Kastali Dun

Desaree deposited a tall stack of empty trays in the washroom, sighing once she’d rid herself of the weight. Done with breakfast, she made to depart in search of Claire. Tess stepped in front of her, brandishing her spoon. “You take extra care today with Lady Crafton’s chambers,” she said. “I’ll not have that woman chasing me down again.”

“I’ll clean it till it sparkles,” Desaree grumbled, side-stepping Tess’s imposing frame. She left the cookery, pushing Lady Crafton out of her mind entirely, occupying it with something far more pleasant. She often daydreamed of Lord Verath these days. What fun it was to picture daring scenarios between them! Sometimes she crafted stories where he rescued her from kidnappers. Or confessed his love, gathering her up into his arms, kissing her. But these imaginations hurt too, because everything she pictured between them was impossible.

Verath’s heart belonged elsewhere. To his king. Yet, she’d seen something in his eyes that night. Something akin to yearning. He was selfish, he’d claimed. Perhaps he too had pictured some way for them to be together. She shook her head. As if someone like him would ever want someone like her!

“Desaree?” She froze in her tracks, almost yelping. She knew that voice. Heat filled her chest. “Desaree! I’m over here.” There it was again. She turned towards a shadowy hall, squinting.

“Lord Verath?”

Verath chuckled. “It is I.”

She frowned and walked over to him. He stood in a shadowy nook beside the small hallway, leaning with comfortable ease against the stone wall. His arms were crossed, and he gazed down at her with glittering eyes. “I saw you passing and thought to hide myself.”

“Whatever for?” Her mind jumped to a daydream she’d just been having, where they snuck away to embrace within a dark passage just like this one. Her cheeks flushed hotter. Surely this was some trick.

“I did not wish to draw attention. I thought I might speak with you in private. When I saw you walking…”

“You…you wish to speak in private?” Her mind jumped at the promise of his statement.

In the darkness, she saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled. “I would like to have dinner with you tonight, if that is favorable. I know your duties keep you from eating early. Perhaps when you have finished we might dine together?”

“Oh…” Her her heart leapt. “What of the suspicion that will create? Others might wonder…”

“Not if I claim to be hungry at an unseemly time,” he said.

She sighed. How could she deny him such an offer?

“Very well. I accept.”

“Excellent. Good day to you, Desaree.” He turned and strode away. She watched his retreating figure, unsure if that had even just happened. Maybe it was merely another daydream.

***

Shortly thereafter, she found Claire in the west wing of the castle. “Something has you grinning,” Claire said. “Are we friends enough to share secrets?”

She giggled. “I…I am afraid to say.”

“Oh come on! Don’t be boring! What will we talk about if you keep it from me while we work?”

The day would indeed be dull if she was forced to hang on to her happiness without sharing. “Fine, but you must promise not to say a word.” Claire promised, so she told her everything.

“Lord Verath?” Claire gasped in delighted surprise. “You and Lord Verath?”

“Why are you surprised?” she asked, feeling slightly defensive. “We are only friends, at least I think we are friends. I should like to be his friend…”

“Don’t get me wrong, Des. He’s handsome. They all are. It’s just—” Claire bit her lower lip.

“Just what?”

“He’s so reserved compared to the others. I guess I never would have guessed he would be interested in anyone. But clearly he is! Why else would he single you out?”

For all her dreaming, Desaree had spent an equal amount of time doubting. How could Verath feel anything beyond friendship for her? But Claire’s words left her hopeful. “You…you really think he cares for me?”

Claire tutted. “Desaree! He coerced you into a dark hallway to ask you to dine with him. I think he has more than friendship on the brain.”

Her face flushed. “I hope you are right,” she whispered. “It would make me happy beyond imagining. But it would also be very bad.”

“Why? How can love ever be bad?” Claire frowned. And why shouldn’t she. An outsider wouldn’t be entirely familiar with the customs of Drengr Fairtheoir.

Desaree took a moment to explain why a Shield, sworn to protect the king, should not engage in relationships of love.

“So they can’t take Riders. What’s the big deal?” Claire merely shrugged, belittling the matter. “It doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy love every now and then.”

Desaree shook her head. “If we fall in love, Claire, am I supposed to allow him to watch me grow old and die?” Considering how much longer the Drengr lived compared to humans, the thought was appalling. She didn’t mean to sound so defensive. It was her doubt talking, clawing at her.

“Gods, Desaree!” Claire sputtered. She almost laughed because that was surely the first time Claire had ever used the word gods. “Quit being so extreme. It’s just dinner. And if it leads to more, then go with the flow. Have you ever been in love before?”

