The Tears of Elios (21 page)

Gregor chose to enjoy the first bite of the lamb before answering her, so Aemil took it upon himself to do it for him. “Yes, and Gregor was supposed to have been the Duke of Akershire himself, being the oldest son.” He took another bottle of wine from one of the servants and refilled their glasses. “Here, have some more wine. It will make the truth easier to digest.”

Gregor wanted Ranealya to cast one of her angry glares on Aemil, but her eyes, filled with betrayal, never left him. He never wanted her to know all about his family.

She reached for her glass and took another gulp of wine. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to have been’ Duke?” She turned to Aemil now for answers, which annoyed Gregor.

“He renounced his title as Duke and gave it to his brother.”

“You’ve said enough.” Gregor set his goblet down the table with a thud. His stomach burned, and he knew it wasn’t entirely from the wine.

“I'm surprised you haven't at least told her that. After all, she's been with you for a while.”

“Perhaps, but there are things I would've preferred she found out about later.”

“She deserves to know this. Wouldn't you rather her learn the truth from us or find out on her own from someone else?”

Gregor chewed and watched her cut her lamb into equally sized pieces. He frowned. It wasn’t like her to be so careful, especially with her food.

She looked up through her thick lashes at him. “Why did you give it up?”

He looked at Aemil, expecting him to continue to divulge all his secrets, but the Prince remained quiet for once. The attention of his dinner companions focused on him, waiting for his response. He stared at his plate. The food didn’t look so appetizing now. “I came to the conclusion I was not meant to be ruler of anything, much less a duchy.”

“Nonsense. I think you would have made a fine duke.”

“No, Aemil, I like my books and my privacy far too much to attend to the needs of the people.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

“No.” He stared at Aemil. “I’ve learned enough to know that sometimes the oldest son does not make the best ruler. Sometimes a younger son would do more good for the people.”

The Prince clutched the edges of the table, and his face grew serious. “Gregor, you know better than to say such things,” he whispered.

Both men stared at each other as an uncomfortable silence filled the table. Around them, the soldiers laughed at their tables. In a corner, a piper played a merry tune accompanied by a drum and a lute. No one other than Ranealya seemed aware of the tension at the royal table.

When he was satisfied that the conversation on his personal history was over, he smiled. “Don't worry. Our secrets are safe with Ranealya.”

They both looked at her as she finished her second glass of wine. For someone who didn’t drink, she was going through the wine a little too quickly.

“How are your kids?” Gregor stuffed another piece of lamb in mouth as though food could erase the previous tension.

Aemil visibly relaxed, loosening his grip on the table. “You probably haven't heard that we had another son last fall. And he's quite a little spitfire, too.”

They continued eating while Aemil bragged about all three of his brood. Aemil was proud of his children, the way a father should be.

Gregor felt a twinge of envy that he had none of his own. He glanced at Ranealya. She was leaning forward, her chin resting in her palm, her fingers concealing her smile. Her goblet had been refilled, and she sipped the wine, even though she had finished her meal.

As he watched her, he began to think about what kind of mother she would be and looked away.
I shouldn’t think such things. This is Ranealya, after all. She would probably eat her young if they dared to disobey her
. Yet he’d seen a glimpse into the gentle side of her nature, and he wondered if it would become more apparent once her maternal instincts took over.

He turned back at her and saw she was watching him. From across the table, he heard Aemil say, “And you may not know this, but Gregor has a fairly nice singing voice, too.”

Her grin widened, producing the dimples once again. “I never would have guessed that.” She looked at him as if she were discovering him all over again, and he was pleased to note that she seemed to like what she was learning.

His cheeks grew warm. “Aemil gives me too much credit. He has a nice voice himself.”

“Yes, for a howling dog.” Aemil emptied another bottle into their glasses.

Gregor had lost count of how many bottles of wine had been poured. His thoughts were becoming fuzzy, and he worried he was becoming a bit too comfortable around Ranealya.

“Do you sing?”

