The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 2

  CHAPTER 2

  AFFINITY

  In the upper western courtyard of Crocetta Castle, Marisa MacCallum squinted into the mid-morning sun as it popped between the clouds for a few brief seconds. Her thick velvet gown, heavy cloak and layers of stiff undergarments were enough to keep her legs from freezing, but her normally peachy cheeks were already pale from the cold.

  She glanced up at the sky and sniffed the air. It smelled like snow. From the look of the thick clouds hovering high above the citadel, Crocetta would be covered in white by the end of the day.

  Okay, focus.

  Her breath escaped in a visible puff as she pulled another arrow from the quiver and placed it against the cleft of her longbow. She clutched the string between her forefinger, middle finger and thumb, drawing it back slowly until she felt its tautness against her jaw. A long strand of chestnut hair escaped from the hood of her cloak and drifted in front of her eyes, distracting her from the target some thirty yards away. She pushed it behind her ear and closed one eye, concentrating on the black diamond in the very center.

  Releasing the arrow, she watched it shoot across the courtyard and pierce the outermost edge of the target. “I’m never going to get this,” she groused in near-perfect Crocine. “Something’s not right with my aim.”

  “There is nothing wrong with your aim, Princess,” said a calm, masculine voice beside her. “You have improved much in the last three weeks. If you continue to work on your technique, I guarantee you shall be hitting the center every time.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked hopefully.

  “I would never lie to Her Highness,” he declared solemnly.

  Noticing his playful smirk, Marisa swatted at him, laughing in spite of herself. “Oh, Bruno! How am I supposed to take you seriously when I can’t tell if you’re being truthful or just teasing?”

  “I always tell the truth, Princess.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “And the truth is, you look ravishing this morning.”

  She waved him off, embarrassed. “You always say that.”

  “And it is true each time I mention it.”

  With captivating brown eyes, a devilish grin and broad, muscular shoulders that narrowed down to a trim waist, Cavaliere Bruno Nestore was Marisa’s War Counselor and every young woman’s dream. At twenty-eight, the sandy-haired warrior already had several battles under his belt. The youngest man ever to earn the rank of Paladin Knight, Bruno had risen from an obscure teen to one of the most celebrated heroes of Crocetta in just a few short years. And, together with his boyhood friends Prince Darian and Lord Domenico, he was regarded as one of the kingdom’s most eligible bachelors. Although he took each opportunity to reinforce his image as a shameless flirt with the ladies, nothing took higher priority in his life than his duty as a swordsman.

  His reputation with the ladies was surpassed only by his reputation with the sword, the latter not escaping the palace’s notice. The evidence of the court’s high regard for his special talents manifested itself when Bruno was charged with the task of instructing Marisa and Mark in the art of self-defense. From the moment Darian asked him to train them, Bruno took over the command of their daily protection detail. Their safety and security became the most important duty of his life, and the level of trust the palace had bestowed upon him was a source of great pride.

  Although Bruno always maintained the appearance of formal propriety while they were in the company of others, the handsome warrior never missed an opportunity to flirt with the young monarch in private. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes betrayed his rebellious spirit and the irrepressible desire to breach etiquette. With all things being equal, he was just the sort of man she would have fallen for before she had met Darian.

  “You know, I think my ring is the problem,” she said, admiring the indigo-colored stone on her finger. It was her most treasured possession and the closest link to the mother she barely remembered. “I can’t grip the string correctly when I’m wearing it. I’ll take it off next time we practice.”

  “I do not think that would be wise,” said a booming voice behind her. “You would probably just lose it again.”

  “Darian!” she exclaimed. Thrusting her bow into Bruno’s chest, she spun around and hurried over to him.

  Dressed in a grey fitted tunic, dark blue breeches, knee boots and a long black cloak that lightly brushed the ground, Darian’s massive frame closed the distance in just a couple of long strides.

  “Good afternoon, my love,” he said, gazing hungrily at her lips but gently pecking her on the cheek instead.

  She frowned. “What was that supposed to be?”

  His lips curled into an amused smirk, but he didn’t answer.

  “A man knows when he is not wanted,” Bruno said, dipping a quick bow and grinning knowingly. “Your Highnesses, if you would please excuse me.”

  He bent to kiss her hand, winking as he turned to leave. Darian moved up to slip his arms around her waist, engulfing her with his broad shoulders.

  “Still trying to impress my princess, is he? Perhaps he needs a gentle reminder that you are already spoken for.” He watched Bruno as he walked away, waiting until the brawny man glanced back before quickly covering her lips with his own.

  Warmth radiated from his lips and traveled to her heart, sending tingles through her limbs. Her hand explored the coarseness of his hair, moving down to stroke the rough surface of his jaw as their lips moved against one another. She giggled between their kisses, her hands closing around his neck. His hands descended to the small of her back, pulling her against him and claiming her fully as his own.

  Abruptly, he drew back, his eyes glimmering in the sunlight as he tried to catch his breath. “So, my love, how are your survival skills coming along?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Really? After a kiss like that, that’s what you’re thinking?” She searched his eyes, their color reminding her of a pine forest on a misty morning.

