Chapter Fourteen

    "Hello, Lord Ryelin," I said flatly, not exactly trying hard to hide my disappointment. I'd hoped the conference would keep him busy enough to drop whatever interest he had in me, but as he strode into the reading room, I knew I wouldn't be that lucky. 

    I watched as he eyed the empty spot next to me, and I immediately made a show of placing the book right where his eyes had landed. It probably wasn't the most discrete move, but he took the hint with grace and sat in the chair across from me. 

    "Please, you don't need to be so formal with me, June," he drawled my name, getting a little too comfortable in the chair. 

    "My apologies. I am not accustomed to addressing you in such a way. I will try to adjust to it as quickly as possible," I said, taking a page out of Ryia's book. I figured her response was more curated than anything I'd come up with. She'd perfected her language years ago, while I'd barely begun picking up on the proper etiquette. If I wanted to get this man off my back, I'd need to be as formal and impersonal as possible. 

    "No worries there. I just hope you get accustomed to it soon."

    "I'll try my best," I said, following with a forced laugh that quickly died off into uncomfortable silence. I quietly toyed with my dress, in no hurry to start any conversation. I should've been more dismissive of him the night we met; the fleeting entertainment was becoming less and less worth it. 

     "So, what have you been up to?" 

      I looked at the book next to me, then back at him. "Just Reading." I figured that if possums could play dead to get rid of predators, I could act dry and get rid of him the same way. I just needed him to leave before–

      "Oh, what book?"

      My head instinctively turned towards the sound of his voice. Oliver was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his chest. He'd changed into a loose, cream linen shirt and his hair was especially messy. I'd never seen him dressed so casually before, but then again, I hadn't seen him that many times. This couldn't have been more than the fifth, maybe sixth, time we'd met. And yet, here I was, smiling at him as if I'd known him for ages as soon as I saw him again.

      "Something drama novel, I think…"

      "I think I've read that one. So good, really loved the whole dramatic part," he said, pushing off the door frame. He and Ryelin looked at each other, and to my bewilderment, they greeted each other with a nod.

      "Are you going to show up tomorrow morning?" Oliver asked Ryelin as he crossed the room. When had, no, how had the two of them met, let alone become friendly? I couldn't complain; at least now there was someone else to occupy Ryelin's attention.

      "If the crown prince is showing up, then I need to be there myself," Ryelin responded enthusiastically, "I've been waiting to see if he is as talented as everyone says or if his cousin finally has him beat," Ryelin leaned forward, his dark eyes drifting back to me, "I do hope you're coming to watch. Your presence would be some great motivation for me. I couldn't possibly lose with a girl like you there."

       Oliver's demeanor immediately shifted as I chuckled uncomfortably, ignoring the later part of Ryelin's answer. Oliver quickly moved behind the couch, rested his arms on its back, and leaned in next to me. I bit my cheek, swearing to myself that Ryia would never know that she was right. If I ever let it slip that Oliver was acting like this, I'd never hear the end of it.

      "I'm glad to hear it," Oliver said. His words had been friendly, but there was a bite in his voice directed at Ryelin's advances. Ryelin's eyes passed through me, which I assumed meant that he and Oliver were engaged in a very intense stare-off. I turned my head up and waited patiently until Oliver finally broke off their eye contact and looked down at me.

      His gaze softened, and he gave me a small smile as his golden waves brushed against his forehead. His eyes looked so bright in the glow of the fire light.

"Hello," he said, his softer voice a much-needed comfort after the past few days I'd had.

      "Hello," I replied, though I tilted my head and lowered my brows, my eyes asking seriously? He shrugged but still pushed off the back of the couch, relaxing a bit.

      Ryelin's eyes narrowed and slid between us. He shifted in his seat, and realization briefly flickered across his face as he leaned forward.

"So, you two know each other?" he asked sharply. 

      "We're… acquaintances," I said, stating it delicately. As much as I liked seeing Ryelin squirm, I didn't need the weird tension between those two to grow any thicker.

      Oliver didn't share my sentiment. "We're acquaintances that have a lot to catch up on," he corrected me, reverting to its earlier taunting.

    Ryelin picked up on the not-so-subtle dismissal and scowled. But, he was nothing if not persistent. "I hadn't realized you knew so many people, June." Even though he'd addressed me, his eyes were glued on Oliver. "How close are you two?"

    Oliver took Ryelin's stare as a personal challenge. He stepped out from behind the couch and walked to where my book sat. He looked toward me, then the book I had intentionally placed at my side, and grinned. In a swift motion, he tossed the book aside and took its spot next to me. He stretched his long arms across the back of the couch, resting one right behind my head.

    "I'd say we're pretty close," he said, drumming his fingers on the couch's back, emphasizing where they were. I didn't need to look at him to know precisely what smirk he had. Ryelin's disgusted expression told me all I needed to know.

     I couldn't tell if he was angry at Oliver for being so flippant or if he was angry that he hadn't thought to do the same. Regardless of which it was, his white-knuckled grip on the chair's arms made it clear that he was angry at something. He pushed himself to his feet, and for once, he gave me a forced smile.

     "Since it looks like you have some talking to do, I'll be heading off now," he looked to Oliver with a gleam of determination, "I assume we'll be meeting again on the training grounds tomorrow?" He'd made it clear that his leaving didn't mean he was backing down, which was exactly what I wanted to hear this late at night.

    "I'm looking forward to our match," Oliver replied curtly. I blinked, completely disoriented, and tried to figure out what they were referring to. Nothing good, nor safe, came to mind.

      "Goodnight, June." Ryelin's farewell pulled back my attention, and I managed a "goodnight" in return. With a bow, he excused himself and stalked out of the room. He managed not to slam the door on the way out, which was better than I expected after the display between those two.

