Chapter 5: Stone-Skipping Memories
Alaric's POV
The silence of the gardens after the feast’s din was a physical relief, a cool compress against the bruise of Theon’s proprietary hand on her waist during the dance. I leaned against the cold marble of the gazebo, the scent of night-blooming jasmine doing nothing to clear the image of Isolde’s green eyes, wide and unreadable as I’d swept her from my nephew’s grasp. The change in her was absolute, a seismic shift in her loyalty that left me unbalanced.
For years, I had cataloged the sight of her laughing with Theon, a private museum of my own regret. No other woman had ever sparked a fraction of that quiet, desperate want. I’d touched none of them. What would have been the point? They weren’t her. She had only ever looked at him, until recently. Until now. My knuckles ached against the railing, a phantom pain from a punch I hadn’t thrown.
“Uncle.” Theon’s voice cut through the night, slick with false camaraderie and wine. He stepped into the gazebo’s pale light, his smile a knife. “Sneaking away to plan your next move?”
I didn’t turn. “I’m enjoying the quiet, Theon. You should try it.”
“The quiet you’ve created, you mean.” He moved closer, his presence a violation of the space. “Isolde’s little performance tonight. Turning me down so publicly. That was your strategy, wasn’t it? A united front to humiliate me.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. He truly believed the world orbited his pride. “Isolde makes her own choices. She always has.”
“Choices you’ve now poisoned.” His voice dropped, a viper’s hiss. “Do you think I don’t see it? This sudden, convenient alliance. She wants me, so she settles for using the king’s spare to make me jealous? She is playing games because she is out of favor, but she is still mine until I say otherwise!"
The word ‘settles’ ignited something white-hot behind my ribs. I finally faced him. “You speak of her like a spoil. You never understood what she was.”
“And you do?” He sneered, stepping into my space. “You've barely spoken to her since we were children. You do not know her like I do."
The memory struck like a blade—sudden, sharp, and impossible to shake. Isolde at nine, her small fingers lacing through mine, her breath warm against my palm as I guided her toward the lily pond. The water had been still then, reflecting the golden afternoon light in ripples that caught the light like scattered coins. She had hesitated at first, her brow furrowed with concentration, but then—*click*—the stone had skipped, once, twice, three times, before vanishing beneath the surface with a whisper of sound. Her face had lit up, all wide-eyed wonder, and for that brief moment, the world had been hers to command. And then there had been Theon, already striding away with his tutors, his voice ringing with the arrogance of a boy who had decided the world was his by right. I had watched them go, my jaw tight, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. Not patience—never patience. Something darker. Something that coiled inside me like a buried thing, waiting.
“You will not speak of her that way,” I said, my voice low and fraying at the edges.
“Or what?” he challenged, his breath sour with resentment. “You’ll run to my father? You’ll tell him how his brother is defending a snake of a woman? She is nothing but a social climber. Her father may be a lord and a decorated general but that says nothing of her merit. She is conniving and desperate. You should hear the terrible things she has said to Elara, all because her father is not as favored as hers. Go ahead. See whose side he takes. His heir or his own spare.”
The cord of my control snapped. My fist drove into his gut, a brutal, efficient expulsion of air. He folded with a sickening gasp, collapsing onto the mosaic floor. I stood over him, the anger cooling instantly into a hollow, shocked chill.
I shouldn’t have done that.
“You will,” I said, my voice terrifyingly even, “learn to speak to your elders with respect, especially if you'd like to keep your status as heir.” The look on Theon's face was priceless. He knew I was close enough with my brother to make that happen. My brother had floated the idea before, if I had a wife an heirs of my own. I had assumed Isodle would forever be outside my reach and never planned to marry. I couldn't tell him that though, so I just said I wasn't interested.
I tried not to get my hopes up, recalling Isolde’s words while we danced. They probably had a fight and would forgive Theon once he showed her a small kindness like she always did.
Theon was sitting on the floor of the gazebo, having fallen after my punch to his abdomen. With a sigh I said “I’m done dealing with you and I won’t be a pawn in some tiff with you and Lady Isolde.” I started back towards the feast, preparing to grab the largest jug of wine I could find and take it back to my sleeping tent. I could hear Theon stomping behind me, probably considering tattling to his father Leon, but only if it would have a decent pay off. Knowing my brother, it would not. There was significantly less chatter at the feast when we returned and all eyes turned towards me and I assume Theon behind me.
“Ah! You’re finally back!” Exclaimed Leon. He had a large smile on his face that was heavily influenced by the amount of ale I saw him drink. He continued, “Come, come. I’m doing a bit of… Matchmaking.”
Oh, what fresh hell did I just walk into?