She laughed and swayed in her chair. “It's been so long since I sang that I have forgotten most of the songs I knew.” She cast a sideways glance at Gregor. “Perhaps, if Gregor will sing, then maybe I will, too.”

“Don't hold your breath,” he replied. “I gave up embarrassing myself in public a long time ago.”

“Speaking of which, there was this time, when we were boys—”

“Enough, Aemil!”

She giggled, ending abruptly with a hiccup. “Don't worry. I'm sure we'll all have plenty of time to tell stories later.” Her eyelids drooped as she held her breath. “I think it's time for me to go to bed.”

Gregor knew she’d drunk too much wine, but he didn’t expect her to swoon as soon as she stood. He managed to catch her before she stumbled off the platform. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. At first, she looked confused, but then something in her expression changed that caused his heart to flop. She smiled at him with those soft, full lips, and he felt the irresistible urge to kiss her. And judging by the way she was looking at him, she wouldn’t stop him if he did.

But the moment was ruined when Aemil cleared his throat. “Anything wrong?”

She giggled and untangled her fingers from his hair. “I, um, slipped.” She took a step, but this time, he made sure he was there to support her.

“Do you need me to walk with you?”

Even in the dim firelight, her cheeks appeared red. “Oh, no, that's quite unnecessary,” she stammered as she pushed him away. “I—” She paused and turned. “Where am I sleeping tonight?”

Aemil’s grin filled with mischief. “The second door on the left.”

“Second door on the left,” she repeated. “I can remember that. Goodnight, Your Highness, Gregor.” Her eyes lingered on him before she turned and walked up the stairs to the second floor of the great hall.

He watched her until she disappeared around the corner at the top, wishing he could follow her.

“You know, you haven't moved since she left your arms,” Aemil taunted.

Gregor snapped out of his daze and turned to him.

“You're only fooling yourself by thinking there's nothing between you two. I saw the way you were looking at each other just now, and so did everyone else in the hall. If I hadn't interrupted you—”

“Fine, you're right, but it's more complicated than you think.”

“What is so difficult about it? She's a girl, you're a boy. You’re obviously attracted to each other, and that was before she learned you were my cousin. What else is there?”

Gregor’s bones felt as though they were filled with lead. “I wish it was that simple. Please, no more, Aemil. I'm too tired to argue with you. Which room is mine?”

“Second door on the left.”

Gregor took a few steps to the stairs before he understood Aemil's directions. Then the blood drained from his face. “Second door on the left? But isn't that—?”

Aemil patted him on the back. “If there wasn't anything between the two of you before tonight, there's no excuse now. She's had a little wine, you're in the same room…” He wagged his eyebrows. “Enjoy the evening and thank me in the morning.”

“If you weren’t my cousin…” Gregor clenched his hands into fists. The embarrassment over his cousin taking it upon himself to play matchmaker stung like a swarm of hornets. He was perfectly capable of managing his relationship with Ranealya on his own. “Surely there must be another open room?”

“Nope, there's only three rooms here: yours, mine, and Captain Furr’s. Be thankful that I gave you and Ranealya the largest room.”

“Perhaps Captain Furr should give up his room.”

“I'd have some very unhappy men if their captain was sleeping in the same room with them. Of course, you could join the commoners and sleep down here.”

“I'd rather not.” There was no space for privacy there. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be close to her, if only to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble. But he took his time going up the stairs and reconsidered the sleeping arrangements when his hand closed around the doorknob, wondering if he had the willpower to handle this.

Ranealya jumped out in front of him as soon as he entered the room, startling him and causing him to slam the door shut. “Oh, it's you,” she said as she walked away.

He waited until his heart stopped pounding. “Were you expecting someone else?”

Her eyes lingered on the door. “Not exactly.” She peeled off the green dress, leaving the linen shift under it on and crawled into the lone bed in the center of the room. The thin material left little to the imagination as the firelight illuminated the curvy silhouette underneath it. “What are you doing here, besides staring at me?”

His cheeks burned as he spread his cloak on the ground near the fire. “Aemil thought we would enjoy shared accommodations.”

