Bride of Ashes (Kingdom of Shadow and Ruin #1)

32. Merrick

32

MERRICK

W hen Reyla’s gaze met mine across the throne room, the world fell away. All that existed was her. My soon-to-be crowned queen. My light. My possible salvation. I couldn't speak of feelings, but they bounded inside me, growing stronger with each interaction.

Her glorious red hair had been artfully arranged on top of her head with only a few curls teasing the crests of her shoulders. The pale-yellow gown I’d dreamed up hugged her figure in all the right places, showing off curves I was desperate to touch. To claim.

Tightness bunched in my chest, a blend of longing and urgency. Everything depended on one slender woman.

As she walked toward me, a composed expression on her face, her gaze remained on mine. Warmth shone there and it heartened me. It wasn't too late—not yet. Time thrust itself along, but I'd never give up, not even as I sucked in my last breath.

Conversation ceased, the lords and ladies on both sides of the aisle craning their necks to watch her walk between them. Some appeared to adore her already. I noted others with flint in their eyes. The room around us held its breath in anticipation.

Pillars lined the walls, their polished marble surfaces gleaming. Between them, portraits of all the prior kings stared forward. If only I could question them all, including my father. Make them give me the answers.

Reyla continued approaching, and it was then that I saw the hilt of the sword thrusting up past her left shoulder, the leather straps with their silver threads sparkling, standing out against the bodice of her gown. And the blades strapped to her waist.

The blood of a warrior flowed in her veins, and I'd no more try to restrain her than I would betray her.

Her ladies fidgeted with the back of her gown and Moira even plucked lint off Reyla's sleeve. They all sent heavy glances my way, seeking my approval, but my gaze remained locked on my wife. What did she see when she looked at me and even more importantly, what did she think? I couldn't take credit for my appearance many had called handsome. I trained for hours almost every day, and that was the only reason my body remained muscular and fit.

Could she see the real Merrick beneath my kingly exterior? I hoped so. She'd need to.

As she reached me where I sat on my throne mounted on the dais, hers empty beside mine, soft whispers whipped around the room. Her breathing quickened, and my pulse raced in response.

I rose and despite gasps from some, I strode across the dais to greet her. It was her role as my bride to come to me while I remained seated, not the other way around, but I couldn't help it. It felt like years since I'd seen her, touched her, kissed her. Was it only yesterday she'd come apart so beautifully in my arms?

“Reyla,” I croaked.

“Merrick.” She said my name sweetly, yet something I couldn't define lurked in her brown eyes. Her skin almost rippled with irritation, and I needed to find the cause and slay it. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yes.” I narrowed my gaze on her face. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Telling you? What would I have to say to you other than good day, my king?”

Her subtle gouge shouldn't make my cock twitch with interest, but there it was.

I took her hand and waved to the thrones. “Come sit with me.”

With a dip of her head, she walked with me across the lushly carpeted dais. I waited while she sat on her throne, something else that made gasps ring out, but I wouldn't settle on my throne until she had taken hers. I deferred to her in all things, and so it should be.

She huffed, telling me she was irritated, and heat flamed inside me.

After sending her a smile that told her the game was on, that I was looking forward to making my plays, I took my own seat.

Before I could gesture for my attendants to bring someone forward to speak of their needs, the doors at the end of the aisle thrust open and my mother stormed in.

“I'm sorry I'm late, dear.” She'd only made it partway along the red band of carpet before she came to a shuddering halt. “ She is not queen. Why is she sitting in my chair?”

The titters her entourage released cut off with one look from me, and those who'd done so yesterday slunk behind my mother to hide. Too late. I'd already marked them.

“She’s my bride and my soon-to-be queen.” I lifted our linked hands and kissed Reyla's knuckles, noting how she shivered at my touch.

The game truly was on.

And I would be its victor.

“Where else would she sit?” I added blandly. “You're welcome to join us today, Mother.” I waved to the empty seats at the end of the aisle. I hadn't missed how she treated my wildfire yesterday, the way she'd slighted her, and I would not stand for it, especially from my beloved mother. She'd suffered greatly. There was no denying that. But in this, she was no different than any other queen of this kingdom.

