Allegiance by Cayla Kluver
“Steldor is, unfortunately, well-known for his temper. Galen and I expended considerable effort settling him down before he sought you out.”
I considered his words, twining my hands together. Was he really implying that the rant I had endured was a mild version of what it could have been?
“Steldor doesn’t hate you, Alera,” he said, trying again, now gazing through the window, his manner suggesting that his next words would be more insightful. “My son is a very passionate person, about many things, and when a passionate person is hurt, love can express itself as anger.”
Something in the captain’s phrasing caught my attention, and it occurred to me that he might be speaking not only of Steldor, but of himself. He had once told me that in his youth, he had been much like his son. I tried to imagine Cannan with the temper, willfulness and ego of my husband, but found it to be as difficult as picturing Steldor with his father’s qualities.
“I tell you this so you can better understand him, not in an attempt to excuse any particular conduct. Although to the extent he hurt you, I am confident it was through his words and not by his hand.”
I nodded, marveling at how well Cannan knew his son. Relief flowed through me, but there was one last question that I was certain the captain would be able to address, for he had served as a father to Galen in addition to Steldor. Knowing how close the two young men were, I feared that the burgeoning relationship between Galen and I had been irrevocably damaged.
“And what of Galen? Steldor said some things to me that I hope he didn’t mean. I can’t help but think they are in Galen’s mind, as well.”
“Contrary to popular belief, Galen and Steldor are not the same person,” Cannan said, raising one eyebrow. “When Steldor is angry, he has a tendency to draw the worst conclusions. Galen does not have the same temperament and usually assumes the best of people.”
At last I graced my father-in-law with a genuine smile.
“Thank you,” I said, more grateful than I could express that he had come to see me.
He rose from his seat and nodded.
“I will let you continue with your day.” After taking a few steps toward the door, he turned to offer one last encouraging thought. “I have confidence in you, Alera. You will be good for my son. If you refuse, as you have been, to let him have everything his way, he may even learn a little humility.”
Before I could respond, Cannan disappeared into the corridor, leaving me utterly bemused.
I ate a lunch of vegetable soup and bread in my quarters, having declined to join my family in our dining room on the second floor. Although my spirits had improved following my discussion with the captain, I still did not feel ready to face my father, Steldor or Galen. I also thought my parlor would provide a welcome break from prying eyes, as there was a definite buzz about the palace that the King and Queen were not on speaking terms.
After I had finished eating, I left my quarters and returned to my drawing room to slog through the afternoon. I moved quietly down the corridor toward the spiral staircase, not wanting to attract the notice of anyone tarrying at lunch, only to be intercepted by a Palace Guard.
“Your Highness, King Adrik wishes to speak with you. He has asked that you meet him in his parlor on the third floor.”
My confidence level, which had been bolstered by Cannan, plummeted along with my stomach. I had anticipated that my father would desire a word or two with me, but could not envision exactly what I might encounter. I needed additional time to collect my thoughts; I needed a chance to dredge up some kind of explanation.
“Kindly inform my father that for the remainder of the day, I shall be occupied with other activities. Tell him I will see him in the morning.”
The guard nodded and left to deliver my message. Knowing that my father would be displeased with my response and might decide to seek me out regardless, I hurried back toward my rooms, an escape plan forming in my mind. I addressed the first Palace Guard I met, instructing him to send word to Lanek, Steldor’s personal secretary, that I was afflicted with a headache and needed my afternoon schedule cleared. I knew Lanek would also inform Steldor of my condition, which would ensure that he would not try to see me, although I doubted this measure was necessary given his current state of mind. Having freed my day, I sent another servant to the Royal Stables to have my father’s favorite mount, a steady and well-trained former cavalry horse, brought to the courtyard gates, readied for riding. While the request to the stable was coming from me, it would not occur to anyone that my father would not be the rider, and I hoped to be well away from the city before anyone could report the unorthodox nature of my activities.
I prepared for my excursion, donning a skirt and a white blouse, and tying my hair at the base of my neck in the style Halias, Miranna’s easygoing bodyguard, wore his. It was my intention to imitate a man as well as I could in order to be less conspicuous while out and about mounted on a horse. But now I had a challenge, for no man wore a skirt, and I therefore needed a pair of breeches. Unfortunately, I no longer had the pair I had used when Narian secretly taught me to ride, an activity that was totally inappropriate for a Hytanican woman. I had thrown them in with the servant’s laundry to prevent them from being found when my belongings had been transferred to my new quarters, for their discovery would have raised questions and fed palace gossip. I furrowed my brow as I confronted this problem, for I had little time in which to come up with a pair. Believing that Steldor could not possibly become more upset with me, I decided his trousers could meet my needs. With a great breath, I strode to his bedroom door and pushed it open, glimpsing for the first time his inner domain.
