His Secret Wife

Six Years Later

Spring 38th Year of the Rule of William Farview - W38

‘Will you calm down?’ Ilan looked across at his brother, Prince Ronin. They stood at the entrance to the Palace. They could hear, even from a distance, the approach of over a dozen carriages and wagons as they rolled through the streets of Milany. Winding their way up the hill through the city on a crisp spring day. The grey paving slabs beneath were covered in pink and white blossoms, softening the otherwise harsh appearance of the ancient stone palace. He could hear the cheering from the curious population lining the streets. Eager to welcome the Princess of Veren to her new home.

The air was scented with blossom and mingled with ice and fresh baked bread. The carriages would roll through the great stone archways and into the courtyard where a dozen members of the nobility had gathered in an informal welcoming committee. The formal reception would be later that evening, a ball and official commencement of Courting between the Prince of Milany and Princess of Veren as they began their betrothal.

Ronin had offered to marriage the Princess, but Ilan was used to watching his younger brother and wondered if he had started to regret his decision.

‘I am calm,’ Ronin replied, and he sounded it. Outwardly he looked calm. His blonde beard and hair were neatly trimmed. But his blue eyes were fixed on the gate, unwavering. He held his hands behind his back, as though he needed something to do with them. But only Ilan could see that they were gripped so hard together, that the knuckles were turning white. Only someone used to watching Ronin, over a lifetime, would see that his jaw was tightly clenched, muscles at the top of his neck flickering. That, despite the cool temperature, sweat beaded at the back of his neck.

‘Ronin,’ Ilan drew a breath. They were both decked out in the light blue of Milany. A heavy woollen tunic over midnight blue long sleeve coat and breeches, tucked into black polished boots. They both wore the emblem of Milany, a dragon with wings unfurled, proudly in the centre of their chest.

‘Ilan,’ Ronin looked back at his brother, eyebrow raised in challenge. Blue eyes flashing. ‘Don’t tell me that I can still back out of this circus. Because we both know that’s not true,’ his voice was low, mindful of the twelve members of highest ranking nobility standing at the base of the steps, decked out on their own finery. They were from the twelve dukedoms of the country, distant great uncles and aunts, closer to the King’s age. But the King would not join them. He had been committed to his bed the year before, and the eldest Prince Gregory had assumed stewardship of the country. Not only that, but the Prince’s, Sastra had refused an arranged marriage with the nearby region of Staven. Although in the end, she hadn’t caused any ill will between the countries, it was felt by the twelve seats of power that an official alliance of marriage had to be made, with at least one of the neighbouring countries. Ronin had volunteered himself, and the Royal Family of Veren had proposed a match with their eldest daughter.

But Ilan let out a sigh. Ronin was right. They couldn't afford for Ronin to back out of an arranged marriage, not after Sastra had refused one. They couldn’t afford to develop a reputation for scandal.

‘It’s going to be fine,’ Ilan tried to consol his younger brother before taking a breath himself as the wagons appeared in sight. Maybe it was just nerves, but he felt a flutter of anxiety in the pit of his stomach as they first carriage circled the courtyard and came to a stop. There was a pause where time seemed to come to a standstill, as four other carriages followed suit and their tall wooden wheels came to a standstill. The whole moment had been carefully agreed and staged between the two countries. So that everyone knew what to expect. Accompanying the carriages were a number of Veren Knights. Ilan glanced over them all with mild interest. The men and women who gained their shield in Veren were an interesting group, because not only did they have to master combat and their skills in diplomacy, but some were Griffin Riders.

Griffins had not crossed the sea to Milany, but Ilan took notice of the breastplates upon four of the accompanying Knights. Each of them decorated with a single golden feather, denoting their status. As they waited for the rest of the travelling party to arrive and fall into line, Ilan glanced at his brother, who had spent some time in Veren before.

But Ronin didn’t look calm anymore. Ilan was startled, was his brother even more nervous than he’d admitted? But it didn’t look like nerves, if anything, Ronin looked angry. Furious. His pale eyes flashing as if with lightning as he stared at the assembled group. Ilan followed his gaze, trying to pinpoint exactly who his brother was staring at, or glaring at.

It didn’t take long for him to pick out one of the four Griffin riders. Mounted on a dappled grey horse, closest to the carriage was a Lady Knight. It was hard to tell with her seated upon the horse, but she looked tall. None of the riders were wearing a helmet, so Ilan was able to pick out her features, she had dark hair cut to just about her shoulders. It seemed to fall in loose curls. He looked back at Ronin, and confident that he was looking at the person who had angered his brother with her mere presence, studied the woman more closely. She sat up straight, her gaze fixed forward through the ears of her horse. Was it a mark of respect or training? Ilan looked at the other riders and realised that the rest seemed relaxed, looking around at the Palace, nodding or smiling to the collected nobility.

But the dark-haired woman sat like a statue, her face inexpression. She had warm brown eyes and a soft mouth. Ilan turned to nudge his brother, reminding him that he couldn’t openly hate the delegation that Veren had sent, but whatever emotion he had seen on Ronin’s features had vanished. Replaced by a similar impassivity as the Griffin rider. There was a story here, Ilan knew but heard the scraping of steps being set down beside the carriages. This wasn’t the time to start a conversation with his brother, not when he was supposed to be helping welcome the Princess. It was bad enough that Gregory couldn’t attend, and their youngest brother Arnit was out of the country.

