The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Sixty-Three

Calantha sighed and blinked open her eyes, breathing in deep the scent of her husband's softly padded doublet. Wool warm from his body mixed with the cool scent of dried lavender that had been folded into his luggage.

They had been travelling all through the night. Lord Wallia had proved himself most disagreeable by insisting on that.

She sat up and tried to rub the crick from her neck. Her husband, shifted the shoulder she had been using as her pillow and looked over at her. She smiled, lowering her lashes slightly. His eyes glowed almost silver in the dawn light, his skin tinged a pink by the rising sun. He would look so fine by her side when she was queen. A fine prince to present to visiting dignitaries. What a dazzling pair they would be. Young and beautiful. Standing out amongst the aged and worn rulers of the Western Isles.

He frowned. "Your face is all crinkley," he said, before turning away.

The heat rose to her cheeks. She touched them, feeling the imprint of the stitching from his jerkin on her skin. She smoothed it with her fingertips, hoping it would disappear by the time he looked back at her. But he didn't. He stared resolutely ahead, at a spot somewhere a few inches above the heads of Wallia and Hilton.

He hadn't said a kind word to her all night or the previous day. When they had stopped at the last coaching inn, she thought that at least in the comfort of their own room they might share sweet nothings and soft kisses, but no sooner as she had stepped on the still ground, Sir Hilton was calling for a fresh set of horses and she was being pushed back in the carriage with barely a moment to take a drink of wine and relieve herself.

Her husband hadn't even bothered to go inside, merely unbuttoning his breeches and making use of the carriage wheel before taking a large cup of ale from the barmaid, who came out to serve him wearing a dress that would have burst its seams if it were fitted any tighter.

She watched the pair of them laughing as she sat alone at a small table, sipping from her small glass of bad wine.

The barmaid was doing a whole lot more bending that would seem necessary to pour out a few cups of ale, but when her husband came in to fetch her back to the carriage, she smiled and kissed the side of his mouth, making no mention of the incident.

She was the one married to him, and that is what mattered. When they had taken residence in the Citadel, and were able to send away the likes of Hilton and his puckered-mouth wife, things would be different. He would realise that he was no longer in the pay of Hilton and Wallia. She would be his queen, and as her prince, he would serve her with great chivalry and sweetness.

For a second, she thought back to his pouting at wanting to be crowded king. She had agreed wholeheartedly, wanting nothing more than she share the throne with him, but now something held her back. She had served others for long enough, it was time for her to hold the power now.

Outside she heard the coachman shouting something and the carriage slowed.

"Do you think we're here?" she asked, peering out of the window.

Up ahead, she could see their vast city walls rising up in all their magnificent glory. They stretched a full mile in each direction, casting huge shadows across the landscape. The Countess could almost fancy that the temperature dropped as the carriage eased itself into them.

"We won't have any problems getting through the gate, will we?" she asked.

Wallia sighed and raised his eyebrows. "Do not worry yourself."

But she did worry. The thought of the princess on the King's Road haunted her still. If she had managed to get word to the masters, then getting through the gate would be the least of their problems.