“He did?” Her voice sounded more amused than slurred. “And what are you doing now?”

“Preparing to go to sleep.” He sat on the stone floor and stretched his legs out in front of him. “You can have the bed.”

She pulled the covers up to her waist. “But you're the one who's been complaining about your aching back the last few nights. I thought you couldn't wait to sleep in a real bed.”

“Chivalry, my lady.” He lowered his head to the ground and tried to find a comfortable position. The stones dug into his body, and he envied the sound sleep she would have on the soft feather mattress.

“Gregor,” she called to him in a singsong voice, “the bed is big enough for the two of us.” He sat up and saw she was still sitting in the same position. She patted the space next to her, and his throat tightened. “I don't mind sharing a bed with you if you don't mind sharing a bed with me. I won't bite.”

It was not her he was worried about—it was him. She would be lying next to him, all warm and soft with only a thin piece of material covering her delicious skin. He dwelt on the thought as he stood and walked around the bed, his gaze never leaving her. He kept hoping that she would change her mind and remove the temptation, but her smile broadened as he sat on the bed. He turned away from her, afraid his face would display his thoughts. “Ranealya, I—”

“Lie down, Gregor. You deserve a good night’s sleep.” Her attention returned to the door, and she remained still as he lay beside her.

By the Goddess, the bed felt good. The tension faded from his sore muscles as he pulled the down quilt up to his chest. She was right—he had missed sleeping in a real bed. He sighed and stretched his arms and legs.

“That wasn't so difficult, was it?” She continued to watch the door.

Not as difficult as he was making it out to be. She gave him plenty of space. He could behave himself and still enjoy the bed. “Aren't you going to lie down?”

She focused her attention back to him, and her expression changed. It reminded him of the one she wore when he held her in his arms moments ago. “I suppose I should.”

His mouth went dry as she stretched out beside him. She hovered over him, her hair creating a silky brown curtain against his cheek. Her finger traced the slope of his nose, the angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his ears. His body grew warm, and he knew it wasn’t due to embarrassment this time. She lowered her head, and he forgot to breathe as her lips brushed his. She withdrew so that only the tips of their noses touched and sighed.

A few seconds passed before he realized she’d just kissed him. He released the breath he had been holding as she lifted her face from his. His hand reached for her shoulder, not wanting her to leave. “Ranealya—” he began, but she shushed him.

“No talking,” she purred. She tucked her hair behind her ear before descending upon him once again. This time, her lips were more demanding, her kiss hungrier than before. Her fingers wrapped around the ends of his hair as her tongue teased the opening of his mouth. He tried resisting her, but the pounding of his heart reverberated throughout his body. He pulled her tighter to him so she could feel it, too. She gasped as his mouth devoured hers.

He pushed her back into the mattress, his appetite for her becoming insatiable. She made a sound of contentment, as if she were enjoying a good meal, which made him want her all the more. Her tongue danced circles around his, and she pulled his face closer. His hands worked themselves free and cupped the curves of her body, but his lips didn’t want to leave hers.

He succumbed to the need for air and pulled away at last. His pants were growing uncomfortably tight as he watched the rise and fall of her breasts through the linen shift. Her cool hand stroked his cheeks as she directed his gaze up to her eyes. He had seen many primal emotions in them before—fear, anger, pain—but this was the first time he had ever seen pure, raw desire. Pleasure rushed through from knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he was absolutely ravenous.

She nipped at him, and her hand moved from his neck to his chest. Her fingers fumbled with the ties of his tunic as her eyes held his, daring him to take this further. When he lowered his head again, she met him halfway. Their lips crushed together as their bodies became tangled with one another.

He pulled his lips away and trailed them along the creamy flesh of her jaw and neck. She tasted delicious—like sweet berries and cream—and he wanted to savor every moment. She whined in protest, but he refused to yield.

“Gregor,” an unexpected voice said behind them.

Gregor wrenched himself away from her and rolled over onto the other side of the bed as Ranealya yanked to the covers up to her chin. Any evidence of his desire fled from his body.