The carriage door opened, the gilded wood swung back seamlessly as the Princess stepped down from her transportation. Two of the Griffin riders dismounted in a smooth motion, including the woman with dark-hair. Ilan blinked. He didn’t know what he had expected of Princess Freya of Veren, but the woman who delicately descended the carriage steps and turned towards the Palace was not it. His thoughts raced, what had he expected? Someone similar to his cousin, Sastra? Tall, blonde and slender? Freaky was none of these things. She was petite, with dark hair and a curvaceous body. Or perhaps it was the fashion of Veren that saw it appear so? But she had a generous bosom and hips that flared. Ilan felt his mouth go dry, palms sweaty as she lifted her skirts in a graceful sweep and climbed the steps to meet them. The two Griffin riders who had dismounted, fell into step behind her. Her personal guards, the dark-haired woman and a slender man with cropped red hair.

Ronin descended the steps to meet Freya half way, a symbolic gesture seeing as she had already travelled across the sea to meet him. Ronin bowed as she paused, she had grey eyes and smiled as they exchanged greetings and pleasantries about the weather and her journey through the city. Her smile expression lit her face as she accepted Ronin’s offer of a hand and tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm. Ronin escorted Freya up the steps, pausing only as he passed Ilan who bowed in greeting, but without looking away from the face of the woman who would marry his brother.

Was it uncertainty in her stormy gaze? He offered her a smile, encouraging.

‘Prince Ilan,’ he introduced himself as he straightened, ‘a pleasure to meet you, your Royal Highness. I will look forward to making your acquaintance later.’

‘A pleasure to meet you,’ her voice was heavily accented, lilting as she smiled again.

‘Perhaps I might have the honour of a dance this evening?’ Ilan spoke before he could stop himself. His gaze flicked to Ronin. It wasn’t part of the carefully orchestrated plan that had been designed, but Freya was still smiling. Besides what harm could a single dance do. Freya would likely dance with most of the nobility during all the balls and social functions that take place over the next season.

‘I’m sure that can be agreed,’ she gave a small nod before looking back to Ronin, staring up at the man she had accepted a betrothal to. ‘Shall we? I’m keen to let my staff and the Knights rest. We only docked this morning, and it has been a long journey by sea.’

‘Of course,’ Ronin nodded and led Freya inside the building. The two Rider’s in tow. Ilan paused, holding his own hands, tightly gripped behind his back. He counted to ten, letting his brother escort his bride into the Palace as the nobility dispersed. Captain Vana, Knight of Milany and formidable woman had approached the Commander in charge. Explaining the arrangements that had been made for the visiting Knights and soldiers during their stay in the Palace.

‘Well,’ a low voice rumbled beside Ilan. It was familiar, and it had caught him off guard a thousand times before, but the Prince still flinched with surprise before looking around at his friend, George Thade, the Shadow. Spymaster for the Provost and expert in remaining unnoticed until he wanted to be seen.

‘What is it?’ Ilan muttered as the pair of them turned to step into the Palace themselves. They moved through the large wooden doors and into the wide hallway. Ilan huffing out a sigh when he was forced to wait for George’s response. But trusting that the Shadow wouldn’t speak unless he was confident they wouldn’t be overheard.

‘Ronin and the Griffin Rider.’

‘You noticed it too?’ Ilan frowned.

‘I have eyes, let’s just hope no one else noticed.’

‘Do you think that they did?’ Whatever answer George gave, Ilan trusted it.

‘No,’ George shook his head, ‘whatever he’s hiding behind that mask of his, I think we’re the only one’s who noticed anything.’

Ilan let out a sigh of relief, ‘well,’ he shrugged, ‘I doubt there’s anything too it. She probably beat him at a game of cards, or something. He’s a sore loser.’

George laughed, slapping him on the back, ‘he certainly is. He doesn’t forgive easily, that’s for sure.’

‘But the Princess,’ Ilan sucked in a breath, ‘she’s…’

‘Betrothed,’ George suggested.

‘Beautiful,’ Ilan sighed.

‘Betrothed,’ George repeated and Ilan slapped him back.

‘Just because you’re married, doesn’t mean you don’t have eyes.’

‘Just the sleep deprivation from small children,’ George grins, ‘that definitely affects my sight.’

‘And the fact that Lady Lanai could carve your eyes out if she thought you looked at another woman,’ Ilan teased.

George grinned in response, ‘it’s not Lily I’d worry about,’ his voice dropped, ‘it’s Vana.’

‘You move in dangerous circles, my friend,’ Ilan agreed with a smirk, ‘and that’s just your wife and her friend.’

George shook his head. They paused, having reach the corridor that split out to the separate apartments kept by the Princes. The Shadow looked up at his friend, reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

‘Don’t get attached to the Princess,’ he warned.

But before Ilan could answer, he spotted Ronin. He blinked, nudging George and the pair of them turned, watching the third Prince as he stood. His hands were clenched at his sides as he stared out of a narrow arrow slit at the sea beyond the city. His whole body was taut, strung with anger, as though he was about to punch the stone wall or slam his head against it.

‘Ron?’ It was George who moved towards the Prince. But whatever fury had consumed the man, was lost as he looked back at the pair of them. The expression vanished from his features, concealed once more.

‘Everything alright?’ Ilan kept his voice low, as though approaching a wild animal, ‘just that you look as though you want to jump into the ocean, from a cliff.’

‘Never better,’ Ronin replied, deadpan. ‘I’ll see you both at the ball.’ With that, he strode away and vanished into his apartment, door slamming behind him.

Ilan and George glanced at each other.

‘Something to worry about,’ they muttered in unison. Why did Ronin hate the griffin rider so much?