A Vow So Bold and Deadly (The Cursebreaker Series Book 3)
A Vow So Bold and Deadly: Chapter 7

The sun set hours ago, and the stable hands have long since gone to bed. The silence is heavy around me, but I don’t mind. Silence means I’m alone. I’m not entirely sure where I’m going, but I’m not dragging Zo down with me this time. I sent her back to her quarters with the assurance that I’d head for my own.

Instead, I’m in the stables, and this dress is cut for riding. I have Ironwill saddled in three minutes, and I’m on his back in one. I don’t really know where I’m going, but I don’t want to be here. I cluck softly to the horse, and we trot through the stable doorway.

A hand appears from nowhere, grabbing the rein. “Whoa!” yells a male voice.

Ironwill spooks, then spins, then rears.

I gasp and tilt sideways. The horse skitters, his iron shoes striking the cobblestones frantically. I scramble for purchase, but I’m going to hit the cobblestones. It’s going to hurt.

Instead, I’m caught, arms closing around me, stopping the fall. It’s dark, and half the people in Emberfall hate Rhen right now, so I shriek and struggle, my hand finding the dagger at my waist.

“My lady. My lady.” Dustan’s voice. My feet are set roughly against the ground.

I fight to right my cloak, shoving unruly hair out of my face. I’m gasping, my breath making quick clouds in the air. Another guard has hold of Ironwill’s reins, and the horse prances, tossing his head.

I glare at Dustan. I’ve been ignoring him for months, since he was a part of what Rhen did to Grey. Since he was the one to tell Zo she was relieved of her duties. Since he turned from someone I thought might be a friend—into someone I’ve grown to resent.

My heart is still in my throat. “What is wrong with you?”

He doesn’t look any happier to be here than I am. “His Highness ordered me to keep you on the castle grounds.”

OH, DID HE.

I’m breathing hard, my thoughts full of venom. He’s blocking my path now, standing like he’s ready for me to take a swing at him—or bolt.

Both sound like a good idea. “Give me back my horse,” I bite out.

He looks aggrieved. “My orders were to keep you on the grounds and keep you safe.”

“I’m right here. I’m fine.” I take a step forward and reach for the reins, but Dustan steps in front of me.

“If you force my hand, I will accomplish that by locking you in your quarters.”

I feign a gasp. “You will? Such chivalry.”

He ignores my tone. “Would Grey not have done the same?”

I freeze. I remember a time when Rhen and I were arguing, and I pulled a dagger. Grey pulled a blade to stop me, and Rhen said, “He’ll take your arm off if I order it.”

I asked Grey about it later. I follow orders, my lady. I bear you no ill will.

He definitely would have done the same.

It takes some of the wind out of my sails.

I frown and start forward. Dustan steps to block me.

I grit my teeth. “I’m going to take the saddle off,” I say darkly. “If that’s all right with you.”

He studies me for the longest moment, then steps back. I jerk the reins out of the other guard’s hands, then stroke a hand down Ironwill’s cheek. He chews at the bit and swishes his tail, looking aggrieved himself.

I wish I were nimble and limber, that I had the kind of skills that would let me leap onto Ironwill’s back and gallop out of here, trampling Dustan in the process. But I’m not and I can’t, and if I tried, Dustan probably would drag me back to my room to lock me there.

Back in the stall, I loosen the girth, then slip the saddle off the buckskin’s back. I’m not trapped, but I feel like a prisoner anyway. I trade the saddle for a brush and ease the soft bristles against Will’s coat. At some point, Dustan gives the other guards an order to stand outside the stables, but he stations himself across the aisle to stand against the opposite wall.

I ignore him, leaning into the brush, and the silence settles in around us. My anger is flailing, wanting a target, leaving me tense and fidgety. A chill has crept into the stall, and I bite back a shiver, pressing closer to the horse. It doesn’t help, and I shiver harder, sucking a shuddering breath through my teeth.

“My lady.” Dustan speaks from behind me, but I don’t turn.

“Go away.”

“You should return to the castle if you are cold.”

“No.”

He says nothing, and I wonder if he’s still standing there or if he’s returned to his spot across the aisle.

I can’t decide if I’m being rude or if he’s being a jerk, and honestly, I don’t care. I stop brushing and press my forehead into Ironwill’s neck, breathing in the scent of hay and horseflesh. He’s warm and familiar and was a constant source of solace for me in the beginning.

