Aftermath (2 page)

How had this happened? How could such a simple plan spiral so out of her control? She had meant only to release Solara from her betrothal. Nowhere in Trista’s plans had she considered she would be forced to marry King Braedon instead.

“Let this be a lesson to you, daughter,” her father said, his mouth set in a grim line. He mounted his horse and looked down at her. “You will reap what you sow.”

“Father, you cannot leave me alone here!” she pleaded, wringing her hands and desperately trying to come up with a plan that would extricate her from this predicament. “I meant no harm to Solara nor to King Braedon. Solara belongs with Roarke.”

Her father frowned. “‘Twas not your place to say. However, King Braedon has graciously offered to accept you as his betrothed. Behave yourself, young lady.” Trista looked to Garick but found no sympathy in his frozen gaze. Instead, his voice dripped a cold ice so like his homeland. “If I had the time, I would turn you over my knee and give you the spanking you so richly deserve. You must learn not to meddle in others’ affairs.” Her continued protests fell on deaf ears. They turned their horses and headed out through the main gates, the contingent of Winterland guards trailing behind them.

She stood rooted to the spot until she could no longer see them. Despite the sweltering heat and the thick shift she wore threatening to smother her, she refused to budge, refused to turn around and face what was behind her.

Greenbriar.

King Braedon.

He cleared his throat. She could not very well stand and melt in his courtyard, though the idea was somewhat appealing. She turned, clasping her sweating palms behind her.

Now what was she going to do? She had been lucky before. The king originally chosen for her betrothed had died an untimely death, leaving her without a match. Which suited her just fine. She did not wish to marry anyone she hadn’t selected for herself.

A pox on these antiquated laws! Why could she not choose?

Although if one had to make a choice, at least in appearance, Braedon of Greenbriar would be a most appealing option. Though she was shocked to discover the inhabitants of Greenbriar were humans, she could not fault the appearance of the king. Sun-streaked dark blond hair hung to his shoulders, looking windblown and eminently touchable. He wore a closely cropped beard that gave him the look of a fierce warrior. His blue eyes sparkled like the turquoise southern ocean. Truly a beautiful face to behold.

Although it would be much more appealing if he smiled, which she had not seen him do yet.

Then again, she had avoided him completely for the past day, hoping he would not seek her out.

He had not, instead spending all his time with Garick and her father. She had been sent to the bedchambers and forced to remain there until someone had called her to meals. No one had come to visit her, no one had made overtures of friendship or greeting.

It was as if each person stayed to themselves. As far as she could tell, there was no socializing here.

She would never survive this place.

“Are you going to stand there and die of heatstroke, or will you come into the shade of the keep?” Ignoring the clipped tone of Braedon’s voice, she sighed and said, “I suppose I have no choice but to comply.” When he turned away and strode through the inner gates, she followed.

Once inside, blissful shade from the overhanging and tall trees offered respite from the heat.

“Is it always so hot here?” she asked, hurrying her step to keep up with him.

“Yes.”

“There are pools in the D’Naathian forest inside the gates of your property. Do your people swim there?”

“No.”

Well, that would have to change soon enough. Her delicate skin would never survive this wicked heat without constant cooling. “I will bathe there.”

He stopped so suddenly she almost ran into his back but halted herself in time. Turning to face her, he scowled and leaned down as if speaking to a child. Now he stood practically nose to nose with her.

Stars, he was a handsome man. Square jaw, a long nose and lips that begged to be kissed. Her body heated, though this time not from the sun.

“You will not bathe there.”

When he pivoted and resumed his brisk walk through the inner courtyard, she hurried again to keep up.

“Why not?”

“‘Tis not safe.”

“Of course ‘tis safe. ‘Tis my forest.”

