He had been given a kingdom, but the queen was another matter entirely.
For a week after her vigil ended, Sasha never left her chamber. She was attended by Tess and the blond maid who had once offered to shave Kjell’s beard. The blond was afraid of him and could never look him in the eyes, and Tess kept insisting that Sasha was well, though she clearly was not. Kjell stewed and couldn’t sleep, burdened by her behavior, by his new responsibilities, and by the continual dread that the danger in Caarn had not ended. Tiras stayed by his side, a constant in the chaos, helping Kjell to navigate a position he’d never wanted or aspired to. But it was not until Tiras prepared to leave for Jeru City that Kjell broke down and begged his brother for advice.
“Tell me what to do, Tiras,” Kjell pled, his confusion and concern teetering on the edge of anger. He needed Sasha, and she was suffering alone.
Tiras, perusing the kingdom’s holdings and various ventures—none of which Kjell cared about at the moment—looked up at Kjell thoughtfully. He closed the ledgers and rolled the maps on the steward’s desk in silence, clearly stewing over the advice he was about to dispense.
“Have you ever watched a sconce as it is lit? For a moment the torch and the wick both flare, as if spreading the flame makes each stronger. That is what happens when you and Queen Saoirse are together. I see it. King Aren saw it. All of Caarn sees it,” Tiras said.
Kjell stared at his brother balefully, waiting for him to continue.
“You have been released, Kjell. She has not,” Tiras said slowly, enunciating every word, and Kjell immediately lost his temper.
“I have been released?” Kjell repeated, incredulous. “I have not been released. I have been crowned! I wear this bloody wreath of gold and am expected to sleep in the king’s chambers listening to the queen cry when she thinks no one can hear.”
“The king is gone, and you can love his queen without constraints,” Tiras insisted. “You are freed, but she is not. She cannot simply run into your arms, brother. Guilt makes grief unbearable.”
Kjell groaned and rubbed his eyes wearily. He didn’t want Sasha to grieve for Aren. It was an awful truth, but a truth all the same.
“Suddenly she can have what her heart desires most. You. But getting what we want at the expense of someone else taints the fulfilment of even our fondest dreams,” Tiras said, his frank assessment making Kjell hiss in frustration.
“She is blameless. She didn’t cause Aren’s death or seek it,” Kjell said.
“It doesn’t matter. She loves you, he died, and the whole kingdom is watching,” Tiras contended.
“It is a never-ending round!” Kjell raged. “One thing after another. I love her. And I cannot have her.”
Kjell surged to his feet and strode around the perimeter of the library, along the rows of books he had no intention of ever reading, and ended back in front of his younger brother, dejected and deflated.
“She is yours, Kjell. Heart and soul,” Tiras said, his compassion evident. “It is obvious. She was yours from the moment you met. But you must let her mourn.”
“I cannot be King of Caarn if she is not by my side, Tiras,” Kjell whispered. “I cannot do it.”
“Time, brother, and patience,” Tiras urged. “It is something you can give her. It is something you can give yourself. When I see you again, she will be your queen and these ledgers won’t be so outdated. I have no doubt.”
And so Kjell gave Sasha patience the way he’d given her his body and his gift, the way he’d surrendered his heart and his life. Freely. Completely. He kept a guard at her door and two in the ramparts facing her window. He gave her time, and he prayed for the strength to wait.
***
Kjell’s meager belongings had been moved from the garrison to the king’s chambers shortly after his unexpected ascension. He’d quietly allowed it, knowing he could not remain where he was, bunking with his men while managing a kingdom. And he had wanted to be closer to Sasha.
King Aren’s possessions were whisked away, his rooms stripped of his presence, and the heavy furniture repositioned to make the space feel new. Kjell had never been in the king’s chamber before Aren died, and the furnishings didn’t matter to him. Still, the echo of the old king in the quarters made him feel like a usurper, and he never remained in the chamber for long.
One night, a week after Tiras’s departure, feeling over-tired and under-appreciated, Kjell walked through the queen’s gardens, staring up at Sasha’s rooms and feeling like a love-sick fool. The fruit had been harvested, the trees pruned, and the chill of fall permeated the moonlit air. He didn’t want to return to the castle or sleep in Aren’s rooms, so he tossed his cloak upon the ground and stretched out beneath an apple tree, his eyes on the flickering light from Sasha’s window and the silent sentries on the ramparts. Jerick was on the queen’s watch tonight, his bow in his arms, his shoulders straight, facing her window like he’d been instructed to do, and Kjell let his eyes drift closed, weary but reassured that all was as well as it could be.
He dreamed of Sasha and their marriage announcement in Jeru, of her gold dress and her fiery tresses, of her happiness and her soft touch. He awoke to hands on his skin and lips on his mouth, and kept his eyes closed, believing he still dreamed. But the hands that roamed his body were aggressive, the lips dry and abrasive, and the breath that fluttered against his mouth tasted of blood. When he lifted his bleary lids, it was not Sasha’s face above him.
Lady Firi’s hair still wreathed her head in a coil, evidence of her preparations and her blatant trespasses the night of the celebration, but that had been more than a fortnight before, and Kjell wondered if she’d spent the last weeks as an animal, never changing into human form. Her plaited hair only accentuated her nakedness, making Kjell long for the matted curls and wild length, if only to shield her from his eyes.
She scampered back, putting space between them, and licked her lips as though she too had noticed their texture. Kjell sat up slowly, cataloging the weight of the new blade in his boot, the speed at which he would have to move, and the odds of bringing her down with a well-thrown dagger. She increased the distance, sensing his intent.
“There was a time when you welcomed my presence and my touch, Kjell of Jeru,” she purred. “You will welcome it again.”
“There was a time when you wore clothes, Ariel. There was a time when you smelled sweet and kissed softly. A time when I didn’t know who you really are. That time has passed,” he replied.
“No, Kjell. The time has finally come. This kingdom is yours now. These people are yours. They will bow down to your every wish.”
“And to you?” he asked.
“Yes. I will be your queen.”