I have learned that when you go missing, I should check the stables first.

Grey said that to me, on my second day in Emberfall.

Against my will, my eyes fill, and my throat tightens. I lost my mother to cancer, and then I lost my friend when Grey fled, and then I lost my brother when he went to help.

And I’m the idiot who stayed here. Because I believed in Rhen. Because I believed in Emberfall.

I sniff the tears back, but I do it quietly, because I don’t want Dustan to know. I shiver again, clutching my forearms to my abdomen.

Dustan sighs. A moment later, a cloak drops over my shoulders.

I turn, and I’m sure there’s fire in my eyes, because Dustan holds his hands up. “You don’t need to be cold to spite me.”

The cloak is warm from his body, and I want to throw it back at him, but that feels petty—and I really am cold. I swallow the tears that sat ready, then put the brush against the buckskin’s coat again, using a little more force than necessary. “You don’t need to pretend to be kind.”

Dustan is quiet for a moment. “I heard what you said to His Highness. In the Great Hall.”

“Good for you.” I’m sure everyone heard it.

“Do you truly believe that is why he gave the order for what he did to Grey and Tycho? As some sort of … retaliation?”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Dustan.”

“And do you believe that if I’d refused to obey, that the prince would have simply chosen another path?” He pauses. “Or do you think he would have relieved me of my duties, then given the order to another?”

The brush goes still along Ironwill’s shoulder.

“Do you think,” Dustan continues, “that Grey would have refused such an order, if given?”

No. He wouldn’t. I have to swallow hard.

“Grey’s final words,” Dustan says to my back, “were swearing an oath to an enchantress who nearly destroyed Emberfall. You can fault His Highness for the choice he made, and you can blame me for following the order he gave, but Grey could have simply admitted the truth—”

“Enough. Please.” A stupid tear slips down my cheek.

I don’t want Dustan to be right—but he is. Grey let me see glimpses of who he could be—gentle and kind—but there was a reason I called him Scary Grey. There was a reason I found him terrifying in the beginning.

And as much as I don’t want to admit it, there was a reason Rhen had to go as hard as he did to get an answer.

Grey would never have yielded. I begged him to tell Rhen what he knew. I begged him, and he refused. I don’t know if it’s pride or if it’s something that was drilled into him when he was in the Royal Guard, but Grey would never have given up that information.

Rhen couldn’t stop until he had it. Not with all of Emberfall at risk.

I take a long breath and blow it out. I finally turn and look at Dustan. He’s standing in the stall doorway, leaning against the frame.

“I still hate you,” I say.

“Yes, my lady.” His expression is inscrutable. I wonder if he hates me, too.

But some of the tension between us evaporates. Not all of it, not by a mile, but enough that I can feel it. No pretense, no hidden motives. We might not like each other right now, but we understand each other.

I wish it could be that easy with Rhen, but there’s too much between us. It’s one thing to understand why Dustan followed the order and why Rhen gave it. It’s entirely different to have seen the aftermath. To know it wasn’t done to some criminal plotting against the country, that it was done to Grey.

As if my tumultuous thoughts summoned him, the main stable doors are drawn open, and Rhen himself steps through. Dustan immediately snaps to attention.

I turn back to the horse. “Party over so soon?”

He says nothing for a moment, then, “Commander. Leave us.”

I hear Dustan’s quiet deferral, and then we’re alone. I smooth the brush along the horse’s coat, but Rhen must step up to the stall door, because Ironwill shifts his weight and turns, forcing me to step back. The buckskin pricks his ears and stretches out his neck to blow puffs of air at Rhen’s hands.

Traitor.

Rhen strokes a hand down the horse’s face. “I’m surprised I didn’t find you ten miles away.”

“You ordered Dustan to trap me here.”

“Half of Emberfall seems ready to take action against me. Syhl Shallow stands ready to attack.” He pauses, and his voice is low. “Surely you know I ordered him to keep you here for your safety, not as my prisoner.” Another pause. “Especially once you demonstrated to my Grand Marshals that we are not in accord.”

I say nothing. Every muscle in my body is tense, waiting for him to fully pick a fight, to finish what we started on the dance floor.

But … he doesn’t.

Rhen’s patience always takes me by surprise. He expects everything to be done on his command, but somehow it’s more powerful when he doesn’t command anything, and instead simply … waits. I resume my brushing, following each stroke with my palm, finding comfort in the warmth of the horse and the repetitive motion. Eventually, my shoulders loosen. My chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to cave in.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, and as I say the words, I discover I really mean them. “I shouldn’t have done that … there.”

