Lord Gerallt Rhys of Mochdrev Reach ignored his daughter’s plea, which just infuriated Deirdre all the more. Rather than fight the implacable emotional wall her father had erected, she ended her protestations, knowing them futile. The two ascended the wide set of outdoor stairs leading from the keep to Merthyr Garden, the identical towers on either side sentinels to their approach. Lord Gerallt huffed loudly, barely able to overcome the long staircase or even continue the conversation. Deirdre wished it was not so. Her father was a proud man, as enraged as a cornered dragon when on the practice field, but over the years he had become portly, unfit for extended activity.
That included speaking when walking to the garden.
If she didn’t love him so much, Deirdre would have resented him for it. After all, a ruler had to have the strength and stamina to keep his people safe.
Which should have included his daughter.
After what seemed eons to Deirdre, they gained the hilltop where it leveled off into Merthyr Garden. A lone pathway lined with roses cut through the well-kept lawn. Trees of apple, cherry, and pear stood proudly groomed while the sweetness of ripening fruit filled the air. On the outskirts, rows of herbs and vegetables yielded the food used by many of the Reach’s citizens.
The place was sacred to Deirdre. The Merthyr Garden also happened to be the resting place for Lady Lorelei Rhys.
Lord Gerallt didn’t stop. He continued up the gentle rise until the pathway ended. There, away from the flora of the garden and open to the sky, the Rosemere greeted them, the wide pool contained by short marble blocks, the waters allowed to flow freely down to the castle below by two troughs. It was not the focal point of the hill, though. From the middle of the Rosemere, a thick, thorny vine grew, twining around a soaring, ancient snag where rose blossoms larger than all others splashed crimson.
Nothing stirred where the ashes of her mother had been sown.
With his breath caught, Lord Gerallt stared at the Rosemere for a long time.
“Does she…still love me?”
It nearly broke Deirdre’s heart to hear the sorrow in his voice. The anger she carried melted away.
“She does,” she lied. “Although even that fades now.”
Lord Gerallt looked about to weep, his gaze still fixed where the remains of his wife lay bequeathed. Deirdre felt his pain. Finally, he turned to his daughter and, with an encouraging smile that rang false, gripped her thin shoulders gently.
“You must see him,” he said quietly.
“Father, you know what he plans fo—”
“Dearest, please understand,” Lord Gerallt cut in. “The situation is perilous. Mochdrev Reach is on the edge of two kingdoms, in shadow, between the hammer of Caer Llion and the anvil of the Carn Cavall. Lord John Lewis Hugo merely wishes an audience today. It may mean nothing.”
“He’s not a lord at all,” Deirdre said darkly.
“No, he isn’t. He is an outworlder,” he replied. “But he is also wickedly smart and absolutely ruthless.”
“My wishes mean nothing then?”
“Ruling is a hardship unto itself, Deirdre. Sometimes it is harder to do what is best. You will loathe me for saying this, but sometimes that includes marrying into situations you may not like for the betterment of all.”
“I would rather fight and die,” she spat, her anger stoked anew.
Lord Gerallt frowned. “And you can speak for those innocents here, at Mochdrev Reach?”
“You rule them.”
“I do. I also must protect them from harm.”
“But not your daughter, apparently.”
Frustration reddened Lord Gerallt’s face. “You don’t mean that.”
Deirdre looked away and said nothing.
“It would be but a thought for that witch, the Cailleach, to extend her power here and reduce these crops to ash. Not only the Tuatha de Dannan in the Carn Cavall would suffer then. And know this: Philip Plantagenet would steal you away anyway. The Reach would lie in ruins like so many other principalities, and Caer Llion would rule our people. Only the war with the Tuatha de Dannan keeps Philip’s eyes from our direction. If you challenge that and bring attention to the Reach, he will use your refusal as a reason to put a garrison of his Red Crosses here. Everything you love would be gone. Do you not see that, Deirdre?”
“You would be a king before a father?” Deirdre asked pointedly.
“A good king must be,” he said. “No matter how much it pains him to say it.”