Murmurs chased Rhosyn out of the hall and Leoric was already moving, catching a snigger from princely lips as he went. He replayed the look on her face as she fled. It was all he could do to stop him from turning back. Because he knew if he did, he'd only give the crown what they wanted—an actual reason to detain him.
He knew he shouldn't have let her dance with the prince.
Caerwyn had shadowed Rhosyn out only moments ago, but Leoric wasn't sure how far she'd run.
The hall was cold, something she wouldn't like. It was probably why she leaned into him so much when they were together, for his warmth.
Quiet lived in the space, filling the darkness and snuffing out any liveliness. He didn't know this building, it was neat in its layout like most southern manors, but he wasn't even sure what direction her bedroom was in.
Footsteps marched toward him and Caerwyn stepped out of the dark. Their eyes locked and Leoric already knew the state she was in. His hand fisted, but he followed the knight.
The hall fed into other wings, folding and retreating off. He caught a breath that shattered the silence and choked, and Leoric quickened his step.
She clutched the wall as if it could offer her more than fragile support. Everything about her was delicate. The sleek laced dress that clung to her. The pale plain fear that pooled in her form. But it was when her eyes snatched up did Leoric falter forward.
He caught her in his arms, though she found the strength to try to fight him—tried. She'd never been weak, not even now, though she seemed so breakable.
"Rhosyn—"
"No," she sobbed, and he hadn't noticed her tears before. "No." Her breath caught and she melted into him.
Leoric pressed her against his frame, wrapped her up as if he could shield her from her own mind and ran his fingers along the lace of her dress. He never got to tell her that she looked breathtaking. That he'd dreamt of her last night...
Rhosyn clung to him, her breathing stilling and he knew she was just pulling on the same mask she had when they first walked into the hall. But there was a way that she lingered, curling against him and humming that made him pause.
He wondered when she'd convince herself that this was all just another contract again. How long she could distance herself from what she felt, because he knew from the way she kissed him last week, that she was losing whatever war she waged on herself.
"I'm fine," she said, pushing against his chest and it was her most told lie.
Bright, brilliant, blue eyes looked up at him as if daring him to prove her wrong, and he had always enjoyed doing so. But even now he saw the cracks in her composure.
Not today.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and from his tone she knew she wasn't fooling him for a minute.
She answered with a nod and flinched when his thumb wiped away the tears littering her cheek. She bit down on her tongue, gaze sweeping away when her cheeks flushed and he didn't know why she refused to be honest with herself.
Leoric huffed a sigh. "Fine, let's return."
He didn't say it aloud, but he didn't intend on leaving her side from here on out. And he definitely planned on keeping the prince away.
Rhosyn didn't scare easily, but he had her cornered and petrified. But just as the priest said, they're one now, deemed so by God. And Leoric fully intended to protect himself. He'd promised Rhosyn that war was coming after all.
Though he did have to watch his other half, she had a way of being loyal to the point it was suicidal. He knew firsthand—it was the reason she stood wed to him today.
They stepped into the corridor, to the door they'd whisked through not long ago and paused a moment. The falsified warmth that fluttered from the doorway in the form of light and chatter, pierced the quiet they'd only got used to.
Rhosyn took a step forward and Leoric startled at the curve that painted her lips. He knew she could wear composure like armour, he didn't know she could draw upon memories like weapons.
He knew the shape of that mouth, it was what drew him in on that stony beach. There she was free and foreign in all the best ways. That was when she was Rhosyn. Not the "Crown Treasure" or the "Loyal Hound's" niece. She had undampened life and he loved it.
In segments the room hushed the further they stepped into it.
"I do apologise," Rhosyn's voice carried light and clear. "My dress needed..." She stole a look at him, a practiced embarrassed look flushing across her face and he remembered it all too easily from Winter Festivities—she learned fast.
A few sympathetic laughs and giggles splattered to life, women fanning themselves and looking all too familiar with the issue themselves. They'd taken the bait that Rhosyn's sudden exit was due to her ties being too tight.
"However," she recovered quickly, a trained smile bright. "If you would care to join us in the dining hall, we've prepared a feast."
People wouldn't linger on the thought of her breath being strangled from her. The rich were often bought by simple things—food being one of them.
Rhosyn had probably guessed by the time they'd reached their seats at the head of the dinner table, that he and Caerwyn weren't leaving her side. Leoric noticed it in the slip of her features. She held a pretty smile for others, but it cracked around her eyes and her breath came when she remembered to process it.
Dinner proceeded as Leoric expected. Rhosyn was dissociating again, refusing to meet his eyes as if that'll stop him reading her.
Chatter hummed around them, happy to entertain themselves. Then one distinct voice spoke up—the prince.
"Normally newlyweds' tell stories of how they first met," he said, satisfied with the way the room bent to his voice and heads nodded with interest, eyes all aimed at them.
Clearly the prince thought he could torture Rhosyn more. Drag out a story that'll hint at foul play.
Leoric smirked. Now the prince was playing his game.
He slipped his fingers into Rhosyn's and summoned her gaze like he expected—he loved reading her. The surprise on her face, even for that split moment, sold his next few words, because he knew her next expression would sell the rest.
"We met on a beach in Solmere, on Saint Michaelsmas, though she'd say I was a day too late," Leoric recited.
A few laughs tinged the air, some haughty shakes of their heads at such a joke at the expense of a Saint and a few dreamy hums. But it was Rhosyn's giggle that he waited for, rushed to be contained behind clamped lips. Still hinted in the corners of her mouth.
Leoric didn't have to look up to know the prince's face soured. He probably thought it was a lie. Probably wanted it to be.
"What happened, Your Grace?" asked a noble lady consumed by curiosity, she looked related to Lord Aldermere of Alderwyck. Could've been his great granddaughter for all Leoric knew—the man was ancient.
He snuck a look of Rhosyn trying to contain a blush, giving him a look that asked, 'was he going to tell the story' and a part of her wanting to hear his words.
And so he gave them to her. "I did the only thing a man would when he spots a beautiful woman." Her blush deepened, her lips thinned. "I went over to talk to her."
He wondered if she'd join in, but by the way she attempted to swallow a lump down, her throat wouldn't comply.
"On the way there," he continued, finger stroking her hand and he could feel the way it wrapped around the stone clenched inside. "I found a pretty blue pebble and without thinking, I picked it up."
The room had all primed, listening to the story, the ladies' eyes twinkling in delight.
"And so, without thinking it through much, I offered this mysterious woman, kneeling on a stony beach just another stone."
Rhosyn's hand tightened on her pebble.
Some men muttered confusion to their wives, unattached ladies exchanged excited exclamations.
"Saint Michaelsmas?" The prince asked, doubtfully. Clearly he thought the story fabricated.
With a careful finger, Leoric pried questioningly, slipping between her fingers and stroking the smooth stone there. Her grip loosened and with a long breath, she revealed the blue pebble sitting in her palm.
Half the room took it as confirmation. The other half doubted. Though it didn't matter, the details were only for them and Leoric wondered if she could remember all the words as she'd clearly forgotten him.
Most of the nobles returned to their goblets or plates, others to their neighbour for more gossiping words.
"I guess you were right," Rhosyn mumbled and his interest piqued like many others who were still hooked. "I would marry a duke after all."
So she did remember his words, she just never pictured them coming from him.
Leoric curled her fingers around the pebble again, picked up her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles.
"I'm hardly wrong," he whispered, only for her.
She didn't let herself want them, didn't expect to get them. Not because she didn't like romantic sentiments. But because she told herself she wasn't worthy of them. She'd sold herself so much that she wasn't aware of her own worth.
But Leoric knew.