“I do not deserve an apology,” he says, and his voice is equally quiet. “Indeed, I feel as though I owe you one.”

When I say nothing, he adds, “You are so angry with me.” He hesitates. “I believe there has been too much unsaid between us for too long.”

I peek over at him, but his eyes are on Ironwill, and the horse has pressed his head against Rhen’s chest. Rhen’s hand is against the animal’s cheek, his long fingers stroking the sleek fur in the hollow of his jaw.

It reminds me of the day Rhen was a monster, a creature summoned by Lilith’s magic, bent on destroying everything in his path. He’d never been docile for anyone in his monster form, he’d never even known anyone—not even Grey. But he quieted for me. He was massive, at least ten feet tall, part dragon and part horse, with fangs and talons, his scales and feathers glittering in luminescent colors. I thought he was going to kill us all, but he’d put his head against my chest and blown warmth against my knees.

The memory is so powerful that my breath catches. I look back at Ironwill.

“My lady?” says Rhen.

I shake my head slightly. “What’s …” I have to clear my throat. “What’s unsaid on your side?”

“I should have spoken to you about Grey before I made a choice of what to do.”

I hold my breath.

“I thought …,” he begins, then hesitates. “I thought you understood my reasons, but perhaps—”

“I do.” I peek over at him again. My voice is rough. “I do understand your reasons.” I have to look back at the horse. “When you did that,” I whisper, “you were so much more frightening than you ever were as a monster.”

He inhales sharply, but I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him.

“Because you made a choice,” I say, and my voice breaks. “Because it was you. Because it was someone I cared about. Because it was horrible.”

Tears fall, and I press my forehead into the horse’s neck. My fingers tangle in Ironwill’s mane. “Because you needed to do it. Because I didn’t want to know you could have done it.”

“Harper.” He’s at my side suddenly, his voice soft and broken. His finger brushes against my cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he worries I’ll turn away from him.

I don’t. In a way, I wonder if I’ve been turning away from him for too long.

His eyes burn into mine. “Please, Harper, please know this. I begged him to tell me. After what Lilith did, I could not—I could not risk my people.” Those tortured shadows shift in his eyes. “Forgive me. Please. Do you think it cost me nothing?”

The emotion in his voice makes my throat tighten and sends fresh tears to my eyes. It’s not the apology—it’s the acknowledgment that he felt hurt and loss the same way I did. I wait for his apology to bounce off that coiled pit of anger in my stomach, but it doesn’t. For the first time, I realize that the bulk of anger isn’t at the people around me. It’s not about Rhen.

It’s about myself.

He made choices here, but so did I. His choices were about Emberfall. Mine were about Grey.

We were both wrong and both right at the same time, and the realization of that is what finally makes the anger ease and shift and become a bit more bearable.

I sigh and press my face against his chest, and his arms come around me, tight against my back under the cloak, pulling me against him. I feel his breath in my hair, his heart thrumming alongside mine.

It feels good to be in the circle of his arms. I’d somehow forgotten.

“I don’t want to be in this weird holding pattern anymore,” I say against him.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “I do not know what this means.”

I blink, then a startled laugh escapes my throat. He’s met enough girls from Washington, DC, that I don’t often trip him up with an expression, so when it happens, it takes me by surprise.

I draw back and peer up at him. “It’s like …” I have no idea how to explain what an airplane holding pattern is to him, and it doesn’t even matter. “I mean I don’t want to keep doing the same thing over and over again, waiting for something to happen to knock us out of it.” He’s frowning, so I add, “I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”

“Nor do I.” He strokes a tear off my cheek. “I should have told you.”

And I should have asked. I should have known. I sniff. “You—you needed to do it. And I would have stopped you.”

“No. You would have helped me find a better way.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “You always help me find a better way.”

That’s part of the problem. I don’t know if there was a better way. He did what he did to protect Emberfall. Rhen’s first obligation is his people—he’s never hidden that from anyone. But his feelings for me are high up there, too. Standing here now, feeling his breath in my hair and his heart beating against mine, I don’t think I made the wrong choice in staying.

We stand for the longest time, his hand idly stroking my back, mine tracing the buttons on his chest, until the moment changes, growing heavier. Sweeter. Warmer. I inhale, or maybe he does, because my name is a whispered purr on his lips, and then his mouth finds mine.