  With his dark hair, lightly-bronzed skin and charming smile, Darian Fiore was like no other man she had ever met. Although he was a cut above all the other guys back in her hometown of Jacksonville, Oregon, he was by no means perfect. He could be controlling at times and had the tendency to be domineering, but his love for her far outweighed any of his imperfections. He was the kind of man that every woman could only dream about. And while she was content with her outward appearance, there were always other women in the palace who were more beautiful than she. Although she would never admit it to anyone, she was secretly afraid of losing him to another. But the level of devotion he was constantly demonstrating toward her drove out the insecurities that arose from time to time. He was the most perfectly imperfect man she had ever met, and deep down, she never truly felt as if she deserved him.

  “Actually, I was thinking of something completely different, but I shall not mention it until after we are married,” He answered, grinning at her sheepishly.

  “Then I won’t ask what you are thinking again.”

  “And so, until we are married, I shall simply ask you once more,” he said, eyeing her lips hungrily as if he wanted to devour them. “How are the lessons coming?”

  “Awful. I don’t even know why I need them. I mean, I can understand the language, etiquette and history lessons, but why do I need the archery and hand-to-hand combat stuff?”

  “You must be able to defend yourself. It is for your own protection, after all.”

  “I thought that’s what our bodyguards were for.”

  “They are your first line of defense, but sometimes it is not enough. You must be prepared to attack and kill if necessary.” He traced a finger down her chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. “You must always be on your guard.”

  “How many people have you killed?”

  He let out a sigh. “Too many. It is not something you ever wish to do. Once you kill a man, you carry his soul with you for the rest of your life.”

  “But you did it in self-defense, right?”


  He nodded slowly, grasping the hilt of his sword as his gaze dropped to the floor.

  Unlike some of his friends from the Academy, Darian wasn’t a natural-born killer. To the contrary; he always had trouble justifying the killing of another human being, no matter how evil they were. Innocent young men whose only offense was to choose the wrong side were always the hardest to kill. They were the ghosts who never left his mind, haunting his dreams long after the battle was over.

  “Walk with me?” she asked, slipping her arm through his to lead him up the rampart steps. He said nothing as they climbed the embankment.

  When they reached the top, the view of the majestic Carnelian Mountains was even more spectacular than usual. The whiteness of the peaks covered with fresh snowfall combined perfectly with the mist hanging over the trees, creating a sight that could have brought peace to even the most troubled soul.

  “The way I see it,” she began, “if you had not killed those men first, then they would’ve killed you. And if you weren’t around to save me, I would have died on the way to Abbadon. So you see, in killing them, you managed to save the life of the future Supreme Ruler of all Carnelia.”

  He smiled faintly. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “It never ceases to amaze me the way seemingly small, insignificant actions or inactions can change so many lives,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “For instance, had you not gone riding that day, you would not have become trapped in the vortex, in which case we would never have met. Both of our lives would have been very different today.”

  “More proof that Garon exists. Too many things have happened for it all to be sheer, dumb luck.” She took Darian’s hand, studying his masculine, yet graceful, fingers. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have nice hands?”

  “No. But yours are cold as ice. We should get you inside.”

  “I’m fine.” She stared out at the pristine slopes for a moment, lost in her own thoughts.

  “Do you still have the dagger?”

  She gave him a questioning glance. “Do you mean the one you gave me at the Mychen Forest?”

  He nodded.

  “Of course. I keep it on me at all times, just like you said.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t know how to use it, but just having it makes me feel better.”

  “I shall ask Bruno to teach you.”

  “If you insist.”

  “It is colder up here than I thought,” he said, his eyes roaming the dark clouds above them. “We should go inside before you become sick. It would appear your lesson has ended anyway.”

  They descended the rampart steps and strolled across the courtyard, entering the Knight’s Hall as courtesans and servants stopped to bow and curtsey to the royal couple.

  Although Marisa had been the Princess Regent for almost six weeks, the concept of being royal still seemed foreign to her. Both of her parents had been born into privilege as members of the royal families of Carnelia, but when their ship passed through the vortex to Earth, they were reduced to living as other commoners.

  Lost in a world with neither the patience nor use for titles, the simple life of the MacCallum family in Oregon was all that Marisa had ever known. From an early age, her father had always instilled in her a quiet humility, teaching her to respect everyone equally, no matter their station in life. So once it had been announced that she was the lost princess and heir to the crown, it felt unnatural being treated in a superior manner. She found it especially difficult and awkward when elder noblemen and women bowed and curtseyed to her.

  “Shall we have a cup of tea in my chambers?” Darian’s voice echoed down the long marble corridor, pulling her from her thoughts.

  She shrugged. “I guess nobody will mind if I skip class.”

  They ascended the grand staircase and strode down the long hallway, finally stopping at the royal suites. As he opened the door of his chambers, the heavenly scent of Carnelian pine met her nostrils, suddenly reminding her of her father. Already three months had passed since his death and, in many ways, it still felt like yesterday to her.

