Chained (Chained Trilogy) (36 page)

Gwen pushed against his chest, placing a bit of distance between them. “Just say it,” she said, stiffening. “Speak the truth and have done with it. They believe my family conspires with the Bainards, don’t they?”

Caden nodded. “Aye, I could not convince them otherwise. It does not help matters that my father received word from his scouts. Lerrothian ships have docked at Seahaven, combining with your father’s to create a fleet so great we could never hope to defeat them.”

Gwen gasped. “Surely
they must know it could only be because your brother had Evrain killed! If we could ride for Dinasdale and amass one great council as our father’s once did, perhaps—”

“I tried, Gwen,” he said, one hand running
through his hair in agitation. “I tried to convince them, but they would not hear me.”

Gwen sank down onto his bed, her stomach twisting violently as she fought back waves of nausea. “Oh gods,” she murmured. “There is no hope. It is inevitable now, isn’t it?”

Caden was beside her in an instant, his arm bringing her against his side. “Perhaps not,” he said. “I will not give up, Gwen, you have to know that. Things may seem hopeless now, but we can still fix this. I need more time, and I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

She turned to him. “I have thus far, have I not?”

Caden’s eyes became shadowed, his jaw tight, his mouth a thin line. “I will work to deserve it. Just know, that everything I do from here, I do for the good of the realm. To protect our families. To protect you.”

“I believe you.”

His hand cupped her face. “Gwen, you cannot possibly know … the burden of this. I am certain you will come to abhor me.”

Gwen frowned, searching his face for some inkling of his inner thoughts. “I could never hate you,” she declared. “In fact, I believe I may come to feel the opposite.”

“Those feelings are dangerous,” he warned. “We mustn’t give in to them. We cannot.”

Even as he said those words, he was leaning into her, his lips parting readily for her kiss. Gwen answered in kind, coming closer to him on the bed as her body ignited at the touch of his mouth to hers.

“It is far too late for me, Daleraian,” she murmured against his lips.

He groaned as her tongue found his, stroking it boldly. “
Aye, wench,” he sighed, kissing her over and over, drugging her with a languid weakness that sank as deep as her soul, “for me as well. Far too late …”

He took her down to the mattress, laying her back and coming down beside her. They turned toward each other, clinging and kissing as the winds battered the shutters, howling and whistling. She arched toward him, offering herself up to him as he found the laces of her gown. His hand found its way into the parted fabric,
slipping beneath her chainse and closing around her breast.

“I know we said one night was all that we would share,” he said as he kissed his way down her chest, pausing between her breasts as he parted the sides of her bodice to reveal the dark orbs, “but I want you again, Gwen. Stay with me. Give me another night with you.”

She took his face and her hands and brought him to her for a kiss, acquiescing wordlessly to his request. His hands found her bare flesh again, kneading softly as he brought one nipple to his lips, taking it gently with his tongue. Gwen felt no fear this time, no trepidation that he would find her too bold or too timid. With him, she’d found assurance and certainty. Her instincts guided her, her body showed her what to do, what she liked, what he liked. By the time they were both undressed, their need had soared to towering heights, and Gwen wanted nothing more than to plunge over the edge and soar with him.

She held him close as he parted her thighs, coming down between them with sure intent. Her name spilled from his lips as he entered her,
passionate in its utterance, desperate in its urgency. Her urgency was a match for his as she clung to him, allowing him to sweep her away in a raging storm of desire. They moved as one, their intimate dance playing out as if they had been made to dance it only with each other. When Caden grasped her wrists, holding them high over her head and pinning them to the mattress, Gwen surrendered to him, allowing him to rule her like the lord he was, mastering her body in a way that she knew only he could.
Surrender was inevitable
, she realized as the storm of her climax washed over her. Surrender of her body as well as her heart.

Both of them belonged to him.

