Forever, With You

Is he worried about me...? She turned her head, and between the strands of black hair the tip of an ear showed, faintly flushed. Appetite stirred in her all at once. Evelynn took up her knife and fork, cut a generous piece from the juice-running meat, and put it in her mouth to chew.

"It's a specialty of the chef who just arrived."

"It's delicious."

For all its rich look, the flavor was clean and mild, and Evelynn's hands grew busy. Ilya let out a short laugh and set another dish before her.

"I heard it's famous in your... homeland."

A whole pigeon, packed with rice and spices and roasted over the grill, was a celebrated dish of the central plains. My homeland... If he means Mardus, he ought to have said it through his teeth. A hot rush rose in her, and she looked at his face. As always, that expressionless face gave nothing away.

Evelynn bent to her meal again. She cut the meat small, took it with the grains of rice, and chewed until the fragrant, deep savor bloomed across her tongue and the corners of her mouth lifted.

A prickling gaze settled on her cheek. She turned. Ilya was watching her, chin propped on his hand.

"Aren't you eating, Your Grace?"

"I ate earlier. There was a formal banquet to celebrate Arthurs's win."

Evelynn hesitated, then asked.

"Young Arthurs is all right, isn't he?"

"Mm. His arm's broken, but... he's a sturdy one. He'll be fine soon."

Evelynn's face brightened at once.

"That happy about it?"

"Yes. I think I might get a little better from now on. Back then I only cried like a fool, but... today was different."

A sharp light flickered across her gentle face. She turned back to the food and stuffed a large piece of pigeon into her mouth, and Ilya, watching his wife, asked as if something had caught hold of him.

"Something like this happened before?"

That was when it came.

"Your Grace!"

The knight posted at the dining hall entrance came running in.

"What's all this noise? Can't you see we're in the middle of a meal?"

Ilya fixed the knight with a cutting glare.

"It's... Sir Odin has arrived. He says he must see Your Grace before he departs."

The hand closed around Evelynn's fork trembled. Ilya spoke in a voice gone cold.

"Tell him to wait until we've finished."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The knight shut the door at once and went out, and a commotion rose on the other side.

"You're already done?"

At Ilya's question, Evelynn nodded.

The moment she heard that Odin had come, her appetite fell away. On impulse she lifted the wine glass in front of her and drained it in a single swallow.

The maid attending them hurried to fill it again with wine.

One glass. Two. Three.

Ilya, who had been watching in silence, took the glass from her.

"I haven't had that much."

He frowned at the face flushed a deep, vivid red, then gave an order to the knight standing behind him.

"Let him in."

A moment later Odin walked into the dining hall, pale to the lips. When he saw Evelynn seated beside Ilya, he flinched.

"Sit, brother-in-law."

At a glance from Ilya, a servant moved to show Odin to a place near the entrance. Thud. Without a word of warning, Odin drove his fist into the face of the man who had guided him, then turned on Ilya with a snarl.

"How dare you... treat the heir of House Mardus this way."

Every trace of expression left Ilya's face.

"I told you to sit."

The voice, dropped lower still, rolled through the hall.

Another glance, and the knight at the entrance stepped in behind Odin and bore down on his shoulders.

"You insolent—!"

Unable to hold against the weight pressing him down, Odin sat at last.

"Wine?"

The maids, who had been hesitating, came forward to set a glass at his place.

"Ah. That won't do. Wine, for a man too ill even to fight a duel."

At Ilya's words they drew back again, and relief spread over their faces.

Evelynn watched the absurd little farce and sank into thought. It was true that Odin had been hot-blooded from childhood, a temper he had never learned to master... but the Odin she had met in the archduchy seemed strangely unsteady. As if something had taken hold of him.

"His Imperial Majesty has sent a personal letter."

At that triumphant tone, Ilya gave a short laugh.

"If it's that letter, I've already had it. Put it away."

Ever since Ilya had been in Tatar, the emperor had been pressing on him a daughter born of his mistress. For the girl to be made archduchess, Evelynn would have to disappear, so their interests did align. The trouble was that the girl was only twelve—a child—and the emperor had not the slightest reason to hurry.

"What matters most is the will of the people being married, isn't it?"

"What does the will of the parties have to do with a marriage!"

Ilya looked straight into Evelynn's face.

"Wife. Answer me. Do you want to leave me?"

Evelynn shook her head. She thought she heard the grind of Odin's teeth. Ilya drew her narrow shoulders in and gathered her against his chest, and at the sudden contact her body went rigid.

"If you say you want to go back... I'll let you go. What do you want?"

His fingers moved through her curls. Evelynn, her face buried against the hard plane of his chest, lifted her head and looked at him. She hesitated, then murmured, barely loud enough to catch.

