Chapter 53

Pain. There was so much pain. Soren’s head pounded from dehydration, the skin on his back and torso burned from whipping marks, and his left shoulder hung loosely at his side. He didn’t remember exactly when it fully dislocated, just that at some point in the past three days Nelan had swapped the cat-o’-nine-tails for a wooden racket braided with leather and that the force of the blow was enough to wrench his shoulder from its socket. That pain was the worst, far outshining the countless cuts and bruises that covered his body. Thankfully, his legs were spared the worst of the beating; it would be terribly hard to look imposing if he couldn’t even take a step. 

From his peripheral vision, he saw Princess Codela in the front row. She had saved him. Well, she and Matheus. Less than an hour before, he’d heard a scuffle outside his prison room, and then Princess Codela had swept in. She wore a formal dress with a high red collar that faded first to white, then into black. Judging by the disgust on her face as she stepped into the cell, he’d wondered if the black border of her hem was a calculation to hide any basement dirt. 

She’d freed him with two swipes of a wicked-looking knife, told him what day it was and that he had an hour to prepare, and then exited as quickly as she’d come. Matheus had nodded at him from the doorway, where he left a change of clean clothes and Soren’s old sword before following her. 

It had been a close thing, but thankfully everyone was focused on the wedding and the halls were mostly clear by the time Soren had made his way to the throne room. 

“How…where did you come from?” Nelan asked, rising halfway out of his seat.

“You know where I came from—the dungeon far below the castle where you kept me imprisoned after ordering your personal guard to ambush me. I’d say you should train them better so they don’t get complacent and allow the next prisoner to escape, but you won’t have that chance. This ends here and now.”

Nelan started calling for the guards, but Soren shouted over him. “The marriage between King Nelan of Rhinnea and Queen Annalise of Dovea is not valid, and I am here to issue a handfasting challenge for her honor as is my right!” 

The declaration stopped Nelan mid-sentence, and he leaned back in his chair and waved his hand. “No one has called for a handfasting challenge in years, you can’t be serious,” Nelan scoffed, but Soren noted that the guards standing at the edge of the room had stopped mid-step when he invoked the right to the trial. 

The head priest standing at the altar cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but the right to a handfasting challenge is one of our oldest traditions ever since your great forebearer, King Rosen, fought for his sister to restore her honor and standing after she was pledged to one of the great desert warlords.” The priest’s voice was reedy and clear, and he tilted his head as he appraised Soren. “However, I must ask, young man, how a Dovean heard of one of our more obscure traditions.” 

“Over the last few weeks, Queen Annalise spent much of her days reading aloud to her attendants, frequently from books on Rhinnean history and customs. I had the fortune and privilege of standing guard outside her chambers for hours at a time. I am no great scholar, but some of the more intriguing parts stuck,” Soren replied.  

“So she has conspired with you, I see.” Nelan’s eyes narrowed into slits and the sneer across his face turned him into one of the ugliest men Soren ever had the misfortune of seeing. 

“She did no such thing. The Rhinnean guards who stood outside her chambers can attest to the fact that she read for many hours and that anyone who cared to listen would have found themselves better for the education.” Soren cut his eyes to Annalise and his voice softened. “If it wasn’t for the death of her father, she would have married you for the good of her people and I would have respected her wishes.” 

The priest nodded, as if satisfied with Soren’s explanation. “The Goddess treasures the pursuit of knowledge. I see nothing untoward in the princess seeking to learn more of our customs. I declare the challenge valid.” 

“She was a princess at the time, but is a queen now. Her father, King Everet, has died and King Nelan’s insistence to marry Queen Annalise against her will and keep her captive is the greatest impropriety and sin against the laws of hospitality, as well as a break of the betrothal treaty!” Soren’s voice rose until he was bellowing at such a level that he was sure even the oldest and most hard of hearing in the room could understand the accusations. With as much of a flourish as he could muster, Soren took a leather glove from his pocket—he’d stolen it from the one guard he’d surprised in the hallway and promptly knocked out—and threw it on the ground in an official challenge. 

 Nelan remained as arrogant as ever, shrugging one shoulder as if it was no great matter to him either way. His eyes travelled over Soren’s form, and he laughed. “You think you can win against me in your injured state? It wouldn’t be very honorable of me to fight you now.” 

“Would it be less honorable than beating me when I was tied up? Of plotting to kill your wife before you’d even married her, or using her kingdom for your own gains under the pretense of maintaining peace?” With every question, the anger in Soren’s chest burned brighter until it felt like his rage was a bonfire. 

Another smattering of whispers broke out, and King Nelan’s brow darkened. He cast his gaze across the room, taking in the hands lifted over mouths which muffled the discussion engendered by Soren’s accusations. “If you wish to insult me and the honor of this court with your lies, then I suppose you leave me with no choice but to accept your challenge.” 