***

The night was dark—warm and balmy—and the stars were full and bright. The crash of the sea against the shore was all that could be heard from Prince Rowan’s pavilion overlooking the city—that and the occasional lilting of music from the taverns near the docks of Port Galaean. The rest of the city had gone to sleep, but in the taverns men feasted, drank, and whored.

Let them enjoy it
, the prince thought as he stood surveying all that was now his.
Soon, they will fight for me, wiping my enemies from the face of the earth—blotting their names from the annals of history.

History would remember him; Rowan would ensure it. Rowan the Bold. Rowan the Conqueror. Rowan the Cruel. They would remember, and never forget that he’d been the one to bring Alemere under his thumb once and for all, in a way King Merek never had. It was not enough just to rule … Rowan wished to conquer, and reign.

Footsteps sounded behind him, but Rowan did not turn around. He knew who approached, had sent for the man himself. He’d arrived from Ir’os just that morning, his ship docking at the port of Garrothe. A long day’s ride had put him at Oryna Keep in time to join Rowan for a private dinner, during which the two reveled in their mutual brilliance. The man was of a like mind with Rowan—wanting more than his father’s legacy would leave him. Together, they would have it all.

Or, Rowan would find a way to have him killed once it was all over. Rowan the Conqueror would not share power.
Yet, for now, the man must live. Rowan had need of him.

The man came up beside him, his face shadowed by the hood of his black cloak. Rowan could imagine his piercing
blue-green eyes, deceptively limpid and cool as he assessed the city below them. If one did not look close enough, they would miss it; the edge of cunning in that stare, the malice that ran just below the surface. The façade served him well, and fooled people into failing to take him seriously.

“I thank you for
seeing to my little
problem
,” Rowan said, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the thought of Sir Hadrian. His uncle had thought him a fool, but Rowan had known his intent in leaving the Isle. He would go running to Theodric Maignart and try to ruin all of Rowan’s well laid plans, but Rowan had been two steps ahead of him.

“Anyone who seeks to stand in the way of our enterprise will be torn asunder,” he
said to Rowan, his hands clasped and concealed within the folds of his cloak. The hands that had taken the life of Sir Hadrian Arundel.

Rowan laughed. “I hardly imagined you would perform the chore yourself, though,” he said. “For a prince, you are surprisingly useful.”

The eyes that peered at him were hard, glittering with disdain. “For a king, you are surprisingly stupid. Did you think I would trust anyone else with the task?”

Rowan’s hand found his sword, but the prince had his dagger drawn before Rowan could blink, the ornate hilt glittering in the light of the moon as the blade pressed to his throat. “Do not think to try me, Your Grace,” the prince said, sheathing
the dirk just as quickly as he had drawn it. “I was only jesting. Besides, we cannot waste time fighting with each other. We will need our strength for what is to come.”

“Aye,” Rowan agreed, though he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. It
emboldened him to know the steel was there if he needed it. “I suppose you’ll want your little Dinasdalian whore back when we take Minas Bothe.”

“She is mine,” the prince declared. “I won’t have her harmed. As to the others, I care not. Kill them all, and spare none. Only …”
He paused.

Rowan frowned. “Only, what?”

The prince’s hand came up to his throat, his fingers tracing the angry purple bruise ringing his neck. Rowan had asked about it as they’d supped together, but the prince had commanded him to mind his business. It was nothing, he’d said. Now, it seemed to bring back some faraway memory, one that made his jaw grow tight in anger.

“Sir Caden Maignart,” he answered. “I owe him a debt that must be repaid. I want him … alive.”

Rowan shrugged. “Then you shall have him. He is nothing to me.”

The prince’s eyes glittered with glee, and Rowan wondered idly what form of torture he had planned for the heir to Minas Bothe. “Good,” he answered. “Very good.”

Epilogue

Gwen stretched languidly as the talons of sleep began to slowly let her out of their grasp. A smile curved her lips when she realized that she was still in Caden’s bed, where she’d passed the night. A pleasant soreness between her legs reminded her of what had passed, told her that she had not dreamt their encounter. Nestling further under the blankets, she closed her eyes and relived every moment, determined to cling to it for as long as she could before she was forced to rise and face the day. Caden was gone, she realized, but the bed was still warm. The sheets still held his scent, as did the pillow he’d rested his head upon. Gwen hugged the cushion tightly, burying her face there and inhaling.

