" I WISH THINGS could be different." Kiara said, watching Tris fasten his heavy cloak. Below their window, in the courtyard, she could already hear the clamor of the army readying to leave for war.
Tris wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, lingering in the moment. She didn't need a healer's gift to recognize the tension in his shoulders. The campaign was unlikely to move smoothly. "So do I. But we both know there's no choice."
A month had passed since their wedding, just long enough for the healers to be certain that she carried the child of the king. Just a few days before, the same courtyard had been filled with cheering people as Zachar, weak and barely able to return to his duties, announced that the king and queen were expecting. All the hope and happiness that announcement should have brought were dimmed by the knowledge that it meant Tris was now free to wage war.
"You have Cerise and Malae to look after you," Tris said, stroking Kiara's hair. "Zachar's not well, but Crevan's handled things so far. Mikhail will be here to help, Carroway and Harrtuck will watch out for you. And the dogs will keep you company." He absently reached down to touch the wolfhound's head as the big dog nosed in between them, jealous for attention. "I've asked Comar Hassad to have'the ghosts watch over you as well. You'll be safe here." He forced a smile. "You both will."
"It's you I'm worried about," Kiara said, reluctantly stepping back from their embrace. "You're a king now. And a father. Don't take any foolish chances."
"Did Soterius tell you to say that? He and Mikhail have been lecturing me for days now. Ban wants to keep me so far behind the lines that I won't even be able to see Curane's manor. With luck, we'll break them quickly and it won't come to outright war."
They both knew that was unlikely. "You have a reason to come back in one piece," she said quietly.
"More than one. But I can't leave Curane in place. He's not just a threat to me, and to Margolan, but he's also a threat to the next king-or queen-as well."
"I know. But I don't have to like it."
"Neither do I." A knock at the door made him hurry to gather his cloak. He was dressed for the outside cold, with a winter-weight tunic and trews beneath his mail shirt. A breastplate with the king's coat of arms blazoned across his chest. The rest of his armor-and that of the army-waited in the long train of wagons outside the courtyard. The knock came again, more insistent this time.