“You may think so, however the wizards claim the D’Naathian forests as theirs.” Hmph. As if those skeletal creatures had a say-so in the land of the faerie. “The wizards are mistaken and do not dare venture into the forests of the faerie. Truly your people would be safe there.” He did not answer her, just kept walking.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now I am going to practice sword fighting with my men.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He halted again and turned to regard her, starting at the top of her head, raking his gaze over her breasts, hips and legs. When he looked up again, his eyes had darkened and she felt the shocking warmth of his desire.

Yet his words did not match his emotions. “I do not care what you do. It is your job to run the keep.”

“I do not know how to run a keep.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then learn. You have one month until we marry.” He turned and started off, but she caught up with him and grabbed his muscular upper arm. All her efforts at politeness fled with his abrupt dismissal. “Wait, Braedon. First, I will not be marrying you.

Second, I know nothing of running a keep. Third, you are incredibly rude. Where do I sleep? Who is going to show me around? Will I be introduced to your people?” A crowd had begun to gather. Curious spectators, all strangers to her. There was no point scanning the crowd for an ally. She already knew she was completely alone here.

“First, you will marry me because as king I have decreed it so. Second, you will have to learn how to run the keep because it is the queen’s job to oversee everything. Third, I am not rude. I am busy and have no time for you.”

No time…the audacity of the man! How dare he speak to his betrothed this way? “You will need to make time for me.”

He advanced on her, but she held her ground, refusing to be bullied by this…this…bully. His breath sailed across her cheek as he looked down at her.

“What is your name again?”

She was to be his wife and he did not even recall her name? “Trista.” She resisted the urge to spell it for him.

“All right. Trista. Follow me.”

Finally, they were getting somewhere. She hurried as his long strides took them to the stone keep at the center of the inner courtyard. He entered through an archway and then through a wooden door.

The smells of baked bread filled the warm air around them. So did the heat, nearly oppressive. She backed away from the ovens.

“Aunt Nadine. This is Trista, my betrothed. She apparently has not yet been educated how to run a keep. Teach her all that she needs to know. We marry in one month’s time.”

“Of course, Braedon.”

Trista offered a tenuous smile to the woman he called Nadine, a white-haired woman in her older years.

Her face was round, not yet filled with lines like some of the ancient ones. The woman was tall. All humans were tall. Much taller than Trista, as well as most faerie males.

Braedon was the tallest human of all. Not unlike the elvin males she knew, except for a few differences in their facial features, especially his ears. They were rounded instead of pointed. How odd.

And of course, all human males must be unpleasantly surly. At least this one was. Well, she could be just as gruff and unlikable as he was. In fact, if she was unpleasant enough, perhaps he would release her from their betrothal.

Yes, a very good idea!

Braedon turned to leave.

“Wait!”

He stopped and arched a brow. “What now?”

She offered him her sweetest smile. “I simply wish to inform you that I will not marry a rude, inconsiderate barbarian such as yourself.”

Braedon rolled his eyes and turned to his aunt. “Please keep her occupied so that she does not bother me. She is as annoying as a fly swirling around shit.” Trista’s mouth hung open and she forced it closed. Before she could recover enough to offer a retort, he had slammed the kitchen door behind him.

Well! This would not do at all. She would simply have to find a way to get a message to her father and have him fetch her. She refused to marry Braedon. No matter what her father ordered her to do. She would run away if she had to, but she would not marry him.

“He is somewhat brusque in manner,” Nadine said, sliding her arm around Trista’s shoulders.

The woman smelled of yeast. And cinnamon. And reminded her of home and warmth. She inhaled and closed her eyes, wishing she were standing in the dining room of her castle in D’Naath. Or even Winterland, with her sisters.

She missed her sisters. Would she ever see them again?

“He is an oaf and crude,” Trista announced to the doorway where Braedon last stood, as if the very act of doing so would make him hear her insult.

“Aye, that he is at times. But underneath, his heart is good.” Bah! The man obviously had no heart. Stone was more like it.

Cold, unfeeling stone.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, he could not brush the faerie princess from his mind. He definitely did not want her on his mind.

Or on his land.