The glare Mother shot Reyla would've impaled her to her throne, and I noted that as well. She wouldn't outright harm my wife, but she wasn't above making her life considerably uncomfortable. As long as I drew in breath and could make her behave, I would not allow this behavior.

She minced her way down the rest of the aisle and dropped into a chair in the front row with a flounce. Her ladies fluttered around her, straightening her skirt and handing her a cluster of peolars, a flower with a strong scent often carried by the higher fae to overpower the “smell” of the lessers and powerless who'd come to make their pleas. They didn't smell; this was how it had always been in this kingdom until me.

I intended to break this tradition as well.

The atmosphere in the throne room shifted as lords and ladies dragged their attention away from my mother to focus on what they knew would come next. I waved to my attendants, indicating they should bring forth the first supplicant.

“Devron Bullipart,” one of the attendants intoned, staring forward blankly beside the others. Each had a hand on the hilt of the blades sheathed at their sides, but if need be, they'd handle anything unruly with magic. Only the best served me, and I regularly ensured their skills remained sharp, testing them myself rather than relying on others.

“My king.” Devron, wearing what could be his best tunic and pants, approached, stopping in the open area halfway between those watching and the dais. “My . . . glorious king.”

I nodded encouragingly. No matter how many times I strode among my people, asking how each member of their family fared, or how many times I brought food during the winter or wood to continue a fire, they still feared me. I'd done nothing to give them the impression I'd hurt them, but my forefathers surely had. That pattern had only started breaking with my father.

“Speak, Devron.” I kept my voice light, but the man still trembled .

His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice shook, but he lifted his chin. “My neighbor, Lord Hadrin of Mirkwood, stole two of my cows. I’ve come to seek justice.”

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind stirring dead leaves. A few eyebrows rose at the mention of Hadrin, his high status and wealth lending him a false sense of invulnerability.

“Lord Hadrin?” I kept my expression neutral. “What do you have to say?”

The high lord who’d taken a seat near the front rose and strode over to stop behind Devron, looming over the lesser fae man as most high lords did. “This is nonsense. How could anyone believe I’ve done anything with his cows?”

“He’s evading the truth,” Devron blurted out, his gaze remaining on the floor. “He has them.” His voice weakened, telling me he believed he'd already been judged and that he'd leave here without being taken seriously.

I could ask Hadrin to outright state he had not stolen the cows, but I had other plans for how this could be handled.

When I turned seventeen and took over this role from my mother, I found her judgement carried a weighty hand. My father had been fairer, and he’d taught me. I'd loved him, and he’d loved me. He’d cared for her even if she’d never shown the same to him. Since I settled in this throne and assumed the duties that came with it, I'd done what I could to wipe clean the past, but I had a long way to go. While I’d allowed her to remain on the queen’s throne after that, I’d tempered her decisions, neutralizing some and negating others. Always trying to slowly bring about change .

“Do you have evidence he stole your cows?” I asked Devron, wishing he'd look up, that he'd meet my eyes.

His gaze remained on the marble floor. “My king, I have a witness.” He glanced over his shoulder, and a merchant stepped out into the aisle in the back of the room, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He didn’t drag his attention away from Lord Hadrin.

“Come forward,” I said. “Speak.”

The merchant hurried down the aisle and out onto the open floor, not stopping until he stood on Devron's other side. He twisted his neck, keeping his gaze on Lord Hadrin. “I saw the cows in Lord Hadrin’s pasture last week.”

“Foolish man,” Lord Hadrin drawled, his posture loosening. “I have many cows of my own. It's preposterous to think I’d need to steal to add to my herd.”

“They carry my brand,” Devron whispered.

“Speak louder,” I said.

He lifted his chin, his gaze only now meeting mine. “I brand my cows and with good reason. Two among his herd carry my mark.”

“I saw this myself,” the merchant said, his voice soft with apology, reluctance blazing on his face. Few dared challenge a high lord. “The mark was there.”

“You lie,” Lord Hadrin hissed. “Dismiss this case, my king. I have many other, more important, things to attend to.”