She closed her mouth and shook her head. Of course she hadn’t!

“Okay then, allow yourself to experience it. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this one? He’s a Shield for crying out loud.”

“But—but what about all the heartbreak I’ll feel?”

“What about it?” Claire shrugged. “That’s all part of falling in love, Des. There will always be the risk of heartbreak.” She sighed and her brow pulled together. “Listen, Desaree, if you let your fear dictate your choices, you’ll never experience one of the most powerful emotions in existence.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She exhaled. If she didn’t stop overthinking her relationship with Verath, or lack thereof, everything she wanted to experience would pass right by her.

Happy to have gotten through to her, Claire went back to dusting.

By the time they walked to the cookery to help with dinner, she was resolved to go with the flow, as Claire had put it.

***

True to his word, Verath submitted a late request for dinner. Just as she was finishing up her duties, a serving boy rushed into the cookery. She watched as he breathlessly blurted out the request to Tess. Simultaneously, she and Claire exchanged a knowing look.

Tess rounded on her. “It seems Lord Verath has requested you to deliver his dinner tonight.” The woman eyed her suspiciously. “That lord has taken on quite a liking to you, Desaree. This is not the first time his request has included your name specifically.”

She merely shrugged before gathering food from various platters, arranging it neatly upon a tray.

“My, my, that looks like a lot of food for just one.” Tess missed nothing. Yet despite her keen observation, there was no judgement in her voice.

“Lord Verath is a Drengr, Tess. He will be quite hungry, I suspect.” She noticed the twitch of Tess’s lips before she turned and left. Meanwhile, Claire’s malicious grin was contagious. She felt her own materialize.

Just as she was lifting the tray, Claire passed by her and whispered, “I can’t wait to hear all the details. Good luck!”

Before she reached Verath’s room, she took a moment to adjust her clothes, tidy her hair, and pinch her cheeks, then she picked up the tray and continued. When she knocked at the door, Verath pulled it open almost immediately, affording her a pleased smile. “Thank gods you’re finally here!” he growled. “I am so hungry, I could eat three grazers in less than an hour.”

Her eyes widened. She pictured a red dragon snatching up grazers and ripping them apart.

He chuckled. “All right, fair enough. I suppose this meal will do just fine.”

She walked in and he closed the door behind her. “Do the Drengr truly eat that much?” she asked.

“They do when they’re as hungry as I am.”

She set the tray upon the table and began unloading it. Verath’s hand swiftly closed around her wrist. She expected his hold to be harsh, but it was gentle and lingered before he pulled it away. “You sit. I will serve.” His warm touch left her skin burning in an unfamiliar way. He pulled out a chair for her. She sank into it. “I am certain that you have done enough today as it is. Allow me.” He began removing items from the tray and dishing out food for them both. What a wonder it was to be served. “There. Eat.”

Afraid to disobey, and likewise hungry, she did exactly as ordered. For a time they were quiet. She enjoyed the silence. It allowed her to steal glances at him.

His hair was messier than usual today, and longer too. That she knew his preferred length meant she must be overly obsessed with him. She almost choked on her mashed potatoes at the thought. Verath’s dark locks swept down to his eyebrows. Every so often, he absentmindedly pushed his hands through his hair to move it away from his eyes. How long had he allowed himself such disarray?

“You look amused,” he said.

She shrugged and returned to her food, afraid he might discover her thoughts.

“Come now, I wouldn’t mind a joke.”

She glanced up at him. “No joke. I was merely thinking to myself.”

“Will you not share?”

“You truly wish to know?” She set her fork down, hoping he would decline. Instead he nodded. “Well, I was just thinking that you are in desperate need of a haircut.”

Verath threw his head back and roared with laughter. When he next looked at her, his eyes glistened with mirth. “Indeed! I was thinking so myself just the other day. With how busy I’ve been, I’ve neglected my own hair. Are you good with shears?”

“Me?” Her eyes grew round. “I certainly hope you are joking. Besides, are you not capable yourself?”

“Oh, I am. But wouldn’t it be more fun for you to do it?”

“Uhm…I…” Butterflies settled in the pit of her stomach. She yearned to say yes, but her mind begged against it. At last, she merely shrugged.

“How about after dinner?”

She opened her mouth, but it seemed she had little choice. How could she refuse?

Following this exchange, their conversation flowed freely. He was mostly curious about how she spent her spare time. “I enjoy reading,” she said. “On the rare occasion that I can sneak into the royal library to borrow books.” Servants were not generally permitted within the royal library, except to clean it.

“What books are your favorite?”

“Everything,” she breathed, growing excited. “Truthfully, anything I can get my hands on.”