  Spotting Darian’s Paladin uniform hanging neatly in the corner, she moved up closer, stroking the dark wool cloak and skimming the metallic smoothness of the breastplate.

  “I’ll never forget when I first saw you. It took my breath away.”

  “Indeed,” he said, chuckling.

  “I’m serious!” She smiled, settling onto a plush settee in the cozy living area. “I never bought into the knight-in-shining-armor myth back home. But when I saw your face hovering above me in the forest, I thought I was dreaming. You didn’t seem real.”

  “You did bump your head pretty hard…”

  “You were too handsome—almost too perfect to be real.”

  “Perfect is not the way those who know me would describe me.” He smiled, stretching his long legs as he leaned back in his chair. “But, I must admit, you took me by surprise as well. When I saw you lying there on the road, I was certain that I had discovered Queen Elyse.”

  She smoothed down the folds of her dress, thinking about the mother she had barely known. “I wish she was still alive. I’d ask her so many things.”

  “Mmm, yes, so would I.”

  Glancing around his chambers, she admired the neat and orderly manner in which everything had been arranged. Her eyes stopped on a terracotta pot with a drooping white flower.

  “You mean to tell me that it still hasn’t bloomed?”

  He sighed melodramatically. “Alas, milady, I have still not found my heart’s desire.”

  “I don’t get it. Mine bloomed weeks ago.”

  “Perhaps you harbor the incorrect assumption that I am your true love. There were several other young noblemen at your birthday ball,” he said, smirking. “Perhaps it was not me.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, maybe it was Savino after all.”

  Without a word, he got up and lowered himself down next to her. His eyes locked on hers for a long moment before cupping her face with his hands and covering her lips with his own.

  She closed her eyes, allowing the warm firmness of his lips to carry her spirit away as her longing for him increased. The passion of his kiss demanded more and she broke off, gasping for air.

  “You’re really making it difficult for me to do something constructive with my day, do you know that?”

  He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. “Make no mistake, Maraya, you are my heart’s true desire. There is no doubt in my mind, and there should be none in yours.”

  She blushed, overwhelmed by the depth of his confession. He only called her by her royal birth name during intimate moments when they were alone. As if he wanted to remind her that they had been betrothed since the day she was born.

  She shrugged. “Yeah, what does an old Wounded Heart know anyway? Maybe yours is defective or something.”

  Nicodemo entered the room. “Sire, your tea.” When he saw that he had disturbed them, Darian’s footman set the tray on the table, bowing hastily. “My deepest apologies, Your Highnesses.”

  “It is quite all right, Nicodemo. That will be all. Thank you.”

  “Your Highness.” He nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  As Darian poured the tea, Marisa leaned back, staring out across the harbor toward the south end of town, toward the docks. Most of the capital city’s wealth depended on the tall ships entering and leaving with their precious cargo, and the port always seemed to be bustling with plenty of activity.

  “You know, your view is much better than mine,” she commented. “As the future Supreme Ruler, I find that odd. Why do you think that is, anyway?”

  He handed her the steaming cup. “I was here first, my love. That may have something to do with it.”

  “Hmm, maybe.”

  “At any rate, our current housing arrangements are only temporary. After we are married, you may cho
ose any chamber in the castle you wish for us to sleep.”

  “Any room?”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward, eyeing her suggestively. “I do not mind sleeping in the broom closet, as long as we are together.”

  She stopped. “Wait a minute. Didn’t we decide that we would stay at Beauriél after the wedding?”

  His smile faded as he set his teacup on the table. “I thought this had been settled. You agreed to stay at the castle during the week and visit Beauriél on the weekends. Please, let us not quarrel about this again.”

  “We discussed it, but I don’t remember anything being settled,” she answered softly.

  He brightened, changing the subject. “How are the Carnelian history lessons coming along? Are you learning any dark and dirty secrets about our ancestors?”

  She shrugged. “I never really liked my history classes in school, but this is actually pretty interesting stuff. I guess when it’s your own family, it takes on a whole new dimension.”

  “Some of it is entertaining, but it can also be tedious.”

  “Mark thinks it’s all boring.”

  “When I was his age, I loathed my history lessons. In fact, there was very little that interested me back then. Except women.” He chuckled.

  “I’ll bet.” She smiled, trying to imagine him at sixteen.

  “And sword fighting.”

  Her gaze drifted across the walls of his room, studying the portraits of long-deceased relatives until one painting in particular caught her eye. It was of a young man dressed in full military regalia, with dark hair and a handsome face strikingly similar to Darian’s. He was mounted on a black horse, and his sword was thrust out in front of him as if he were about to charge into battle.

  Studying the face of the young man in the portrait, it suddenly hit her who he was. “Darian?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why do you never talk about your father?”

  He rose to his feet and moved over to the window, staring out at the fishing boats bobbing up and down on their way out to sea.

  “It has been extremely difficult for me to accept my father’s death knowing it was entirely preventable.”

  “Preventable? How?”