"I want to stay... at your side."

Her voice shook. I'm drunk. Just this once. She wavered a long moment, then whispered again.

The fingers toying with her hair went still. I shouldn't have said it... She dropped her head. Callused fingers caught the back of her skull and drew her in hard, and a sweet, low voice drove straight into her ear.

What is he— Evelynn's head snapped up. Those deep blue eyes met hers, heated through, and her heart lurched as if she had been running at a dead sprint.

Ilya looked down for a long while at the cheeks flushed so becomingly, then hauled her to her feet in a rush. He had her by the arm and was already walking for the door when he turned back.

"I'm in something of a hurry. I'm about to be a new husband, so I trust you'll understand, brother-in-law."

Behind them came a shattering crash of tableware.

They did not speak a word as they passed down the dim corridor and climbed the long stairs. The knights guarding the archduke's chambers looked briefly startled at the sight of Evelynn, but, seasoned as they were, they smoothed their faces at once.

"You've returned."

Evelynn was still staring blankly at the enormous door when she was pulled inside. With the solid thud of it closing, she was caught between two hard arms. She could not bring herself to face him, and turned her head aside.

"Liar."

The word left him on a sigh, and Evelynn flinched, a tremor running through her.

"When all you do, every day, is scheme how to run."

"That's the right thing, isn't it? People said that when you came back... you'd cast us out."

Tears crept further into her voice. Perhaps it was the wine; her feelings seemed to run hotter than usual.

"Liber is young, and you don't have another child yet... so I thought he'd be all right... I was foolish, and Liber..."

"You were my wife then, and you are my wife now! I haven't taken another woman."

He snarled it, fierce, and caught her chin so she had to look at him.

"Is this because I buried that incident?"

Evelynn dropped her head and gave no answer.

"The ones who tried to poison the child will pay for it. Without fail."

"You... can't. Because you're the Archduke of Azantis."

The man who had tried to poison Liber was the elder brother of a guardsman killed through Mardus's betrayal. Dig into the matter, and it was plain the Black Forest Knights—and the whole of the archduchy—would be thrown into unrest.

He would never take on a political risk like that for his son. In her head, Evelynn understood her husband. In her heart, she resented him. A mind that swung one way and then the other a dozen times a day left her wretched.

"Because I am the Archduke of Azantis, I have to. Whoever is behind this, there will be people inside this castle who helped them. I'll find every one of them. I promise."

The man's deep blue eyes looked, somehow, urgent. Evelynn loved the man in front of her... and she did not trust him. But just now she had no choice except to believe. She had nowhere else to go.

Her life was still being pulled about by her father, and by her husband. It's all right. Little by little, it's getting better. Today I even saved my knight. Tomorrow will be better still.

A moment later she smiled wide, her eyes folding with it. Brimming with tears, those eyes like new shoots shone in the dark.

"I'll believe you."

The hand at her chin came down and closed lightly around the nape of her neck. Ilya set his forehead to her round one and whispered in a voice gone thoroughly hoarse.

"You're drunk. Sleep."

"I want to go to Liber."

Ha. The laugh that left him was the sound of air going out. The faint tremor traveling through their touching foreheads drew Evelynn tight. Ilya stopped laughing, swept her up, and slung her over one shoulder. Hanging upside down, she thrashed her arms and legs and screamed.

"Put me down!"

Ilya drawled, mocking.

"My innocent wife. Do you really think it makes sense to walk out of there looking as if we're burning for each other, and then sleep in separate rooms?"

Even through the wine, she could find no answer to that, and she shut her mouth tight. He set her down on the bed and drew the covers over her. She huffed for a while, and then she slept.

Ilya reached for the cut at the corner of her lip that had been nagging at him. He stroked the scabbed wound for a long time before he rose. On his way out of the bedchamber he glanced at the frame on the wall, and the house words of the archducal family, written in a handsome hand, caught his eye.

Ilya closed the door with care and stepped outside. It was time to repay a grudge.

Leaving the bedchamber, Ilya went looking for the room where Odin was staying. The knights of House Mardus went pale at the sight of the archduke appearing without a single escort.

"Your Grace, forgive me, but Sir Odin does not seem to be in any state to receive anyone just now..."

Aaaagh— a raw scream, and the sound of something breaking. Through the open door the room was an utter wreck.

"No need to announce me, then. Open it."

There was not a knight alive who did not know the name of Ilya, Archduke of Azantis. But the heir of House Mardus, eyes bloodshot and tearing the room apart, was no less a thing to fear. When the knights only stood there, faces lost, and would not give way, Ilya scowled.

"Fools, as thick-headed as the man they serve."