. It’s believed there will be an attack—”
“Fuck.” Simon pulls a hand through his hair. “I’ll ride out today and bring Paul. We will talk to my father.”
“Will he aid Acros?” I wipe the sweat off my face, hope swelling within me.
“Unless the queen asks for help, I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Simon walks out of the study, and I follow him.
“But we must help them. What if I rode out with my twenty-five and crossed the border? It’s a small force, not one that would be deemed a threat.”
Simon turns quickly. “You aren’t going anywhere. What if you’re pregnant with our child? No, O, I won’t let you.”
“Letme?” I narrow my eyes. “I think you could choose a better word.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean. It’s bad enough that you spar.”
“My friends are being sent for slaughter, Simon, and unless the Rooks have their braces, they are fucked. As far as we know,I’m the only one who has stopped a Wraith on a battlefield without one.”
He rolls his eyes as if I’m being dramatic, even though he damn well knows I’m not.
I sneer, “What kind of wife do you want? The kind who would go to war for her people, or the kind who sits around waiting for war to come? You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say I have to be a warrior for Bethal and then turn around only to get angry at me for doing so. I’m not pregnant, Simon, not yet, and you know that. If I were, do you truly think I would put our child at risk?”
“We have one here at home. Have you thought of him?” Simon yells at me.
I take a moment, I take a breath. “I have. I think of him always. I think that—”
“No, you’re not thinking! You want to know what kind of wife I want? I want a wife who will live.” His face is red from anger, and a part of me deflates. I understand his feelings; I want him to live too. Simon steps back from me. “I want one who will obey me. If I tell you to stay, you fucking stay.”
Nope.
“I am your equal! We need to have a serious discussion when you get back. I am not happy with—”
“Okay!” Simon roars.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Isle. She stands with her gaze lowered, a letter in her hand. She must have heard everything. I bite my tongue and turn on my heels. I walk to our bedroom and slam the door behind myself.
Peeling off my leathers, I look down at my empty stomach. It’s been six months since we started trying to conceive. I falsely believed it would be easy. Each month, we become hopeful and excited only for our dreams to be dashed.
I take a shower and dress myself for my next task. Gazing out the window, I watch Paul, Simon, and most of our warriors leaveto convince the king of Bethal to aid Acros, or at least move warriors to the northern border.
I slowly move through the house and into the bright kitchen. The warm smells of roast and bread remind me of Tess’s family’s home, although Brynmawr’s kitchen is easily four times the size. The large pots on the massive stove gleam in the sunlight, and the cooks scurry around me, chopping vegetables or clearing messes. I breathe, attempting to clear my mind so I can be present during my favorite part of our weekly routine. Milo wanders in after his school lesson, and we get to work, making treats for the expectant wives of our warriors. Flour and love all over, so much wondrous love and laughter, it makes my heart soar. I tell Milo stories of how I learned how to bake from Talliah, and how one day, we will visit Acros and see them in Wesson. Milo shares the sweet story of the talisman his mother gave him to help him sleep.
A loud male chuckle spills out from the light blue hallway, and we look up to see Callan standing lazily by the kitchen entrance. “Sorry to surprise you. I passed Simon. I thought I would stop in. Simon’s footman told me where to find you.”
Our cooks curtsy and bow low to the future king, as does Milo. Callan waves his hand. “We are family—only in public do we bow to one another. What are you doing?”
“Making treats.” Milo grins as he swipes a slice of an apple from the pile and shoves it into his mouth.
