Five

Volas changed from his hunting clothes into the dress clothes his valet had insisted be brought. For once he was grateful to have them. He’d been told he was impressive and handsome when he wished to be, and he’d never wished to be more in his life. Marravae, her dark hair and golden eyes, lips that should be kissed.

She should never have been arranged to a weakling like Myrin. Daughters were the roots of the tree, strong roots should never be given to a frail tree. For a daughter like Marravae, his father would have hunted the world for a husband worthy of her. 

He left his tent dressed and ready to persuade her to put the arrangement aside. The sight of a spear being carried into Marravae’s tent made him curious. Volas approached as the servant came out.

“Do you require something, your Highness?” The man stopped in front of him blocking the way.

“Why does Marravae need a spear?”

“I didn’t ask their Highnesses why they wished a spear to be brought.”

“Their Highnesses? Myrin is still inside with Marravae?” Volas glared at the tent flap. “Alone?”

“I’m-”

Pushing past him and into the tent he saw Marravae standing holding the spear in a slightly crouched stance as if demonstrating it.

“Volas.” Myrin snapped, “Why are you in my tent?”

“My tent, I thought.” Marravae straightened, planting the butt of the hunting spear on the ground. “And I don’t enjoy unannounced guests, Volas. Out.” Her tone was firm and cool.

“It is your tent, my dove, forgive me.” Myrin stepped behind her, wrapping one hand above hers on the spear and his other arm around her waist, peering over her shoulder. “Though I wish you were not so opposed to sharing it with me.”

“If you’d like to invite my brother to chaperone us, I could be persuaded. But the tent might be a bit crowded, Myrin.” She turned her head slightly with a smile. A smile that should have been his.

Volas gritted his teeth as Myrin kissed her cheek. “I wished to be certain you were not being… troubled. You did not greet each other warmly.”

“That was my fault.” Myrin’s breath on her ear made her blush and try to move her head away. “Are you ticklish, Marravae?” The Cuphisian Prince seemed almost playful.

“I am,” Marravae laughed and wriggled as Myrin tried to blow in her ear, “Stop that!”

“I will fetch Gaeleath.” Volas muttered darkly and stalked from the tent. Myrin was attempting to woo her, she needed to see that despite the arrangement he was unworthy.

The Cemiri had finished dressing and settled into a chair next to a spare cot perusing a missive. He blinked in surprise as Volas entered. “Volas, is something wrong? You look as concerned as you do furious.”

Taking a breath before he spoke he inclined his head, “Your sister is still in the tent with Myrin. I wished to be certain he was not troubling her and discovered that they require a chaperone.”

“Are they trying to kill each other?” Gealeath rose, folding his missive and tucking it inside his doublet.

“He had his arm around her waist kissing her face and blowing in her ear.” It relieved him to know that he hadn’t misread their greeting when Gaeleath’s eyes opened wide.

“You’re joking.” The Cemiri looked baffled and bemused. “The reason they haven’t been alone together is more to make certain the arrangement stands than for propriety. They constantly snap and snipe at one another when they’re in the same place.” 

“It seems that has come to an end. Myrin noticed my interest and wishes to woo her now.”

Gaeleath’s bemusement changed to speculation, “You may have made her duty easier. If she’s allowing it she’s taking advantage of the opportunity.” His lips twisted and he offered a regretful look, “Marravae was never one for seduction, but she’ll take him down like prey if you’ve given her an opening to strike.”

“She deserves better than Myrin, do you not see that?” Volas hissed at him.

“I do, but she has her duty and she’ll make something of him, or at least of his sons. This peace can last if we nurture it.” The Cemiri sat back in his chair. “If time alone is helping her I’ll give it to them.”

“You’re a fool.” Volas stepped from the tent eyeing Marravae’s. Take him down like prey. Slowly the relief crept into his mind. The spear. She was trying to teach the screaming wretch to hunt and allowing him to save face with his flirtations. They had been cold to each other, and that was not likely to suddenly warm. The huntress was not a dove. 

He remembered the playful way she’d greeted him. If she wanted to play a game with him, he could show her his skill. Volas retired to his tent to wait and plan his moves.