She held her breath and waited for his response, but he only studied her with unreadable eyes. Just about the time she was sure he wasn’t going to say anything, he let out a long, frustrated breath.
“Isadora, you cannot displease me. If anything, I’m the one who is inexperienced. This royalty, protocol, procedure, skata, I don’t know what to call it. All of it is beyond my comprehension. I know this situation isn’t what either of us expected, but it’s our responsibility to make it work.”
His words should have comforted her. Except they were spoken in that same hard, flat, commanding voice he always used with her. The one that made her think he was ordering her to feel at ease.
It didn’t work that way for her.
Resentment brewed in her veins as she studied him—those dark eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the tumble of black hair around his face. She guessed to other gynaíka he was attractive. To her he was everything she didn’t want.
And looking closer, she saw the same thing reflected back at her.
He didn’t want to bind himself to her any more than she wanted to be bound. He was giving up just as much as she was. More, maybe.
She took a deep breath and eased back against the pillows, suddenly more tired than she ever remembered being.
“You need rest, Isadora. I have business to attend to with the Argonauts, but I’ll be back for the binding ceremony in a few days. If you need me between now and then, you know how to get in touch with me.”
Isadora nodded. Through his servant, at Lerna, his estate in the forests outside Tiyrns. She’d never seen it, but imagined it often—soaring ceilings, walls of glass, as massive and grand as he was. Would he take her there after they were married? Would she even want to go?
Probably not, and no. Sickness pooled in her stomach as she faced the grim reality that in a matter of days they would be married. Bound together. Permanently. That part of her soul that had never been at ease clawed to be set free.
“Good night, Isadora.”
She had no words to offer in response.
As if he knew, he nodded and disappeared.
Alone and spent, Isadora slid down into the pillows and stared up at the vaulted ceiling above with its intricate wood beams. She tried to clear her mind of everything so she could sleep, but one thought kept pinging around in her brain.
Acacia.
If only there had been a way…
Theron turned at the base of the grand staircase and headed for the king’s suite of rooms on the fourth floor of the castle. Enormous Grecian columns flanked the massive hallway. Plush furnishings, gilded mirrors, statuary and fresh flowers atop pedestals and marble tables filled the space around him as he moved. Wealth dripped from every trinket, from the velvet curtains at the enormous windows to the gold-dusted doors he passed along his way.
The place so totally wasn’t him, his shoulders tightened with every step he took. How could the king or Isadora stand it? How in Hades would he manage living in this mausoleum? He could barely walk down the hall without feeling the overwhelming need to run for freedom.
Just as he reached the end of the hall, the king’s door opened and Callia stepped out with her healer’s bag in tow. He waited until she turned and saw him before speaking.
“Callia.”
“Theron.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave him the once-over. “I see the rumors about you were true. I smell lavender. Is there anything you’d like me to look at?”
Always the same Callia. Direct and to the point.
“No,” he said. “I’m well enough.” Thanks to Casey.
He quickly pushed thoughts of the human out of his mind. “Tell me about Isadora. Her health concerns me.”
Callia cast a quick glance over her shoulder toward the king’s doorway, then motioned for Theron to join her across the hall, out of earshot.
“Yes,” she said when they reached the staggering windows overlooking the stone courtyard below. “Theron, I’m not sure how to tell you this but, there’s no other way to say it. Isadora’s dying.”
Her words should have elicited a reaction, but all Theron felt was…nothing.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. A tiny part of him was relieved. And that emotion angered him more than the misery he knew he should be feeling.
“You’re sure of this?” he asked. “How? She looks—”
“I’ve consulted every book I have, looking for something—anything—that’s remotely similar. None of the traditional healing methods have worked. Something is broken inside her, only I can’t figure out what. It’s like…”
“What?”
She frowned. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Nothing could be crazier than knowing our kingdom is about to lose both its king and its heir. Don’t hold back from me, Callia. What?”
She let out a breath. “It’s almost like she’s losing that part of herself which is inherently Argolean. Her immune system, which is normally strong, is the weakest I’ve ever seen. It’s almost as if her human half is taking over.”