Songbird's Cage

Chapter 8

Lark was sitting in her window seat, a book in her lap, but she had long ago stopped reading the pages. The Epic of Ianthia was one of her favorites, and she knew whole passages of the poem by heart.

Ianthia saw, that biting edge brandish'd by a master hand
A master arm, a master mind, could fell the master of men -
Fear himself, fear upon shaking, slick palm, that desolates skill
In even the finest man. But Ianthia, she found no depth
In the folly of man, for she had slain the wretched beast
Who hath call'd thee self Lord Malligan, and with a thrice-blow
Saved her Prince and love by a blade of her hand.
She was strength. She was the conqueror.

Lark had sent Rory home. She'd told him to rest, and that if she saw him at the castle, she wouldn't be so forgiving. It had been in jest, but the somber note of warning had still been there. She hoped that he was sound asleep in Caershire.

The guard who was in Rory's place cleared his throat. She sighed, looking to him.

"Yes?"

The man blushed. "Prince Aspen is here to see you."

Lark shut her book, letting herself enjoy the way the leather-bound parchment slammed together. The guard started at the violent motion. Then she sighed again.

"I'm sorry," she told him, gathering her skirts as she got up. "My nerves have been rather frayed lately."

He nodded. "Anyone's would be, my lady, with what's going on."

She walked to the door.

"Wait in my antechamber, if you don't mind. I'd rather have this meeting in private."

The soldier retreated, and Aspen entered as he left. He stood by the door, almost seeming afraid to move further into the room. She smiled gently, trying to put him a ease.

"Your Majesty," she said, dipping into a curtsy. He pulled a face.

"I'm weary of politics," he replied. "Can't we just be... people? Not the future king and queen, but normal people with normal lives?"

He stepped closer. "Can't we just be husband and wife?"

Startled and somewhat horrified, Lark stepped back.

"My lord," she began, trying to collect the shattered remains of her dignity. "I don't think-"

He exhaled, studying her.

"Not in that way," he assured her. "I never even wanted the consummation to happen, not without your consent. But tradition, as my mother so often reminds me, means more among royals."

Aspen walked to a chair, dropping himself into it while still watching her. His brow was furrowed.

"I just wish we weren't such strangers to one another," he explained. "I wish that we'd met when we'd been betrothed. I wish that we had known each other before all of this."

He stared down at his hands, his fingers worrying at the ring he wore.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and she could see he was embarrassed at his outburst of emotion. "Forgive me for being the man I was when we first met."

He glanced back up at her, and she saw unexpected anger in his green eyes.

"Nava-" he began, then nearly choked on his words, as if they were physically painful. "Nava was a mistake. She was a traitor. She... she never loved me. I was used by her, and I will never, never, be able to erase that stain on my name."

"Aspen," she sighed. "You didn't have to put yourself through this for me. She never deserved you, and she doesn't deserve the attention of you trying to explain yourself to me."