“I see. I am glad to know this.” He rose and went to his bookshelf. It was an impressive personal collection. “I have several here you might like.” He began pulling books. Minutes later, he had a towering stack. “There.” He set the pile at the side of the table with a thud. “Take these with you when you go, and keep them as long as you like. Though I wouldn’t mind hearing your thoughts when you finish.”

She closed her mouth, stunned. The prospect of discussing books with Lord Verath thrilled her. She promised to give him a thorough assessment of each. They moved on to dessert while he told her about his favorite books. Truthfully, she found it difficult to follow his conversation. Too often she was caught up in watching him speak, the way his eyes twinkled when he grew passionate, and how animated he was with his hands.

There was nothing for it; she was enamored.

When the dreaded moment came to cut his hair, nervousness settled in the pit of her stomach. To Verath, the simple act of a haircut was nothing. To her, it felt intimate. But…recalling Claire’s advice, she was determined to go with the flow of things, so she took the scissors he handed to her. She tried to belittle the matter in her mind. That became increasingly difficult when he casually removed his tunic, tossing it upon the sofa. He wanted to keep it free of cuttings, which was understandable, but…! She couldn’t stop gawking at him.

When he caught her staring too long at his sinewy chest and broad shoulders, his eyes glowed with satisfaction. Thank the gods he said nothing of it. Instead he positioned his chair in the middle of the room and sat down, waiting for her.

She recovered and began the job of trimming away the pieces that had grown too long.

“I hope to keep the ends even,” she said as she went, slowly working her way around. She hardly knew what she was doing. Occasionally she saw the servants assisting each other with haircuts. Most often she trimmed her own hair if the ends became too tangled. But this was different.

Every so often, her fingers brushed his skin. Each time, her stomach clenched in excitement, sending tingles straight to her toes. Once or twice she took advantage of the opportunity, allowing her fingertips to linger against his scalp for longer than necessary. He hummed each time she did it, sending a thrill straight to her chest.

Once she finished, she took the liberty of rustling his locks with her fingers. She needed to ensure it had set properly. His hair was so soft! He let out a faint growl deep in his chest. Her heart skipped at the sound of it. The guttural noise sounded oddly draconic.

At last she stepped away to review her work. She’d done well enough. His hair looked as it usually did. All was back to normal in her Verath-centered world. She was rather pleased with herself, though she would not admit it. Instead, she grimaced and shook her head. “Gods! I’m so sorry. It’s absolutely terrible! You never should have trusted me.”

His mouth opened and closed. “Is that so.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I fear you may need to hide away from the public for some time, or suffer their laughter.”

He chuckled. “It is only hair, Desaree.” Her toes curled in her slippers. She loved the way he said her name, drawing out the last syllable. “It will grow back. Perhaps next time you’ll do better.”

She registered hope in his voice. Unable to maintain the joke any longer, she burst into laughter. “I was only kidding. Your hair looks fine.”

He rose and went to examine himself in the mirror, running his fingers through it. “Indeed! A fine job.”

She fixed her gaze on him as he threw his tunic over his head and came to stand before her. In height she reached his shoulder. To see him better, she had to tilt her head back. This was the closest they had ever been. She could feel a dragon’s fiery warmth radiating from him. She could feel his breath upon her brow. She could see the stubble growing upon his jaw. And she could smell the scent of wood and smoke upon his skin.

It left her achingly nervous. Being this close. Her eyes fell away from his to the floor.

His fingers found her chin, bringing her gaze back to his. “Thank you, Desaree.” His low voice sent warmth spreading through her. “Now, I fear it is getting late. Take your books and go. And do not burn the wick for too long tonight, eh?”

She nodded and scrambled away, collecting the book pile before bidding him goodnight. His presence left her overly jittery. She welcomed the relief of the quiet corridors that greeted her.

***

The following day, she struggled to pull herself from her bed. There were always duties to attend to. She’d done exactly the opposite of what Lord Verath had advised.

True to her word, Claire attacked her for details the moment they saw each other. They delivered breakfast trays, accomplishing bits of discussion in between each delivery. “He let you cut his hair?!” Claire gasped. “Oh my God! Desaree, tell me all about it.”

Her cheeks blushed merely thinking of the way Lord Verath’s soft hair felt against her fingers. But she revealed everything—she was eager to. The only part she kept to herself were the last moments when Verath lifted her face to his and gazed into her eyes before thanking her.

Throughout the day, Claire brought up snippets of their conversation during dinner, over-analyzing the details down to each word. Desaree didn’t mind. It was fun to share her excitement with a friend. As they walked from the west wing to the cookery, she went back through each of Verath’s statements. Claire wanted to explain what she felt Verath meant by them.

