With a crack of the reins the horses and carriage took off, followed closely by the royal guard, two officers speeding up to take point. Alia sending Talac a quick, impenetrable look, before reeling her horse around and taking off in pursuit of the retinue.
It felt like hours as Talac sat there on his steed, waiting for his brain to make some sense of all he’d just heard and witnessed. Yet the longer he considered all the intelligence just imparted, the less and less it made sense. Alia, the Beast of Gloomenthrall, was a bridal candidate? Tall. Curvy and sturdy. Blunt. Deadly. Independent. Her looks closer to arresting and interesting than Court approved beautiful… that Alia, was travelling with them to the Golden Palace to vie for the hand of the Prince of the Realm?
He was awake, right? Talac looked around, noticing the speculative looks of several Lair inhabitants eyeing him peculiarly. Huh, if this was a dream, then it was an incredibly vivid one. Nudging his horse with his knees, Talac shot out of the portcullis in pursuit of his comrades and their three travelling… additions.
He had so many questions. Yet, when he caught up to the royal contingent, he found himself unable to voice a single one. Alia had positioned her horse in the middle of the eight men-at-arms bringing up the rear. All good men, trustworthy. But even so, Talac couldn’t imagine questioning Alia in their presence.
All Talac could do was trail behind the group, his gaze constantly drifting to fix upon Alia’s back. Question after question battering around in his brain. Did Alia really think she had a chance of winning the Prince’s hand? Was she tired of being Lady of the Lair, deciding to set herself a higher goal, Queen? What would happen if her secret identity was exposed at Court? What if word got out that she was the legendary Beast of Gloomenthrall?
By the nine circles of hell, was he coming at this from the wrong angle? Was he, Talac, somehow the reason Alia was travelling to the Palace? Had she formed an attachment to him and somehow convinced or blackmailed Brandth into issuing an invitation? Why then did she not approach him and try to get him onside, or at the very least send him the occasional heated coy look?
Was he in fact irrelevant to her reasoning for accepting the invitation? Did Alia perhaps think their time spent together might in some way favour her when it came to the Prince? Did she expect Talac to champion her cause?
Throughout the day new and increasingly bizarre scenarios niggled at Talac. Certainly, Alia was giving nothing away. Rarely looking in his direction, her eyes shifting quickly away from his if she accidentally met his gaze at any point. She rode without complaint. Readily answering questions his men had about the woods and the predators found within. But steering away from any queries regarding the Lair, or its inhabitants.
Was she on Lair business perchance? But then why the subterfuge of acting as a bridal candidate? What did that position gain her exactly? All eyes would be upon Alia the moment she arrived, from the servants all the way up to the King, the Queen, and Dowager-Queen. Alia wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without an escort. And everything she said would be picked apart, repeated, before being picked apart once more and closely assessed.
Finally, at the end of the long day’s ride, as the sun dipped below the horizon, they reached the first designated overnight camping site. Fires were lit and everyone was encouraged to make use of the nearby stream to wash and freshen up.
It had taken him all day, but Talac had eventually come to the conclusion that really there were only two important questions that he required answers for. Why had Brandth issued a bridal invitation to Alia Gloomenthrall? And why had she accepted?
* * *
Uh-o. It looked like Talac was finally ready to talk. Problem was, Alia wasn’t sure if she was. What could she possibly say to him that he would believe?
“May I join you?”
Talac hung his damp towel over a nearby branch before settling on the ground across the fire from Alia. Three were blazing in the campsite, all the better to keep predators away that weren’t daunted by the acrid smelling bags hung discreetly around the perimeter.
Darnation, the fates were conspiring against Alia. Perri had just left to check on Brandth, who would be bedding down in the carriage overnight. While the rest of the retinue were going about the business of cleaning away evidence of their meal and getting the sleeping arrangements sorted. Alia, for the moment, was effectively alone. Well, not anymore.
With his hair still damp from a visit to the nearby stream and the fire reflecting in his suddenly storm grey orbs, Talac looked like a demon risen from hell to cast judgement upon her.
“So, you want to marry the Prince?”
“Doesn’t every girl at some stage dream of such things?”
“You failed to mention earlier that you were throwing your hat into the ring.”
“It seemed silly to get my hopes up, given the stiff competition provided by my kin.”
“Yet here you are. Brandth must have seen something extraordinary in you to extend an invite.”
Alia did her best to keep her expression mild and unconcerned. She hadn’t actually spoken to Brandth as yet, Perri had done all the hard work there. Perhaps she should enquire of her sister how she had managed to garner Brandth’s cooperation. Clearly Talac thought his Sire could not be strong-armed or tricked. Yet somehow Perri had achieved the impossible.
“Is that a question?”
“I was just wondering what you could have said or done to sway Brandth’s notably high standards in your favour.”
“Are you implying that I’m not good enough for your Prince?”
“If anything, I would say the opposite might be true.”
“You sang his praises a few days ago. Handsome. Loyal. Smart. Capable, you said. Have you changed your tune?”
“The Prince is all those things, so it is said, but he is… hamstrung by tradition, family expectations, and the political moods of the aristos. I expect he is doing his best to try and carve out his own path through all of that. But that generally means playing the Court games. You do not strike me as one who has much use for political or diplomatic games.”
Wrinkling her nose, Alia couldn’t help but nod. “Give me a ball tackle game over drawing room manoeuvrings any day of the week.”