“Captain Kierson cannot fight in his condition,” Annalise said, and Soren turned his full attention to her. 

When he’d first entered the room, Soren had allowed himself one glance to ensure she was okay. Now that Nelan had accepted his challenge, and as he stalked down the aisle, he had a moment to take in her appearance. She was a vision in white silk and lace, her hands folded demurely within her long sleeves, and the high collar of her dress accentuated the elegant lines of her neck. A hideous white and red mask covered her face, but her eyes were as blue as a glacier’s crevasse and wide enough in concern he could almost fall into them. 

If her eyes soothed the worst of his ire, the mask she wore made it burn all the brighter, like a stiff breeze to a bonfire. He tore his gaze away from her, afraid that if he allowed himself to relax for even a moment he’d collapse.

“I assure you, I am more than fit to fight,” Soren said lest King Nelan use her words as an excuse to call off the match. He drew to a stop at the end of the aisle and stared the king down even as the pattering of soft footsteps echoed across the polished marble floor, and then Annalise was standing in front of him. 

“If you truly insist on fighting for my honor, I will not allow my champion to go into battle unprepared.” Her blue eyes brimmed with tears as she took in his state. “I require a washing cloth, a bucket of warm water, and a knife,” she said to no one in particular. With trembling fingers, she removed the mask from her face and cast it aside, where it shattered into several pieces and forced the front row of nobility to step back.

It took all of Soren’s self-control not to take her in his arms, curse and all.  

“Are we to make an entire production of this duel? Captain Kierson said that he was ready to fight; if he was speaking the truth, he doesn’t require a nursemaid,” King Nelan sneered. 

Before Soren could open his mouth to respond, Annalise whirled around, her face twisted in a snarl and her eyes blazing. “You told me three days ago that Captain Kierson was dead. You said that he’d attacked you, and that in self-defense you were forced to kill him. If you hadn’t kept him prisoner and tortured him, you wouldn’t have to wait as I ensure my champion is properly prepared. Sitting and thinking of your sins for a few minutes while I tend him is the smallest penance you could perform.” With a huff, she turned back to Soren and probed his shoulder with gentle fingers. She frowned at his sharp inhale. “Does that hurt?” 

“Terribly.” He knew he should watch Nelan, or the guards, or their surroundings, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” 

“I need you to lie down. This is going to feel horrible, but it needs to be done before you fight him.” Soren did as she asked, lying on his side with his left arm cradled against his body. Annalise took his hand and braced her foot against his torso, then raised his arm over his head and rotated it back. As she moved, Soren clenched his jaw as hard as he could to prevent any groans or cries from escaping despite the overwhelming pain that radiated from his shoulder and the sensation that Annalise was doing her best to rip his arm out of its socket. 

“Almost…there,” Annalise said as she twisted his arm further and the pain ratcheted up to such a near-debilitating degree that his vision grayed at the edges before Soren felt a hefty clunk as his shoulder slid back into its socket, followed by immediate relief. 

“I’m so glad that worked. I suppose all those visits to the healing guild over the years were certainly worth it,” Annalise said, a bubble of near-hysterical laughter escaping from her as she helped Soren return to sitting. “How’s your shoulder now?” 

He made a fist and moved his arm gingerly. “Better. Still hurts, but the pain has dulled considerably.” 

“It won’t be suitable for any movement or force for quite a while. It would be best if we immobilized it until you can see a real healer. Is that okay?” 

“Perfectly fine. I don’t need my left arm to defeat Nelan.” 

Annalise raised a perfect eyebrow but said nothing more as at just that moment her lady’s maids stepped forward. 

“I told you that you’d need us,” Priscilla said as she handed a tin of salve over along with a dagger. 

“You two were supposed to be far away by now,” Annalise hissed. 

“As if we couldn’t tell that something was up, or see the new stitches in your gloves. You are far too quick to send us away and march grim-faced to your doom. Your mother and aunt are the same; it must be a family trait,” Elsabeth added reproachfully as she set a steaming bucket of water on the ground with a small cloth next to it.  

“Did you know?” 

“About your plans? We suspected something, yes. I’d never have expected Captain Kierson to come back from the dead, though,” Elsabeth said.  

“Yes, neither was I, but it is a blessing that I will praise the Goddess for until the day that I die.” Annalise looked between her two friends with tears in her eyes as she washed the worst of the cuts from Soren’s face. At her soothing touch, he allowed himself to relax and conserve his strength. “Any chance I can convince you two to leave while you still can?” Annalise murmured, keeping her voice low. 

“None, and even if you could, I doubt the guards would let us go.”

“In that case, I fear you may have signed your death warrants.” 