“I think when he said—”

They had just rounded a bend in the corridor when Lady Caterina came into view. She was followed by her entourage. Claire stopped short, letting the rest of her thoughts go unfinished.

Desaree’s blood turned to ice. The ladies were moving in the opposite direction, coming straight for them. As was proper, she pulled Claire to the side of the walkway and stood waiting for them to pass. The serving class was required to allow any of higher rank to pass by undisturbed. Claire followed suit, albeit after protesting.

“Look, ladies. It is the scum of the keep.” Lady Caterina took the opportunity to throw them an insult in passing. Ignoring insults was second nature for Desaree, but not for Claire.

“Excuse me?” Claire stepped out into the corridor. She tensed, grabbing Claire’s hand, attempting to quiet her. Claire ripped her arm away. “What did you just say, Caterina? Because it sounded like you insulted us.”

Caterina, who had already passed, stopped and turned to them. “I called you scum, for that is what you are. Look at you, dressed in rags. You are worth nothing.”

“How dare you!” Claire’s expression turned to disgust. “How dare you judge us when your father betrayed the king!”

Caterina’s face turned paper white. Desaree gasped. So the rumors were true then?! Lord Stefan Rosen had betrayed the king? Desaree turned from Caterina to Claire, and then back to Caterina, who looked livid.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, scum.” Caterina turned to her ladies. “Never trust a servant. They lie about everything.”

But the damage was done. Caterina’s act was hardly convincing, and it was very evident that she was lying.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Claire said with no intention of desisting. “You see, Caterina, I am the one who turned your father in. I am the one who gave his name to the king.” Claire stepped towards Caterina, holding her ground. “And from now on, stay away from Desaree. Don’t you so much as look at her, or I’ll make sure you follow your father to the dungeons.”

“Oh, gods,” Desaree gasped, covering her mouth in shock at what Claire had said.

Caterina’s face contorted. “You!” she shrieked, pointing her finger at Claire. “I will kill you for what you have done!” She lunged at Claire, but Claire was too fast. She quickly side-stepped.

Desaree tried to move her own feet, but stood frozen in place. Everything was going wrong! So, so wrong! How could Claire do this? They were done for. Speaking to a superior in such a way would earn them severe punishment.

An audience had gathered to witness the spectacle.

Caterina screeched, rounding on them again. Desaree’s scalp erupted in pain. Having failed to grab ahold of Claire, the horrid woman had reached out and grabbed a fist full of her long hair. She cried out struggling to get away. Caterina was too strong. She shoved her into the ground. Little stars erupted in her vision. She tried to pull away—

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Claire screamed.

Caterina was ripped away and flung up towards the ceiling of the corridor. Gasps echoed down the walkway. Caterina’s body slammed against the stone as if thrown upwards by an invisible force. Then she fell to the ground, silent and unmoving.

Desaree rushed to her feet, trembling, speechless. She looked with wide eyes from Caterina to Claire. Then she turned and noticed the gathered crowd, watching with wide eyes.

“What’s going on here?” An authoritative voice cut through the silence. Lord Reyr came to a stop before them. His darting eyes were wide as he assessed the scene.

Claire’s face was bloodless.

“I will ask again. What happened here?” Reyr turned to one of the bystanders.

The man pointed at Claire. “She used magic!” Mutters of agreement broke out. “That one there, Lord Reyr! That servant hurled Lady Caterina at the ceiling. She used magic, I tell you!”

Lady Caterina’s ladies were crouching over her now, clucking like hens and fussing over her. Reyr rushed over to the wretched woman, pushing the two ladies aside. He felt her neck for a pulse then stood.

“Only unconscious,” he announced. There was no relief in his voice. “You two,” he called to the guards who had arrived. “Carry her to her room. And the both of you can follow.” He looked at her ladies. “Make sure she is all right when she wakes up.” He then turned to Claire—poor, confused Claire. She had only tried to fight back against Caterina. Now she would be punished for her crime.

“Claire, you’re coming with me.” Reyr took ahold of Claire’s arm and she was ushered away. Just before she melted into the crowd, Desaree saw her glance back over her shoulder with an apologetic look. The onlookers dissipated thereafter, until Desaree was left standing alone.

Shaking her head, she blinked several times. What had just happened? Everything had moved so fast she could hardly make sense of it. Somehow—and she could not explain it—Claire had used magic. But that was not what had stunned her. All the rumors she’d heard were true. Caterina’s father, Stefan Rosen, a man who was once her own stepfather, was imprisoned for betraying the king? A smile broke out over her face.