8. EIGHT
EIGHT
Mina
Either I am hallucinating from lack of food, or the emperor just smiled. Not the calculating tilt of his lips from yesterday, void of warmth or humor, but a real, uninhibited grin.
His indifferent mask slides back into place almost instantly, but not before the sight settles oddly in my chest. I always considered myself a decent judge of character, yet I can’t seem to figure him out.
I thought he would banish me from the training grounds, but instead he was wise enough to let me handle the commander myself. He even agreed to let me train female soldiers without a moment’s hesitation.
My archery skills are great, but not enough to change a heart that quickly. Perhaps he is more open-minded than the citizens of Veloria I have met so far.
That would be the best-case scenario, considering I just handed him a deadlier skill. He picked up my technique faster than anyone else, perfecting the stance in only a few arrows that demolished their target. Lethal in mind and body, I could do far worse than such a warrior as my ally.
I long to board a boat home immediately, but my plan has to be meticulous if I have any hopes of defeating Zala. We have so much to figure out before then. A wedding, preparing new soldiers and the army, a comprehensive review of the naval fleet. All costing precious time my people may not have.
My mental list is cut short by a sweet, warm aroma as the emperor leads me into a bright stone kitchen. My stomach pinches, demanding attention.
Food first, then the eternal damnation of Zala.
Cooks and attendants shuffle from spacious counters to the hearth on the far side, clearing the morning's pots and plates.
No one notices us enter until the emperor clears his throat.
He catches the eye of one lone attendant and gives a quiet command.
The staff exchange no words; they simply flee the area, leaving us alone. The chefs included.
Perhaps he intends to starve me as punishment for almost shooting his commander.
He assesses the icebox in the corner, along with cabinets full of ingredients lining the far wall. “What do princesses from Kalisham eat for breakfast?” he asks.
Claws dig into my chest as a low wooden table appears in my mind. Brass plates reflect the bright morning light as we pass around spiced eggs and steaming flatbreads.
The center of the table is filled with mismatched bowls from Kalisham’s many towns—a collection my father’s been curating since he was a boy—each one holding various jams, cheeses, and yogurt.
Peals of laughter ring through the air as Garsif drops a few olives onto his cushion after a failed attempt to juggle them. Father would use the distraction to slide the cinnamon honey over to my side, letting me have the first dip before my sisters.
A moment of happiness I too often took for granted. One I would trade anything to get back.
Rough fingers pull my chin up, interrupting the shadow of my memories. The emperor towers over me, as close as when I showed him how to adjust his hold on the bow. The same distance feels different under his intense assessment.
His gaze roams my face, and I work to breathe normally. His eyes are lovely shades of brown, like trees blurring together while running through a forest. Maybe that’s why his attention makes me a little lightheaded.
He doesn’t ask if I am alright. He doesn’t offer comforting words. He simply nods as if he can see my ghosts just as clearly. “My usual breakfast then. Sit.”
I sink onto a stool next to the counter. He moves around in comfortable silence, collecting something from the cabinets and a nearby basket. He sets a silver cup in front of me, filling it with milky taupe liquid. I lift the steaming cup to my nose, enjoying the scent of vanilla and lavender.
The emperor takes the stool next to mine, sliding a plate with a large, flaky piece of bread across the counter. Thin blue lines peek out between the layers of dough, complementing the small blue circles next to it.
He dips his chin toward the meal, commanding me to eat without uttering a word.
“Thank you.”
I roll one of the blue spheres in my fingers before popping it into my mouth. A burst of mild sweetness coats my tongue, the watery fruit a little bland.
I glance at the emperor, who’s watching with mild interest, his chin propped up on one hand. He nods for me to keep going. I move on to the bread, breaking off a piece. The overly sweet pastry is dry, sucking the moisture from my mouth instantly.
I grab the cup to wash it down, burning my tongue on the strange liquid. I’m no stranger to adding milk to my tea, but this rivals the pastry in sweetness. The whole spread makes my teeth ache.
Nothing like the savory warmth of meals back home.
I hate it.
Which also means I love every bite.
Each plain, saccharine mouthful pulls me further from the shadow of my memories. I finish the last bite of my food, grateful for a full stomach for the first time in a long time.
I focus on the enigma of a man before me.
Somehow, he noticed the pain his question caused and worked to soothe the wound.
His guesses on what foods are foreign to me were spot-on, or perhaps just luck.
He does not strike me as a man who relies on luck, though.
I add observant to his growing list of attributes and threats.
He pours himself a cup and tops mine off. “I hope it was to your liking.”
“It was perfect. Thank you, Emperor.” I shake my head at the absurdity of using his title all the time. My lord isn’t an option. My anything sounds far too subservient for my taste.
The line of his lips hardens as he considers something. After a moment, he sips his own steaming cup. “Darius.”
“Excuse me?”
“Darius,” he repeats. “At least while we’re alone.”
“Thank you, Darius.” The concession is a small victory and a step in the right direction. “Though you’ll have to excuse me for such an unnecessary show of weakness.” I throw his own words from yesterday back at him with an innocent smile.
The corner of his lip tips up in a smirk, and my pulse spikes. “Your secret is safe with me, Mina. I hope it won’t be the only one we share this morning.”
Of course, his kindness comes with a cost. A bid for information.
I straighten in my seat and cross one leg over the other, feigning confidence while my thoughts sprint in opposite directions. One path sends butterflies to my stomach, but I quickly stamp that out. I will not be fooled by a few sweet words.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
“I’d like to know the full story of what happened in Kalisham.
If we’re going to defeat the one who stole your throne, then I’ll need as many details as possible.
” His calculated expression softens a bit, and a hint of compassion in his voice catches me off guard.
“I understand that it might be difficult.”
Grief snakes around my chest, constricting my breath. I close my eyes for a moment and picture my family before the incident. Laughing and alive. Vibrant and strong. I cling to that image as I meet Darius’s gaze.
“I’ll relive this nightmare as many times as I have to if it means my blade at Zala’s throat.”
Darius settles into his chair, legs wide and relaxed, and sets his drink aside. “Take your time.”