Broken applause can be heard throughout the Great Hall. I jerk in surprise, shocked that anyone would be pleased. At least half the room isn’t showing any form of approval, but I cannot ignore the half that is. Having been a pariah for so long, the support of anyone in the nobility is overwhelming.
Reading my confusion, Aodren gestures to me once more and a few more claps are added to the crowd’s cheer. My heart expands. Tears of wonder blur my sight. I blink them away so as not to embarrass myself.
Aodren walks down the steps and extends his hand to Seeva. She takes it and follows him up the stairs, where he gestures for her to take a seat beside the other nobility at the head table. “May I present Miss Seeva Soliel, Channeler ambassador from Shaerdan, and newest member of my Inner Advisory Circle.”
The nobles’ focus shifts to Seeva, and I exhale in relief—a breath it seems like I’ve been holding all my life.
As we’re ushered to our seats, I catch a glimpse of a decorated guard beyond one of the pillars. He’s standing inside the castle’s hallway, ribbons adorning his royal coat. The sight of his sable hair and golden skin set fire to my veins.
Cohen.
He’s in the exact spot we said goodbye, last time we were in the castle.
Even though we no longer share a bond, every particle of me yearns to go to him. To touch him and breathe him in and put my arms around him. To tell him I know exactly who I want.
But Aodren begins talking, and now that I’m nobility, I have to show some decorum.
It’s late in the afternoon when the nobles’ lunch is over. The moment we finish, I’m on my feet and cutting across the hall to the passage where I last saw Cohen.
But when I get there, he’s already left.
I take the road along the Evers that leads to my cottage.
Drained from a day spent with the nobility—a day in which I’ve conversed with more people than in the rest of my life altogether—I want nothing more than to curl up in Papa’s chair beside a warm fire and listen to the silence of the woods from my cottage.
I sent word to Gillian that I’ve returned, so I’ve no doubt she’ll come visit later. I considered sending Cohen a letter as well, but I didn’t know where he’s living. I assumed he was in the guards’ quarters. Only, when I inquired about where Cohen is staying, Leif shook his head and shrugged.
On the way home, the sun peeks from the clouds. Now that I’ve come down from the high of the nobles’ lukewarm reception, the gnawing ache of missing Cohen intensifies. I really hoped for a chance to talk with him. Despite the afternoon light, sadness has a way of burrowing under the skin and turning even the brightest day bleak.
When my cottage comes into view, I notice smoke wafting from the chimney. Gillian must’ve made it here before me.
Happy to see her, I force a smile over my frown. I ride Snowfire into the yard and dismount. After leading her into the stable, I remove my gear and take a few minutes to brush her down. Her water’s already been topped off. Another Gillian surprise, perhaps?
I rush out of the stable to thank her for doing so much, when I notice that Papa’s cottage has never looked so good. New paint, mended roof, pruned trees. When did she have the time or energy—or the know-how—to do all this?
Following the whack, whack, whack of an ax, I walk around the back of my cottage.
The sight of Cohen—coat off, tunic stained with sweat, arm muscles flexing with each strike—swipes my breath.
His swings are fluid and precise. Like chopping wood is a dance instead of a chore. I could watch him do this, watch the way his body moves, for days. The familiarity I’ve missed so much beats through me.
I don’t speak, so it takes a half-dozen logs before Cohen glances up and notices my presence. He slams the ax into the wood and leaves it. Sliding his forearm across his brow, he clears the perspiration from his eyes and studies me.
Seeds, I want him to talk, to say my name, to say anything. The last time we were together was punctuated with awkwardness. I’d just told Aodren that I could never love him the way I love Cohen. This man before me is my best friend, my support, my champion. And while he might sometimes be stubborn and mulish, so am I.
“Hi,” I say at the same time he talks. Thankfully it comes out clearly despite my club of a heart banging on my ribs.
“I didn’t realize you were coming home so soon.” He slides a handkerchief from his pocket and mops his brow. Lips sucked between teeth, he gazes at my cottage before refocusing on me. “I—I’m sorry you found me here. I was . . . I mean—” He sighs.
I’ve never seen Cohen this flustered in my life. It’s endearing and adorable.
Finally he gets the words out. “I saw you were back, and I wanted to have the place ready for you.”
The banging inside my chest stops. Inside it feels like my heart’s suddenly about to burst.
“Cohen.” I walk forward. “You didn’t have to do any of this. But I’m grateful. Thank you so much.”
He hangs his head and murmurs something that sounds like “It’s all I can do.” He lifts his chin. “You did well today. You . . . you looked stunning. You were confident. You commanded everyone’s attention. I was so damn proud of you. And I know if Saul were here, he’d say ‘well done.’”
His approval warms me from the top of my head to my toes.
“Thank you. Do you want to come inside?” I smooth my hands over the waistline of my dress. “You look like you could use a little rest.”
He chuckles and follows me to the door, but stops before entering. He studies the wood grain and frowns.
“Actually, Britt, I’d probably better not.”
My name on his lips shoots a tremor under my skin. I’ve missed the sound of him saying it. “Oh? Do you have to get back to the castle?” I toy with the door handle, pretending I’m not a little bit devastated.
He shifts his weight on the moss-covered stones just outside my cottage door. I notice that the snow has been shoveled to the sides of the walkway. “No, I just think I’m going to need some time to get used to being around you.”
“Why is that?”
He tugs on the back of neck. Lets out a heavy exhalation. “Thing is, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts to be around you and not be yours. I know I said you should take some time and decide what you want. I want to punch myself for even suggesting it. But then . . .” He drops his head, and the words seem to tumble out end over end. “I can understand why you’d pick him. He’s a better man than me. He’s not a jealous fool. He’s not made an arse of himself trying to protect you from things you’re perfectly capable of handling. He hasn’t wronged you like I have.”
Cohen looks up at the sky. The sun paints the curves and valleys of his features, showing that he’s lost weight in the weeks we’ve been apart. “I can be your friend. I can. I need time.”
I feel the chill in his words. The liar.