Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning, I waste no time seeking out the king, ready to give my answer.
And to make my demands.
He's in a small study near the library—one of his usual haunts—reclining on a corner chair with a book in his hands. The door is partially ajar, so I let myself in. He glances at me over his glasses as I approach.
“I want to negotiate a little more before I give my answer.”
One side of his mouth curves upward. “I suspected you would.”
He sets the book aside and leans back, clasping his hands behind his head, a casual motion that pulls his shirt taut and creates a distracting display of his muscled abdomen. Images of him striding shirtless through his room fall into my head.
I banish them immediately.
That isn’t why I’m here—will never be why I’m here.
“So, what is it that you want?” he asks. “More supplies sent to your home? A bigger room for you and your friend? A life-size sculpture of yourself constructed entirely out of bread?”
“I want you to unchain my dragon.”
The amusement disappears from his face immediately. His hands drop back to his sides, gripping the armrests of the chair as though he's holding himself in place, resisting the urge to bolt from the room.
“No,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because she's young. Unpredictable. Your bond isn't secure enough to risk it—and because of a hundred other reasons that I could list for you, had I the time.” He removes his glasses and places them on the book, then gets to his feet, walking toward one of the room's windows.
I cut him off, positioning myself between him and the glass. “If you want me to act like I trust you in front of so many people, then I don't want to feel like you're chaining me—or my dragon—in any way. You said it yourself: You don't care for forced bondage.”
“Because I don't.”
“So prove it.”
He steps closer, as if he thinks he can crush the defiance out of me, that I'll shrink or slide away if he just applies enough pressure.
I don't move. “This is your chance to prove to me that you actually respect the potential power I hold—that you trust me with no need for games or leverage of any kind.”
His arm comes to rest above my head, caging me in. “I brought you into this palace so you could prove yourself to me, not the other way around.”
“Circumstances change.”
“Yes. But through it all, a king is expected to maintain a certain steadiness.”
“Steadiness gets boring after a while, doesn't it?”
“Boring seas don't sink ships.”
We stare at one another for a long, uncomfortably heated moment.
“I'm walking into this feast as your equal, or not at all,” I grind out. “No more binding chains.”
His jaw is tight as he slowly shakes his head.
“Then I hope you enjoy the celebration without me.” I push past him, heading for the door.
He grabs my hand.
I twist around to face him, freezing under the intensity of his gaze.
“…You're maddening,” he mutters.
“I've been called far worse.”
He frowns at this echo of our last conversation, pulling his hand from mine and absently running it over his pant leg, as if to wipe away the feel of my touch. “This will not go over well with my council.”
“Take someone from your council to this feast, then, if you care more about pleasing them than you do me.”
“I don't care about pleasing you, you insufferable woman.”
“That much is obvious, at this point. But we both know this is about more than making me happy, don't we?”
He walks away, shaking his head again. For a moment, he seems to consider sitting back in the chair and returning to his book, but instead he just stands behind that chair, bracing himself against its frame with a grip so tight I'm surprised the wood doesn't splinter beneath his fingers.
A minute passes, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Fine.” The word comes out rough, as if dragged up from somewhere deep. “We'll set her free tomorrow night, the instant the festivities conclude. I won't risk her causing any commotion that might upend things before that.”
I exhale slowly. “Agreed.”
That burning gaze of his locks on me for another uncomfortable moment before he says, “I'll notify the servants that you’ll be needing proper attire and such.”
I nod, but an unsettling feeling prickles through me as the reality of what I've just agreed to fully dawns on me.
I'd resigned myself to standing by his side for a few hours; I hadn't considered what that will mean outside of the two of us—how every gaze is going to be centered on the king, and therefore also on me.
I'll be in the spotlight. One of my least favorite places to be, especially after having part of my face and my vision mutilated.
A sudden rush of self-consciousness overtakes me, though I don't let it show, keeping my tone level and business-like as I ask, “What exactly will be expected of me?”
He arches a brow. “No going back on our agreement now.”
“I didn't intend to,” I snap. “I just…I like to know details.”