    As soon as Ryelin was out of earshot, Oliver leaned further into the couch and crossed his arms. "I don't like how he says your name," he said, ignoring my gaping expression.

     "What was that about??" I asked, growing more concerned by how calm he was. There was no possible scenario that included matches and the training grounds that would have a positive outcome—especially considering that Oliver most likely had zero skill when it came to fighting.

    He finally acknowledged my expression and responded with a grin. His eyes narrowed, glowing with mischief as he spoke.

     "Turns out the appearance of some unexpected attendees was enough to spur the other guys into a bit of a frenzy. There will be a competition, a tournament of sorts, tomorrow at the training grounds. Something about showing off for you two." 

    My brow creased; there was no way this could end well.

    "And whose bright idea was this?" I asked; a sneaking suspicion told me that it wasn't some spontaneous plan the men had come up with. He'd played a hand in starting it and was a little too proud that. 

    "Not sure what his name is, but he's tall with freckles and pretty eyes. Devastatingly handsome; you'd know him if you saw him," he said. I rolled my eyes, not caring to conceal my chuckle. 

    "So, any clue why that devastatingly handsome man decided to create this fun little competition?" 

    "He said he wants to keep his reasoning as a surprise, but that you'll need to be there around 7 a.m."

    I whined and tilted my head against his arm. One of the lovely perks of being Ryia's lady-in-waiting was that I needed to be ready for the day well before she was awake. A 7 a.m. start meant I'd need to be up by 5 a.m. There was no way I'd survive interacting with Sawyer on that little sleep. Even Ryelin would be a headache that early in the morning.

    Ryelin, right. 

    "Please tell me you aren't serious about fighting Ryelin tomorrow," I groaned, twisting to face him. I knew it was a stupid question as soon as I asked it.

    "Of course I am," he said, serious enough that it made me nervous, "he's been bothering you, hasn't he?"

    "Whether he's bothering me or not," I said, "is of no concern to you. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but if you're fighting him with a sword, do you really think you could win?"

    "Yes." He responded with such little hesitation that I wasn't sure if he was joking. "Why? Are you doubting me and my amazing abilities?" 

    "A little bit." I shifted back, my eyebrows lowering as I unsuccessfully scanned his expression for any hint of sarcasm. "You genuinely think you could take him on, don't you?"

    "I've been training a lot," he said, dead serious. "Lawrence noticed that my sword skills had randomly dropped to zero and decided to train me until I was proficient again. Of course, only after he mocked me mercilessly. I've got the tan lines and scars to prove it." He held his hand out, revealing a dozen blisters and calluses. 

    "How do you even use your hands?" I instinctively grabbed his hand, looking over each cut and callous. "You need to bandage those or something." I went to stand up, but his fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he pulled me back down to the couch. 

    "It's fine. Besides, I've got a bunch of scars that are ten times worse," he added, casually rolling up his sleeve and pointing to a long, deep scar that stretched across his arm. 

    "Those must have been so painful," I muttered, noticing all the cuts and scars scattering his skin. 

    "Wouldn't know. They came preloaded with my character."

    I snorted, caught completely off guard. I covered my mouth in embarrassment and looked over to see him grinning like an idiot. 

    "You know, this better be a fantastic plan," I said, trying to recover from the embarrassment. 

    "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised once it's all said and done."

    "Considering how early I need to get up, you better hope I am."

❧

    "You're awfully worried," Ryia said, grabbing my arm and yanking me to her side so I would stop pacing. It was 7 a.m., and I had just watched Oliver point to Ryelin and then the center of the training ground. I had every right to be worried.

      "I just don't want to watch a murder being committed," I grumbled, tapping my foot now that she had me otherwise immobilized. It was hard to talk over the shouts of men and screeches of steel scraping against steel. I looked around the training ring. Though a few men were either too exhausted or too engrossed in their preparations to notice us, most had taken a break to watch Ryia and me. I had done my best to ignore the ones that had whistled at us as soon as we walked in, but all the stares made my skin crawl. Was this how Ryia constantly felt?

      "I didn't think you'd be so concerned about my dear cousin," Ryia said, unaffected by all the eyes on us. I whipped my head towards her. One look at my appalled expression had her giggling. "What, is that not who you're worried about? From everything he's said, it sounds like you two were hitting it off. I think he has a ring picked out already."

      "You've got to be kidding me," I groaned, my head drooping. When had he gotten a chance to talk to her? Even more so, when had he gotten the idea that our conversation (if it was even long enough to be called that) had gone well? 

      "I think mentioned picking out a wedding venue too."

      "Was he being serious?"

      "I wish I could confidently say he wasn't. So," she quickly nodded to the center of the ring, "I guess you'll just have to hope that Oliver will be enough to scare him away."

      I doubted that, considering he'd made time to talk to Ryia about me. Even after Oliver had all but shooed him away last night, he hadn't given up.

      "And stop looking at him like it's the last time you'll see him in one piece. It's going to hurt his feelings."

    "I'm not looking at Ryelin like that."

    "I'm not talking about Ryelin," she said, still smiling, "at this point, poor Oliver must think you've abandoned all hope for him."

    "I doubt it. He's not even looking up here," I retorted, gesturing towards him, "see–"

    Sure enough, Oliver was looking dead at me. He pouted as he saw my anxious expression, and I started to feel slightly guilty for doubting him. I mean, realistically, how bad could it be? It's not like Ryelin would kill him or anything. Then, the expression Ryelin made as Oliver tossed aside the book flashed in my head. 

    Okay, maybe he would kill him.

      As if reading my mind, Oliver mouthed trust me, I'll be fine, before turning to take up a defensive stance.