“I don’t think I need to remind you, Your Majesty, that every day working with you was laced with danger. Perhaps we’ve just grown to like a little extra thrill.” Priscilla’s grin was fierce. She dropped into a curtsy and retreated. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be waiting for Captain Kierson’s victory.” 

Annalise watched her two lady’s maids walk to the edge of the open space with a stricken look as she tended a cut on his eyebrow, and Soren nearly reached up to soothe her, but his left arm wasn’t feeling up to the task.

Still, she noticed the twitch of his shoulder, and a deep frown settled over her face. Before anyone could stop her, Annalise grabbed the hem of her dress and started cutting, ignoring the scandalized gasps of the crowd. 

“It’s a good thing this train is so long,” she said as she sliced off a long strip of silk before setting it to the side.

“It’s a beautiful dress, and a pity you have to ruin it.”

She looked at him, blinked, then shook her head as she rolled the strip into a manageable bundle. “It doesn’t matter. I’m so glad that you’re alive, Soren. When I heard you’d died… my heart…” she swallowed and looked up as if to keep her tears at bay. “You shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know where you’ve been, and I can’t imagine what Nelan did to you, but you should have escaped back to Dovea to warn them of what was coming and Nelan’s plans.” 

“And leave you here? To be wed to that monster? Do you really think so little of me?” Soren dropped his voice. “The knowledge that I would take my revenge on him for everything he’s done and everything he planned to do to you was what kept me going.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper as she moved to the side, leaning forward until her mouth was next to his ear under the guise of wrapping the long cloth around his body, securing his left arm to his torso. “I had a plan. I would never have let him live past today.” 

“They would have killed you for it.” 

The smile she gave him as she returned to his front was tremulous. “If it’s my fate to die today, so be it. At least this way I could have done something good for my kingdom.” 

“Spoken like a true queen.” As Annalise pulled away and secured the wrapping, Soren’s eyes fell to her lips, then searched her face. She was the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen, and when their eyes met, his heart stopped beating for a moment. In a room full of royalty, nobility, and finery, he only saw her.  

“The Goddess has truly blessed me with the chance to see you again. I’ve had so many days to think about my regrets, to think of what I would tell you if I had just one more chance to speak with you.” Tears filled her eyes as her voice broke, but she didn’t look away. “I suppose it’s just my luck that the words fail me now when I need them most…but I hope you’ll understand when I say that I would have adored a life by your side, even as a poor shepherd’s wife.” 

“And what of a life by the side of a poor western Dovean lord?” 

She snorted as she gave his face and neck one last pass over with the washcloth and dabbed more salve on the deepest cuts. “I don’t think anyone would call you poor considering the wealth of your forests and flocks.” 

He took her gloved hand in his ungloved one. “A life without you in it is a poor life indeed.” 

The moment between them stretched like a thin cotton thread, heavy with the weight of what was to come. Annalise looked down at the hand Soren held. Her jaw tensed, and she looked up at him with new resolve, covering his hand with her free one. “In that case, if we make it through this, I think I’d like nothing better than to make you a very rich man, my dear Soren.” 

“How long do you need to tend a few cuts, princess? Captain Kierson looks more than ready for battle to me,” King Nelan’s sardonic voice cut through the thudding of Soren’s heart. 

“They say that patience is the sign of a great ruler, King Nelan, but since you’re so eager to start your duel, I need just a moment more.” Annalise’s response dripped with venom, and a corner of her mouth tipped up as the Rhinnean court erupted once again into whispers. 

She finished her tending, and whether it was the adrenaline surging through his veins or the treatment she’d provided, Soren felt almost like a new man. Annalise pressed her gloved hand to the side of his face in a tender caress. He caught it in his own, then pressed a kiss to the top of it. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I already feel much better,” he rumbled. 

She smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgement, then turned away and walked back towards Nelan. She ignored the priest, and the flummoxed man standing next to him, went directly past the dais, and took a seat on the throne reserved for Rhinnea’s queen.

“As the challenged, I choose this duel to be by the sword,” King Nelan said as he stood from his seat and stepped off the dais.

Soren laughed and sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess above. “I am grateful, King Nelan, for your choosing swords. As you can see, I cannot use my left shoulder. A battle ax would have put me at quite the disadvantage.” 

“Don’t thank me yet; I don’t know of any swordsman who has ever won a duel using his non-dominant hand. We all saw your skills in your duel with Lord Grenlef, but you are still at a handicap, Captain Kierson,” Nelan said as he drew the gaudily decorated monstrosity that hung at his side.   

“You think so? I fear you’re mistaken, King Nelan.” Soren walked towards the king, sword settled comfortably in his grip like the handshake from an old friend. He smiled broadly and took great pleasure when Nelan took a step back. “You see, I’m actually right-handed.”