“Maybe ask for the details up front next time? Basic negotiation tactics, Ashwalker. You should know that.” He settles back into his chair, picking up his book again.
“Because now that you've left it open, I could technically ask for anything I want. What if I demanded you dance with me all night? Or for you to declare your undying love and loyalty in front of everyone?”
I stiffen, my pulse quickening.
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Relax. It will just be a typical celebration. Stand beside me, look presentable, make polite conversation when necessary.”
I shift my weight. “This might come as a surprise to you, but we don't have many formal, polite feasts where I come from.”
“You seem like a resourceful type. I trust you'll survive.”
“I'm not worried about surviving,” I say under my breath, moving to the window and hugging my arms around myself.
I can see his reflection clearly in the glass, but I'm speaking more to myself than him when I quietly add, “I was just thinking how tragic it is for you, that you'll be stuck with me when so many pretty ladies would likely kill for a chance to accompany you.”
“I'd hardly call it a tragedy.”
I shake my head. “You don't have to spare my feelings. I've accepted that I’m not exactly beautiful these days, and I don’t really care to be.”
His fingers still in the middle of turning a page. “Accepting something doesn't make it true.”
I fix my gaze on the yard below.
“Still, if it would make you feel more comfortable, the palace clothiers are very skilled at making decorative accessories to cover whatever you want them to. Just say the word, and I'll make them aware of your exact wishes.”
My breath catches a bit. “…Yes. It would make me more comfortable. Thank you.”
He nods.
“I just don't want it to be…distracting. That isn't what we want them all talking about when they see us, right? But it's the first thing anyone notices about me.”
“It's not the first thing I noticed,” he says, returning to his book.
What was? I want to ask—but courage fails me.
I look for a way to quickly change the subject. I should probably just leave. I'm not sure what compels me to glance his way and ask, “What are you reading?”
“A How-To Guide on Dealing With Exasperating Women,” he says without looking up.
“Learning any lessons?”
“Apparently not.”
I smile a crooked little smile in spite of myself. Catching a glimpse of the cover, I see that it's actually a book on the history of Kaldra’s trade routes. He seems thoroughly absorbed in it, so I look once more to the window, silently basking in the warm sunlight for a few minutes.
Far below, the preparations for the feast continue.
A group of people are carrying dragon-shaped kites toward the pavilion.
A few are being taken for a test flight along the way, colorful tails twisting, silk wings swooping and diving on the wind.
I can picture Sesca soaring just as smoothly through the sky—once I set her free—and it brings a confusing combination of anticipation and fear.
Only embers.
I hardly slept last night, tossing and turning while I replayed those words in my mind. Trying to make sense of them. And when I finally fell asleep, I dreamed more vividly than I have in ages—a vision that revisits me now.
In it, I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, a beautiful field of verbena flowers stretching below me. The sky is impossibly blue. A warm wind carries Sesca’s name to me again. I find the courage to speak it, this time, and I think of jumping, of flying—
Then I see smoke rising on the horizon. Flames begin to creep along the edges of the flowers, and, one by one, they ignite until I’m looking down upon a fiery inferno. One that I nearly leapt right into.
The king shifts, startling me from the vision, reminding me he's there.
“…Until tomorrow evening, then.” I dismiss myself with a quick, cordial bow when he finally looks up again, something shining in his eyes that's difficult to name.
“I'll be looking forward to it,” he says.
“There is not nearly enough time to do all of this perfectly,” Kestrel laments, lifting the heavy waves of my hair and letting them flop limply back down. “My brother and his ridiculous, unpredictable planning, I swear.”
I wince as she catches a few hairs in one of her rings. “How perfect do I really need to be? I usually settle for passable, myself.”
She scowls.
I purse my lips, deciding it's not worth arguing about. It's only the morning of the feast, and I'm already tired of dealing with royal tempers. Which doesn't bode well for the night that awaits me.
But I just have to get through this, somehow.
“Passable is not going to cut it tonight, I'm afraid,” Kestrel says as she twists my hair into yet another potential style. “If you are going to accompany Reave, then you are going to look the part of potential queen, whatever that takes.”