I don’t know what I expected to find, but what I did see was a fascinating conglomeration, some of the items in keeping with the Steldor I knew and some out of character. The room contained the usual furnishings, albeit masculine in design: an ample four-poster bed; heavy, leather-padded armchairs near the hearth; a sturdy trunk and wardrobe; two large bookcases; and a sidebar topped with goblets and mugs that were often accompanied, I presumed, by flasks of wine and ale. My husband’s familiar scent also hung in the air, heavier than it should have been considering he had been gone this day. I glanced around and noticed a bowl on the mantel of the fireplace, from which the fragrance seemed to emanate, and realized that the wolf’s head talisman he always wore contained the same mixture.
It was the personal aspects of the room that I found intriguing. Contrary to what I knew of his disposition, the style of the furniture was simple, containing none of the usual carvings, and the color that dominated the room was a deep wine—not quite burgundy, not quite red, but somehow subtly warmer and more inviting than those stronger hues. Thick tapestries covered the floor and hung on the walls. Numerous weapons of various types and sizes were mounted above the fireplace, including a collection of daggers. The neatly shelved books were of the expected variety: weaponry, falconry, military history and military strategy. There was not an item out of order, and yet the room felt relaxed and comfortable.
As I glanced around, I tried to reconcile what I was seeing with the military man I knew Steldor to be and was suddenly struck by the answer. The room, of course, was befitting a man, but also sensuous and elegant, perfectly suited for coaxing a woman into his arms.
I crossed to the wardrobe, rifling through it until I found my husband’s breeches. I pulled out a pair and put them on under my skirt, adding one of his belts in the hope of keeping the trousers from falling to my ankles. Scanning his tidy room one last time, I snatched an empty flask, filling it with water from the pitcher that stood on the bedside table and attaching it to my borrowed belt. I left his bedroom, bending my left arm over my abdomen to hide my strange bump. Thus equipped, I summoned my mettle and walked through the corridors to flee the palace, my father and my humiliation.
It wasn’t until I reached the courtyard gates that my behavior began to raise eyebrows. The groom holding my father’s chestnut gelding was just short of shocked w
I mounted the large but sedate animal and guided him onto the busy thoroughfare. Although it had been over three months since I had last ridden, it did not take me long to feel at home in the saddle. Without a backward glance, I urged the horse into an easy trot, wanting to put distance between myself and the palace, afraid of pursuit.
The city thrummed with activity as I trotted onward, and I began to enjoy the freedom I had stolen, praying that it would not be short-lived. The May sun made the afternoon pleasantly warm, although I knew it would cool come evening and that I would need to be home before the day was out.
My meager disguise was less than convincing, for I was drawing incredulous stares and a few double takes from passersby, some of whom gave an astonished bow or curtsey to their Queen. As I approached the point of entry into the walled city, I could feel the watchful eyes of the sentries upon me, but again no one dared question me, and I passed unhindered beneath the raised iron gate. I cared not about the reactions of the guards, only about the possibility that they would inform the King, and urged my mount into a canter, a gait I was certain it had not been asked to employ in years.
By this time, I had decided on a destination. I reined the gelding off the thoroughfare onto a narrower road, traveling east toward Baron Koranis’s country home, which was about an hour and a half farther at a brisk trot or easy canter. Although London had left to search for Narian ten days previously, I wanted to check the estate myself on the slim chance that he might have returned to his family’s property. Koranis had vacated the estate in favor of his manor house in the city when the Cokyrians had begun threatening our borders, and I knew Narian would have the ability to move about his father’s lands undetected by our patrols if that were his desire.
While I felt some urgency about reaching my destination, my father’s horse clearly did not, refusing to maintain the gait of my choosing, dropping continually down into a rough and uncomfortable trot. In the midst of my frustration in dealing with the stubborn animal, I became aware of the sound of approaching hoofbeats, although it took a moment for my brain to comprehend that a rider was overtaking me. I looked over my shoulder, recognizing the powerful gray steed that was in pursuit, and released a groan, for if Steldor was coming after me himself, he must be angry indeed. Refusing to acknowledge him, I continued down the road, disappointed by how quickly he had caught up to me. I had left the palace barely an hour ago, and already he was upon me.
Steldor rode past me and pulled his charger to an abrupt halt in front of my considerably smaller mount, the stallion half rearing in protest. It had been enjoying the run, and continued tossing its head and flaring its nostrils, indicating its desire to continue. Startled, I tried to move my father’s gelding away, but Steldor leaned forward to snatch my reins.
“Release my horse!” I ordered, infuriated with him and wary of both the large, energetic beast and its rider.
“No,” Steldor snapped. “You’re coming back with me.”
Gripping my reins, he permitted his stallion to move forward in the direction of the city, my mount obediently following. Unwilling to give in to him, I slid from my horse’s back.
“I don’t think I will return just yet, Your Majesty.”
With an exasperated sigh, he dismounted and strode toward me. As he did, he took in my preposterous appearance.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, stopping in his tracks. “You’re out in the middle of nowhere, by yourself, dressed like a man and riding your father’s horse! Have you gone mad, woman?” He continued to scrutinize me, and his incredulity transformed itself into a frown. “And just where did you get the belt and breeches?” As realization struck, he sarcastically added, “Just my luck that you would decide to get into my trousers when I wasn’t there to enjoy it.”
