I carried another log to the fire, then sat on a fallen tree trunk to watch it burn. This night seemed to have gone on forever, and all I wished for was that it might end. Before long, Amarinda came to sit near me, and we watched the fire together. Something needed to be said, but I had no idea where to begin.
Open as the sky was around us, I suddenly felt closed in, and my heart raced, though I couldn’t be sure why. Was I angry? Not really, though I had every right to be. Hurt? Yes, though if she had believed me to be dead, her affections for Tobias weren’t intended to cause me any sadness. Perhaps I felt displaced, as if I belonged nowhere, and to nobody. In all the glory of being a king, I was still an unwanted orphan of the streets.
Finally, she said, “While you were with the pirates, Tobias spent a long time trying to help me understand you.”
I scoffed. “Yes, I can imagine that took many hours.”
“It was more like many days.” She smiled back at me, but not in a mocking way. I doubted she was capable of that sort of unkindness. “He told me that, back at Farthenwood, you once said you had no desire to be king. Was that true, or only part of your disguise as Sage?”
A quiet sigh escaped my lips. “Nothing I said at Farthenwood was more honest.”
“We’re very different people, Jaron, but in that one way, we’re so much alike. You never wanted the crown, nor did I. In fact, in all my life, I have never been asked what I wanted.”
How familiar that sounded. My own complaints weren’t so different.
She continued, “From the moment of my birth, I was a betrothed princess, destined for your brother. When I was old enough, I left my home in Bymar and came to live in Drylliad, to get to know Darius better. Eventually, I gave my emotions to him and anticipated a life of happiness at his side. Then one morning he was dead. Gone. And almost as quickly I was expected to put aside everything I ever felt for Darius, to pretend that I wasn’t completely hollow inside. On the same night that Darius’s murder was confirmed, I was suddenly faced with betrothal to another husband, to you. I know that’s how things had to be, but I don’t think anyone understood how hard it was to face you, looking so much like Darius and yet serving as a constant reminder that he was gone.”
“Please forgive me.” I felt selfish to my core, to have dwelled so much on my own wishes and frustrations that, for all this time, I had failed to consider the pain she must have felt.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “The betrothal wasn’t your desire any more than it was mine. Yet despite all that, we built a friendship. And then as the war began, you became the first to ever ask what I wanted for my life. To marry you, if I wanted, or to choose my own way. I thank you for that. In many ways, that is the most love anyone has ever shown me.” She drew in a slow breath, and then said, “You promised never to lie to me, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then I must ask you a question and beg for your complete honesty.” When I nodded, she said, “Before we left the castle, Kerwyn suggested that you and I should marry. Why did you accept his suggestion?”
I hadn’t anticipated that question and, in fact, had barely thought about it since then. I struggled with finding the right words to answer her and finally said, “Because Kerwyn was right. If something happens to me during this war, it preserves your role as queen.”
She pressed her lips together and then said, “For you, is that reason enough to begin a marriage?”
In a perfect world, there would only be one reason for marriage, when two people loved each other more than their own lives. But there were other realities of life, often requiring partnerships to be formed for more practical reasons. Marriages to gain a provider or a cook or a companion were common, and for many people, that was enough. Amarinda and I were supposed to marry because of a treaty worked out between our families. Maybe people did marry for reasons other than love, but when I thought about it, a treaty was the most ridiculous reason of them all.