“I speak the truth.” The merchant's shaky voice grew in volume. “You asked me to select two cattle for market, Lord Hadrin, and I walked among them to decide. I told you that two of them weren't yours, and you told me to take them instead of the ones you intended to sell.” He tugged on the hem of his dark brown tunic shot through with golden threads. “I left without a single cow, as I should. I have an honest reputation, and I'm eager to maintain it.” He sent a pleading look my way. “You understand.”

“Your word means nothing,” Lord Hadrin huffed, drawing himself up. “I'm a high lord of this court. You're a simple merchant. As for Devron Bullipart, a lesser ,” he spat, “I expect an immediate apology.”

“What do you think?” I asked Reyla softly.

“Me?” I'd startled her out of her ongoing irritation about something I couldn’t wait to discover. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“If you sat on my throne, how would you judge this?”

Her mouth formed an O before she sputtered. “I'm not a king. I'm not a queen—yet. I've never . . .” She flicked her fingers toward the men waiting.

Everyone watched with barely a whisper swirling around the room.

“You don’t have to be a queen yet to offer an opinion.” I leaned near, sucking in her sweet scent and savoring how the light made her hair shine like the prettiest sunset. “Consider both sides; put yourself in their positions. How would you handle this?”

She shifted slightly, her cheeks flushing pink as my words and nearness sank in.

“Devron is missing two cows, an important loss for a farmer who may only have a small herd,” she said softly. “This could mean the difference between survival and ruin.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand I hadn't let go of .

“Lord Hadrin is powerful,” she said. “All the high lords are. Your court—”

“ Our court.”

She huffed. “ Our court must respect his status even if we feel it hasn’t been earned in this particular instance.” With a tilt of her head, she pinned me in place with her gaze. “What tithe do they pay?”

How astute of her. “The lords and ladies?”

“I doubt you run this castle, feed all these people, and host all these glorious masked balls in one of your six ballrooms with the coins sitting in the castle’s coffers.”

“Five ballrooms. My father thought of adding a sixth, but my mother didn't want construction noise interrupting her naps.”

“And he died at age thirty before he could add the sixth, something you should’ve mentioned.”

Ah, was this why she was angry? She must feel I’d withheld information, and she was right.

Now where had she heard that detail?

“No comment?” she asked.

“Tragedy haunts my family.”

“I’d say so.” Shadows flickered in her eyes. “We need to talk about this but now is not the time.”

“You’re correct.”

“ Five ballrooms, then,” she said. “I doubt you run all this and keep your pretty castle walls in good repair solely with magic. To maintain a place like this, let alone protect land of this size when you're warring with other courts, you need money. Taxes from the lessers and the powerless, I assume, plus tithes from your high lords and ladies.”

“You’re correct.” My lips curled in a pleased smile. “I knew you were clever.”

“Don’t flatter me,” she huffed. “The last thing you need is a battle within your own court.” Her gaze slanted Lord Hadrin’s way before returning to me. “You need everyone, not just those who grow the food and those who reluctantly pay their tithes upon demand.”

I nodded, urging her on, incredibly proud of this woman sitting by my side. She was so much more than a pretty exterior. She was strength personified, and I'd be a fool not to love her.

Which I did. The feeling had snuck up on me fast, but I had no wish not to embrace it. At least I'd have this.

“To keep everyone happy, you need to strike a balance that'll make each feel as if they've won,” she said.

“How can I do this?” Leaning back in my throne, I resisted grinning. She surprised me every time we were together.

Reyla hesitated, glancing at the men with her lips pursed in a thin line. “Lord Hadrin probably believes he can do anything he pleases without consequence. He must think this will go his way, but it appears he stole the cows. The merchant would not dare lie about something like this.”

“The fae can't lie, and he's fae.”

“Thank you for reminding me of this fact.” Her eyebrows lifted, and she shifted on her throne, easing her sword to a new position to favor her back. “Even the lessers?”

“Everyone.”

“What about you? ”

“I'm fae.”

“That's not an answer.”

“I'll tell you everything I can,” I said.

“Evasive, but I'll take it for now. We'll address what you didn’t tell me later.”

So . . . it had well and truly begun.