My cheeks burned at his crude comment, and had I been a little closer, I would likely have dealt him a second slap. At the same time, I knew his assessment was accurate.
“I was just going for a ride. I have the right to some fresh air,” I asserted, hands upon my hips.
Steldor gave a short, scathing laugh. “Not like this you don’t. Now get on your horse.”
Incensed by his dictatorial tone, I turned away without a thought as to how he might react, and set off once more on my original course, not bothered in the least that I was leaving my means of transportation behind. It wasn’t long before I heard his boots scraping against the rocky surface of the road, and the back of my neck prickled in alarm. Before I could think how best to handle him, he stepped in front of me to block my path. “You will return with me,” he growled, jaw set.
“No, I will not!”
He ran both hands through his hair, and I thought that he might bellow in frustration. Then he stepped forward and wrapped an arm about my waist, pulling me to him. With a scowl, he threw me over his shoulder and carried me toward the horses.
“Put me down!” I shrieked, struggling fiercely, but he did not even acknowledge me. Although I knew I could not break free, I continued to shout and kick my legs, then resorted to hitting him on the back with my fists to cause him as much discomfort as possible.
When we reached the horses, he thrust me into his saddle, then released me to mount himself. Taking advantage of his small lapse, I swung my left leg over the stallion’s withers in an attempt to slide off the opposite side. Unfortunately, Steldor was quick to swing onto the horse’s back, and he caught me with an arm across my chest. Desperate to get away from him, I tucked my chin and sank my teeth into his forearm, biting down hard.
He cried out in pain, dropping me at once. I landed in an undignified heap upon the ground, then triumphantly scrambled to my feet, looking up at my husband, who was examining his wound in disbelief. I seemed to have rendered him speechless, and it occurred to me that I had twice in the past day and a half caused him an injury. With blood trickling down his arm, he glowered at me, almost trembling with rage, eventually finding his voice and its volume.
“Fine!” he yelled, so loudly that my father’s languid horse jumped to life and shied away. “Stay out here! But I’m taking the horses, so you can either get on your bloody animal right now, or you can walk back!”
“It’s a delightful day for a stroll!” I retorted, making known my choice, whether or not it was a wise one. I did not wait for him to respond but marched off in the direction of Koranis’s estate. I didn’t look back but heard Steldor’s horse whinny in excitement at again being allowed to run, and my father’s horse noisily object as it lumbered along behind.
The distance separating me from my destination was longer than I remembered, but then, the previous trips had been in a buggy, requiring no physical exertion on my part. On this day, my father’s horse had taken me a little less than half the distance to Koranis’s estate; now that I was on foot, I estimated that it would take me roughly three hours to complete the journey. It was absurd, however, to think that I would be able to maintain a consistent pace or that I would not need to rest. Nonetheless, I had made my decision and so continued resolutely onward. I would not give Steldor the satisfaction of knowing he had ruined my outing, nor would I return to the palace in ignominious defeat.
As I walked, the ground seemed to become harder and more painful to tread upon, and my legs felt the strain of the exercise. With a humorless chuckle, I realized how poorly suited for this activity were both my thin leather shoes and my body. An hour had passed, and already I wanted to lie down on the road and wait for a farmhand to collect me and return me to the city. But I was quite certain that no one would be out in this
I kept on trudging, limbs becoming heavier as the minutes went by and several times needing to quench my burning thirst. I praised my own good sense at having brought along a water flask but was now wishing I had brought some food, as well. My stomach grumbled unhappily every so often, but I had no choice other than to ignore it.
Thankfully, the day was not particularly hot, for the spring sun was less intense than it would become in June and July; at the same time, it would grow colder when the day’s warmth dissipated in the evening. I was wary of what would happen then, for I had brought no cloak. With a sigh of relief, I remembered that there would be blankets and food stores inside Koranis’s home.
I continued for another hour before I again stopped to revive beneath a large, shady tree along the roadside, leaning back against its trunk. I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against my hot, damp forehead, unable to recall the last time I had perspired in such a fashion. My legs ached, and I rubbed them to relieve their stiffness, with poor results.
After about fifteen minutes, I stood and resumed my journey. I believed I would make it to the estate before dusk, but did not want to waste time, not fully trusting my instincts as to how much distance I had yet to cover. My anxiety had been growing with the lengthening shadows, for it was too late to turn back to the secure and friendly city. Trying not to think, I focused on the ground as it moved beneath my feet.
I was enormously relieved when at last I glanced up and saw Koranis’s two-story country home taking shape before me. It looked strangely lifeless in its unoccupied state, and the unkempt grounds had an air of desolation about them, but it represented comfort and safety. I was drained of energy, my shoes were tattered and my feet throbbed with every step, my stomach was protesting loudly and my water flask had dried up half an hour ago.