Free Oria's Gambit by Jeffe Kennedy Page B

that, that welcome sunny humor
of his dispersing some of her emotional gloom. “When we celebrate
our two decades’ anniversary, we can recapitulate this day and meet
each other entirely in baths and hallways.”
    “We did talk on my rooftop terrace earlier,
as well, when I proposed marriage.” Which seemed like days ago, not
hours.
    “Good point. I’m adding rooftop terraces to
the list, though if we’re in Dru we might have to substitute a
treehouse.”
    “A house in a tree?” Something that had never
occurred to her, partly because she’d never seen a tree big enough
to hold an entire house. But the image in his head showed a forest
of enormous trees, the leaves so dense they blocked the sun, and a
structure of wood in the crux of a network of branches. The image
changed so it seemed she stood inside it, looking out, the forest
floor as far below as the streets of Bára from her terrace. It
struck her that he’d changed the ‘view’ deliberately, to show her
another angle.
    “Are you doing that on purpose?”
    “What—picturing things for you to see in my
mind? Yeah. I figure if you’re going to read my thoughts anyway, I
might as well take advantage of it. It could be a handy secret
weapon for us.”
    A laugh escaped her, lessening the tightness
of grief and despair. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”
    “Good.” He grinned, but under it a surge of
possessive lust intensified the simple approval. “As I’m the only
husband you’ll ever have, mind-dead and unable to give life to your
magic as I might be, I’ll have to make it up in other ways.”
    “I’m really sorry she said those things.”
    “Another apology, and for something you can’t
control. I don’t mind, Oria.” He pushed off the wall and it seemed
he might reach for her, but he stopped himself. “I’d much rather
know the unvarnished truth of how it will be between us. No secrets
to fester. If you’re making a grave sacrifice by marrying me—one I
approve of as it will save both our peoples—then I want to know
exactly what you’re giving up, so I can do what I can to compensate
for it. I’d like to think I can offer you some happiness, if not
exactly what you were expecting.”
    “Oh.” The corridor was too hot. That was why
she felt a little faint.
    “Your mother is wrong.” Lonen sounded gravely
determined, that warrior’s resolve enfolding her, an image in his
mind of him taking her in a gentle embrace that very nearly felt
real. “I will treasure you, Oria, and I’ll do my best to know you,
but you have to let me in.”
    “I don’t need that. That’s not why we’re
doing this.”
    “I need it.” His emotions, complex and
shifting with layers, intensified.
    “But why?”
    He shrugged, impatient with the question, but
continued to refine the image of holding her in his mind. “Maybe
I’ve had plenty of misery, too much blood and loss and death. We
might be marrying for political reasons, but that doesn’t mean we
can’t bring something bright to each other’s lives. That we can’t
take care of each other.” The sense of his arms around her made it
almost believable.
    “How are you doing that?”
    “If you sense how I feel, what’s in my head,
then I can give you this much. If I can’t hold you and comfort you,
then there’s this, yes?”
    “ The Destrye is wiser than he seems at
first.”
    Oria didn’t know what to do with Chuffta’s
seemingly sudden and enthusiastic approval of Lonen, so she ignored
him.
    “I know it hurt you to see your mother that
way,” Lonen continued in a gentle tone. “It would be painful for
anyone. My father, King Archimago, when my brother Nolan fell into
a crevasse on the battlefield… in some ways he never recovered from
that.”
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    “Stop,” he replied, but with a kind of
tenderness. “As you said in there, we’ve all done things. I’ve done
things I’ll carry the stain of to my grave. But what I’m trying