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THE QUEEN HAD SUFFERED A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, CHURNING OVER HER DECISION TO EXPEL ROMEN KORELDY. VALENTYNA HAD MEASURED the dark hours by listening to the muted noises of the guard changing. The only other distraction was the distant, infrequent howl of a dog—or was it a wolf? She wondered if it was caught in one of the traps laid by poachers…or more whimsically she imagined it had lost its mate and was venting its despair.

She understood such things, for the sorrowful cry only served as an echo of her own loneliness.

Valentyna asked herself yet again if she could have hung on to the man she loved and still appeased an angry king? A king, she added, with more than enough fighting power to overwhelm Briavel. The answer, whichever way she approached the problem, was no.

"Damn duty!" she murmured into her coverlets. She punched the feather pillow that brought no comfort this night.

To add to the misery, a vision of Fynch haunted her. How he had looked at her she would never forget. He too had grown to love Romen, despite his misgivings about the man. She and her young friend had shared so much in the short time they had known each other. But all of that closeness was shattered now. Fynch was avoiding her because she had so deliberately distanced herself from Romen and ordered him expelled from Briavel.

She had cast aside a man she loved over Celimus—a man they all hated. A child, not familiar with the way of politics and diplomacy, would believe her actions made no sense. But this was no ordinary child. Fynch was special in his serious, deep-thinking manner. He understood all too well, but that did not mean he felt any comfort in his understanding.

She did not want to lose his companionship, but it seemed the day just gone had risen solely to bring loss to her life.

King Celimus, she realized, kicking off her blankets with irritation, would probably be close to the border by now, possibly even crossing into Morgravia. She had no doubt spies would keep him updated on Briavel's events, and her standoff with Koreldy would be high on the list of missives. It suddenly occurred to her that the King might have Romen tracked down upon hearing this news. Surely Romen would be cautious? He had been warned that to set foot into Morgravia was to risk certain execution. Failing his own good sense, she trusted that her own Commander Liryk would counsel Romen. Hopefully they had ridden through the night and would be headed north, back to where he had come from.

"Where Cailech, King of the Mountains, awaits him," she whispered sorrowfully.

The last time Valentyna had cried passionately was over her father and the time before that when she had fallen from a horse a decade ago. She considered herself resilient, but silent, heavy tears won now as she accepted the enormity of her orders. Romen had nowhere to go. Briavel represented safety. Beyond its borders to the north and west, people wanted to kill him. The south offered only ocean, no comfort. To the east, only fear in the little-known Wild. Fynch knew it too. That was the reason for the accusation in that chilling final glance he had given her.

It spoke of betrayed friendships.

And he was right. What had Romen been thinking during that swordfight! It was clear that he had meant to kill Celimus, and then where but in intense danger would that have left Briavel?

Romen knew how precarious her predicament had been. What had been his intention? She had not had a chance to consider it, in truth. She had not had the luxury of opportunity to think it through; she had been forced to react, and swiftly, in the only way that a monarch in her situation could have done. She knew her decision was politically correct, but this reassurance was cold comfort.

Her heart ached. She loved Romen and she had sent him away…not just away in fact, for expulsion had more serious implications. Briavel no longer recognized him as friend. Romen Koreldy would not be permitted to set so much as a toe inside Briavel. If recognized, he would be captured and imprisoned. Her actions had trapped him. Whichever way he turned; whichever borders he finally crossed, he was as doomed as their new and fragile love.

Valentyna twisted beneath her remaining sheet, banishing thoughts of his touch, which brought a new kind of ache to her body. She would have given herself gladly to him that night before the tourney, but his was the voice of calm among the waves of passion. It was Romen who pulled back, Romen who made her see the reason for holding on to the most precious commodity for a new queen.

Virginity was wealth, he had counseled. More importantly, it was power. A virgin queen was an irresistible magnet for appropriate suitors. Except she wanted no husband…not unless it was Koreldy.

She rubbed her tired but stubborn eyes and sat up. This would not do. Pulling on a soft robe to ward off the chill, Valentyna moved to the window and looked out toward the dark woodland she loved so much.

"It might work," she murmured as an idea gathered resonance in her thoughts. She could meet him somewhere outside of Briavel's borders. Somewhere safe, where they could rendezvous in secret. If only she could feel his kiss just once more, it would be enough, she told herself naively, hardly believing it herself.

Her plans to meet with Romen outside of Briavel took rapid shape. She would take Fynch too. Between them they would mend friendships, renew loyalties, rekindle the flame that burned brightly between them all. She could apologize for making the hardest of decisions and she knew Romen already understood; his eyes had told her as much when they had regarded her so gently despite her harsh words. She could ask him why he had risked so much. They could set things straight between them. Her daydream had even rambled beyond to when perhaps she could find a way around the expulsion order; when time had healed and life was less precarious. Perhaps there was a chance for them in time.

"Where are you now, Romen?" the Queen of Briavel whispered toward the trees, now determined to see her lover one last time, not knowing he was at this very moment just a few miles from entering her own castle's walls.

Copyright © 2003, 2005 by Fiona McIntosh