together, Reg? Do you think it’s because we’re both orphans?’
‘Because we’re friends.’
‘Name another friend that you have.’
‘I don’t have any and don’t say you don’t either, because I’ve seen you with them.’
‘Spying on me, eh?’
He gave her a disdainful sideways glance.
She tossed some pith of the orange she’d peeled off into the nook of the tree where they sat side by side. ‘You’ve seen me with colleagues and acquaintances. You’ve not seen me with a friend. The only friend I have is you. Being with you is when I’m honest with myself and can be truly myself.’
‘Then I’m privileged.’
‘So explain why that is.’
‘Because I’m such excellent company.’
She gasped. ‘You’re no company at all. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You hold long, difficult silences,’ she nodded when he was about to say something, ‘not with me, I’ll grant you, but even during the most normal small talk you manage to make whoever is with you feel incredibly awkward. I’ve watched you. No eye contact, no smiles, mainly shrugs and grunts. You terrify women.’
He shrugged as if to prove her point. ‘It’s my special skill.’
‘I wish I understood you.’
He risked placing a hand on hers, then took it away quickly, as if burned. ‘You do. And in doing so, you understand yourself.’ Reg stood, helped her up. ‘We’re birds of a feather, us two. Just accept that we’re the loners of the world and we’re lucky to have each other.’
She nodded. Gave him a brief hug; knew it made him self-conscious but lingered anyway. ‘Thanks, Reg.’
‘People will talk,’ he said, pulling away.
‘Let them. I already feel like I’m being watched.’
Reg frowned; in his expression was a question.
‘Can’t explain it,’ she sighed. ‘But I have this frequent feeling that someone is watching me—you know—hiding and eavesdropping.’
He gave her a soft smile. ‘He’s probably in love with you but you’re so unapproachable he doesn’t know how to talk to you.’
‘Oh really? And you’d know how that feels, would you?’
Reg grinned sadly and shook his head. ‘Tomorrow? I’ll bring more than an orange.’
‘It’s a date. Bring chocolate,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Bye,’ he replied softly and Corbel de Vis of Penraven lifted his hand in farewell to the gifted young intern who had no idea that she was royalty—a princess in exile—or that her healing skills were based on magic she brought with her from another plane, certainly another age…or perhaps most importantly of all, that she was the woman he loved.
The man had been staring out of the window, watching the trees for movement but he turned at the knock. ‘Come,’ he called and waited while his private aide entered, balancing a tray. He frowned. ‘You didn’t have to—’
‘I know, my lord,’ the aide replied. ‘But have a cup anyway.’
He sighed. ‘There’s still no sign of my raven,’ he added in a grumpy tone.
‘He’ll return,’ the aide replied evenly. ‘He always does.’ He set the tray down. ‘He’s obviously very familiar with the region now, and feels comfortable to be away that long. It’s blossomtide, emperor. I imagine all birds are busy at their business.’
Loethar nodded gloomily. ‘How is it down there, Freath?’
‘Exactly as you’d imagine. Very lively—the leading families do enjoy this get-together and try hard to balance its political agenda with the equally important social binding. Even though this is the empire’s third “Gathering” there’s still that lingering tension. The Droste family is being snubbed as usual, but they’re only marginally less happy than Cremond.’
Loethar lifted a brow in a wry expression. ‘Well, at least they’re all equal now. There are no royals, other than myself. Ah, there’s that smile, Freath. What does it mean today?’
Freath bowed his head once in acknowledgement. ‘Apologies, my lord. But nothing has truly changed for the Denovian people. There may be no royal lines acknowledged as such but the new compasses, as you’ve denoted them, are still paying homage to Penraven.’
Loethar nodded. ‘They’ve forgiven me, don’t you think, Freath?’
‘No, Emperor Loethar, I don’t,’ Freath said gently. ‘Not even a decade can fully heal their perceptions of the wrongs. But I hasten to assure that you’ve certainly gone a long way towards leaving only scars, not open, festering wounds. You’ve been a generous benefactor to all the leading families, who still enjoy plenty of privilege and status—they can hardly complain.’
‘Indeed. I’ve not interfered too much either in the running of their compasses.’
‘And that’s another reason why they appear so tolerant and will increasingly trust you, my lord. A new dynasty is about to begin and enough of them dread a second war so much that they will support your child with loyalty.’
Loethar smiled grimly. ‘I can’t wait for my son to be born.’ Then he sighed. ‘And how is the empress?’
‘Grumbly, sir, for want of a better word.’
‘Gown not right, hair not right, belly too big, drinks too sour, food too bitter?’
‘Husband too distant,’ Freath added.
Loethar’s eyes flashed up to regard his aide’s. It even baffled him at times how he permitted this dour man such familiarity. Even now he didn’t fully trust the former aide to the previous royal family, but he believed Freath was the most intelligent of all the people that lurked around him on a daily basis. He appreciated the man’s insight, dry wit, directness and agile mind. When he compared that to his brute of a half-brother, who was his Second, there was little wonder—for him anyway—as to why he not only permitted but quietly protected Freath’s position. ‘Should I be worried?’ he asked, glibly, yet privately eager to hear the man’s opinion.
‘No, my lord. But if you want your household life to be less volatile it might pay to give the empress more attention. She is, after all, with child and feeling vulnerable.’
‘How do you know, Freath?’ Loethar sighed and took the goblet that his aide offered him.
‘I spent years around a pregnant queen, my lord. Iselda lost quite a few babies but I know during her confinements she was generally irritable. She was no doubt anxious—and for good reason, having lost so many—but also worried that Brennus would stop finding her attractive.’
Loethar made a brief noise of scorn. ‘I find that very hard to believe. Perhaps if you hadn’t killed her, I could have married her!’
‘I do hope the walls don’t have ears, sir,’ Freath said dryly and Loethar gave him a wry glance, knowing they were both well aware of Valya’s unpredictable tantrums. ‘Brennus was butter around her.’
‘Is that so?’
‘“Besotted” is probably the right word. Few couples achieve such devotion.’
Loethar grunted. Freath’s counsel was no comfort at all. In fact, it served only to alienate him further. Marriage to Valya was a trial. Since the lavish wedding that he’d had to force himself to get through, she had