He’s hesitant at first, as if he’s still worried I’ll pull away, but I don’t, and he’s immediately more sure. His hands land on my waist, trapping me against him. His tongue brushes mine, and my fingers tangle in his hair. It’s been so long since he kissed me like this, and it takes my breath away. Warmth swells in my body, a tiny flicker of flame at first, but quickly racing through my veins to send heat everywhere. He makes a low sound in his throat, and before I’m ready, my back hits the stall door.

“Ouch.” I giggle.

“Forgive me,” Rhen says again, and he actually looks repentant.

“I’ll survive.”

A light sparks in his eyes, and Rhen tugs me into the aisle, letting the stall door fall closed. I take advantage of the narrow distance he’s suddenly granted us, and I yank at the buttons of his jacket and the buckle of his sword belt all at once.

Then his mouth claims mine again, and my fingers stop working.

His don’t. I distantly hear his weapon strike the floor, and then his jacket is gone. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt now, the long sloping muscle of his back. He strokes a hand up the front of my corset, lighting a fire when his fingertips brush along the barely exposed skin of my breast, and I curse the fact that Freya tied the knots so tightly.

Maybe I should have worn that other dress.

The thought makes me flush and cling to him, because it’s unlike him to be quite this forward. We’ve slept beside each other dozens of times, but we’ve never actually slept together for a hundred different reasons—one being that the last woman he had sex with cursed him for an eternity.

He’s never specifically said as much, but if we had to rank reasons, I’d bet good money that it would find a spot among his top five.

The fact that we always seem to be at odds would probably be up there, too.

It feels good to be kissed by him again. To be held by him. Sometimes Rhen is so hard, so decisive and challenging, that I forget he can be gentle. Tender. I forget that he can strike a match with his kiss and turn my insides into a bonfire.

“I’ve missed you,” I say softly, because it’s true, so true that it almost pulls tears into my eyes again.

He goes still, which I don’t expect, and then exhales against my neck. His breath shudders. His hands slow, holding me tight, holding me still. There’s a different tension in his body now, a whisper of sorrow in the air.

I lean against him. “Rhen?”

It takes him forever to look up and meet my gaze. The aisle is dim, his eyes pools of darkness. He touches my cheek, his fingers light at first, until his palm is against my jaw and his thumb traces over my lips. “This is the dress you first wore to Silvermoon.”

I frown. “You remember?”

“You looked like a queen.” His eyes find mine again. “You look like a queen.”

“It’s a great dress.”

He inhales and blows it out slowly. “I did not tell you about Grey because sometimes I think your will is stronger than mine.”

“Sometimes?” I tease, but gently, because he seems so fragile.

“Just as before,” he says, “I did not tell you because I feared it would put you in harm’s way.”

Before. It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s talking about, but then I do. Before the curse was broken, when Lilith was torturing him night after night because he’d come close to finding love with me. I basically had to force him into my room because he wouldn’t willingly put me at risk—but he’s never denied me anything.

I would have asked him not to harm Grey, and he wouldn’t have done it.

My heart gives a jump in my chest. I was wrong before. It’s not that he puts Emberfall first.

He puts me first.

“Rhen.” I stare at him. “Did something happen at the party?”

“The party was a success,” he says. “I met a mercenary from Wildthorne Valley who offered insight into troop movements. She spoke of weapons in Syhl Shallow that could stand against magic.”

“Wait—what?” I blink at him. “You’re not telling me something.” I study the sharp lines of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, more pronounced now in the dark.

I should have asked.

I consider how he’s been these last few weeks. The way he’s tense and jumpy, how he never seems to sleep anymore. The way we’re supposed to be preparing for war—but he doesn’t seem to be preparing anything at all.

If Rhen is anything, it’s prepared.

I square my shoulders and look at him. “You don’t want to go to war,” I guess.

“If I do not, Grey will take Emberfall,” he says. “He will ally with Syhl Shallow, and their people have slaughtered ours by the thousands. He is not a king, Harper. He has no experience in ruling a country.”

“Is that it?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Or is it his magic that you’re afraid of?”

He flinches at the word magic.

“I don’t believe Grey means you harm,” I say quietly.

“In truth, my fears do not concern Grey.”

I go still. There’s a note in his voice I can’t parse out.

“Rhen.” I step into him again, until we breathe the same air. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

Finally, his eyes meet mine. “Lilith.”

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