Not that he had much choice in the matter. Duty forced him to marry and marry he would. Which faerie he wed did not matter. What mattered was annexing the land leading into the D’Naathian forest. Their treaty with the faerie would be sealed with his wedding to Trista. The D’Naathian and Greenbriar lands would forge a strong vantage point against the wizards attempting to gain a foothold in the southern regions.

Aye, this marriage was a good thing in that respect. So marry Trista he would.

After that, he would have no further use for her.

Though she
was
a beauty. A breathtaking one at that. He was typically not interested in women for anything other than a quick fuck and sexual release. But he had been taken aback at his first sight of the faerie princess. Long hair the color of soft mink cascaded down her back, the ends curling near her shapely buttocks. Her wings were the green of a summer meadow, shot through with threads of shimmering gold. That same gold flecked her skin and colored her eyes. Truly, she sparkled like a rare gem.

Until she opened her mouth, that is. Then she harped incessantly like an old shrew. If that was what he had to look forward to from her, there would be separate bedchambers. He wondered if he would have to bind her mouth during mating or if he would be lucky enough that she would shut up when he fucked her.

Not that he was profoundly interested in mating with her anyway. He would do what was required to produce heirs and nothing more. His focus would remain, as always, on the threat of war. Not on a woman.

Pleasures of the flesh, like any type of frivolity, only led to trouble.

Swinging the heavy sword in an arc over his head, it clashed against his opponent’s sword and knocked the man backwards. Satisfied, he nodded at the guard and went off in search of water, wiping his face with his jerkin. He stopped at the fountain and stuck his head underneath, letting the cool water wash away the steamy heat and sweat from his body. After scooping a handful to drink, he headed for the keep, intent on whiling away the heat of the afternoon on business and paperwork.

When he reached his office he sighed, grateful that the stone rendered the keep cooler than what they had to face outside. What he wouldn’t give to bathe his body in a cool forest spring.

Swimming in the water of the forest, indeed. Was the girl insane? No one could enter the D’Naathian forest until after he and Trista were wed. The property did not yet belong to him, even though a portion of the woodland had long ago spread inside the walls of Greenbriar.

No, she would not be bathing there.

His cock twitched and sprang to life as he allowed himself a few moments to ponder a vision of Trista naked and bathing in one of the faerie land’s springs.

She had a ripe body, just entering her womanhood. Curves in all the right places, full, high breasts that strained against her shift and hips made for a man’s hands to grasp. Her lips were ripe cherries against her pale skin, luscious and full and begging to take a cock between them.

His erection pulsed fully now. How long had it been since he had slaked his lust between a woman’s thighs?

Too damn long. That was his problem, and one he intended to rectify soon.

Then thoughts of the lusty faerie would flee his mind and he would waste no more time thinking of her.

He lived a solitary existence and preferred it that way. He cared for, sheltered and protected the people of Greenbriar. They had no complaints of their treatment. If he was not kind and engaging with them, so be it. They had long ago learned he would not be that type of king.

That type of king had died the day the wizards struck down his father. His father had enjoyed games, parties and making merry with the townspeople. He had not taken care of his guards, had not seen to their training. He lived his life under a cloud of denial, refusing to believe the wizards possessed the strength enough to invade Greenbriar.

His father’s arrogance had cost him his life.

Losing his mother not long after had made Braedon realize the only person he could count on was himself. The only one the people of Greenbriar could count on was him.

He would protect them by remaining steadfast and focused on war, on preparation. Not on frivolity.

And never on love.

Trista remained in the kitchens with Nadine, despite the unbearable heat emanating from the ovens. She had made a half-hearted attempt to learn what to oversee as far as kitchen supplies and meal preparation.

But her mind had been elsewhere, devising a plan to return to her beloved forest. Surely her father would see reason soon enough, realize his folly in having left her with Braedon. Her father loved her, she knew. So did her mother. He was merely trying to teach her a lesson by leaving her with King Braedon.