Outside this room was a castle full of people who thought her their enemy. Yet, w
ithin this room, she’d found her ally. Perhaps not today, but soon, they would set things right, together. Mayhap, there could be hope for a union between them still. If the Bainards had truly done what Caden accused them of, then surely her parents would no longer expect her to marry Prince Gaiwan. If she and Caden wed, they might be able to convince their two houses to fight together against the Bainards, and perhaps Alemere could be saved.

The notion gave her hope, though she knew that it was foolish. Still, within these walls, she could be foolish. She could hope and she could pray.

“Come out of there, wench,” Caden’s voice said gruffly. “I would speak with you.”

Gwen frowned as she peeked out from beneath the bedclothes to find Caden seated on the edge of the be
d, watching her. He was dressed in his black mourning clothes, freshly washed with his beard trimmed. She could see sunlight through the slats of his shutters and knew that morning had come.

“Caden,” she said, studying his face carefully. The man she’d been with the night before was gone, and in his face was a mystery
Gwen could not solve. His expression was blank, hard, betraying none of his thoughts; he was shuttered and distant. Just a few hours past, he’d been warm and inviting, taking Gwen’s body to the heights of pleasure not once, but three times before they’d finally collapsed and fallen asleep in each other’s arms. That man was gone, and Gwen felt dread as she wracked her brain for the reason why. “Is something wrong?”

He stood, his hands folded behind his back, his jaw hard. “I trust you slept well.”

Gwen sat up, leaning back against the cushions. Drowsiness was finally abating as she realized that something was very wrong. “Yes,” she said, “I did. Caden, what has happened? Something is wrong.”

He took a step toward the bed, but
then paused, stopping just at the foot. “Lady Gwendolyn Toustain, forthwith, you are a prisoner of Minas Bothe, remanded to remain in my personal guard until such time as I deem fit to release you.”

Gwen shot to her feet,
the hem of her chainse sweeping the floor. Staring down at her body, her chin dropped in horror at the sight that greeted her. Anger welled in her as she realized that he’d betrayed her. “Caden,” she gasped, staring back up at him. His face was as inscrutable as ever, his mouth drawn and expressionless. “What have you done?”

“What is necessary for the good of the realm,” he answered woodenly, no longer looking at her. His eyes were fixed on some point
behind her.

With a snarl of rage, Gwen lunged at him, arms flailing and nails scratching. She wished with all her might that she had her bow so that she might put an arrow throug
h his black heart, but she had left it, along with her other possessions, in the stable at the foot of the mountain. Caden backed away, wincing as her nails raked his face, but avoiding another blow as she was brought up short, jerked back until she fell onto the floor in a heap.

“Control yourself, wench,” he commanded.

“Damn you!” she shrieked, jerking at the chain coiled around her feet angrily. “You lied to me! I trusted you and you betrayed me!”

His voice was solemn when he spoke again. “I am sorry, Gwen,” he said softly. “This is how it has to be.”

“Hang your apologies!” she screamed. “And hang you, you bloody liar! I hate you, do you hear me? If it’s the last thing I’ll do, I will put an arrow through your heart and watch you die, you black-hearted bastard!”

He nodded as if resolved, though his eyes seemed haunted. “Aye,” he said before swinging the door open. “You are welcome to try if you ever get the chance.”

As he turned to leave, Gwen sank down to her knees on the floor, her anger threatening to rise up and choke her as she swiped at the angry tears running down her face. She glanced down once more at the gleaming, newly forged shackle around her waist, bunching the fabric of her chainse. Attached to it, a long, thick chain ran to the nearest wall, secured by an iron ring bolted to the wall. Gwen grasped the chain and gave it another rough jerk, but it held fast.