How old was Feyn anyway? Thirty-something? How could Jonathan choose someone nearly twice his age?
No. It wouldn’t be like that. Their union would be a political alliance, no more.
Jonathan spurred his horse forward, eager to close the distance to the old shack. After a moment’s disconcertion, she nudged her horse after his, eyes darting to the figure appearing in the weathered doorway.
Her heart dropped at the sight. The woman was stunning.
Her skin was pale-uncannily so, by any Nomadic standard. The envy of Order; of the royals in particular. She never would’ve thought such pale skin attractive before, but something about Feyn’s regal bearing made it seem unquestioningly beautiful.
Her eyes were black, startling in the bright light, like giant pupils without any iris, glittering as the facets of obsidian. As the simple, dark jewels nestled against her earlobes.
The sight arrested her.
She was dressed in a regal white dress and wore two simple braids that twisted like carved columns down past her breasts toward her waist. Jordin would have eschewed such clothing as impractical, worn only by those who knew nothing of horses, but obviously she had ridden here from the city. She knew how to ride, and ride well.
Jonathan slid from his horse with the ease of one meeting a long-lost friend, showing not a shred of concern. He strode forward on his long runner’s legs just as Jordin came to a stop beside his stallion. In one high step he had cleared the broken boards of the two stairs, long missing from the front walk of the shack. And then he was on his knee, kissing the hand of the Sovereign herself.
The sight struck Jordin somehow as anathema. The skin on her neck prickled.
“My Lady,” he said, lifting his head and standing again.
Feyn nodded, her voice carrying beyond the broken porch. “Jonathan.”
She gave no sign that she’d even seen Jordin-her attention was solely on the young man who’d shown her such respect. Still, if he honored Feyn, Jordin would as well, if only because she trusted him.
She swung down from the saddle, eyes on the pair, but rather than follow Jonathan up the stair, she hung back until he swung around.
“Jordin, come! Meet the Sovereign.”
She lowered her head, walked to the shack and stepped up onto the uneven boards of the porch.
“My Lady,” she said, forcing herself to take the woman’s hand. She expected the woman’s pale fingers to be ice cold. They weren’t. In fact, they were warm. The ring of office gleamed the color of sun on her right hand.
Jordin started to go to her knee.
“Please,” the Sovereign said. “There’s no need.”
Jordin straightened with no small measure of relief and glanced at Jonathan. His eyes flitted toward her. “Jordin, will you give us a moment?”
She looked from him to Feyn, who towered a good head and a half over her. They were both tall. They were both stunning-her with ebony hair and pale skin; he with hair the color of turned earth, his hazel eyes rimmed in lashes that any girl would have envied.
They were beautiful together. Standing side by side like that, they could actually inspire a new age, she thought. With her poise and his enigmatic ways, the entire world would watch and follow them, if only out of curiosity.
Jordin’s throat was dry. “Of course,” she said.
She stood still for a moment, reluctant to leave. Finally, she took an awkward step backward, then stepped down from the front porch to walk back toward the horses, trying to appear purposeful.
Jonathan leaped off the porch, and she saw from the corner of her eye that he’d taken Feyn’s hand. Uncharacteristic tears distorted Jordin’s vision.
She was overreacting, she knew. Jonathan was demonstrative by nature. But she seemed unable to ignore the sight of the man she’d devoted herself to with a woman of such power.
Feyn stepped down behind him, and followed him toward a copse of trees.
Jordin recinched the girth on her saddle, glancing often at them. Checked Jonathan’s saddle. Wiped the tears away with a gesture so swift she barely noted it herself. Their voices carried to her in low tones not meant to be heard. She kept one eye on them, wanting the entire time to look away from the way Feyn held his eyes as she spoke. The way Jonathan took her hand not once, but twice. The way the Sovereign dipped her head, offering him respect.
Or was it more?
They glanced back at her once. Good. Let Feyn see her watching them. Her. Jonathan’s protector.
It occurred to her that even now, Feyn could make an attempt on his life. Jonathan might chastise her for such a thought, but was it really outside the realm of possibility? Wasn’t he Feyn’s only true rival after her brother?
She had promised Rom to never let Feyn from her sight, but that promise paled next to her own commitment.
What if Jonathan and Feyn did rule together, side by side? She’d heard that Sovereigns didn’t marry-they only took lovers. But then a Sovereign had the power to change the law if he or she were so inclined. What if, by chance, it made sense that they should marry?
She lowered her head and forced herself to drag in a long breath. It wasn’t like her to be jealous. He was her Maker. The bringer of life. He’d poured out his life for her. It wasn’t for her to hold him with closed hands.
Could she stand by and protect Jonathan even if he were to marry Feyn?
She turned away from the horses, heart climbing into her throat. They were walking into the trees. Out of sight.
Panicked, she dropped the rein in her hands and headed after them.
She ducked the branch of a gnarled pine and hurried past three more with twisted, knotted branches that mirrored the fallout in her heart at the moment.
She hurried on, brushing aside branches, and pulled up sharply at the edge of a small clearing. Jonathan stood three paces away as though he had been waiting for her. No sign of Feyn.
He was alone.
She blinked, caught off guard. It was unlike her. She was faltering under the press of misplaced emotions.
“Where’s Feyn?” she asked in a voice far too thin.
Jonathan closed the distance between them. “She’s waiting. I said I needed to speak with you.”
The band around her lungs released, if only slightly. The scent of Dark Blood put Feyn behind and to their right. She was headed back to the shack.
“What do you think of her?” Jonathan asked
“She seems… very powerful,” Jordin said.
“Yes, she is.”
“And very wealthy.”
He dropped his head and forced a thin smile. But his braids fell forward over his eyes so she couldn’t see his eyes. It was the posture of women she knew, when they wanted to shield their embarrassment or tears.
“Jonathan…” She reached a finger to lift his chin, regretting anything she had done or said to hurt him.
When he looked up there were no tears on his cheek. His eyes were filled with strange wonder.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, Jordin.”
Fear spiked her mind.
“I love you,” he said.
She stared at him, unable to respond.
“As a woman.” He reached out and took her hands in his. “I always have, from the first time you looked into my eyes after taking my blood. I chose you then and I choose you now.”
“Jonathan…” It was all she found the courage to say. She wanted to throw her arms around him and shower him with adoration, but her muscles seemed to have left her command.
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I will become Sovereign.”
So Feyn had granted it?
“It’s happening then,” she said.
He smiled. “It will be a thing to see, I can promise you that. The earth will be shaken… A new age is dawning.”
