Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Ihaven’t seen Mayah in two days. The adviser drones on about the Rebellion’s movements, scouts that never returned, but none of the words register. My father and Faramir are absent, doing Skies knows what, leaving the kingdom’s matters to me.
Two. Fucking. Days.
What is Mayah doing right now?
The portly adviser takes his seat, replaced by another one. I can scarcely distinguish them, all wearing forest green overcoats and auras of self-importance.
“…second shipment to Tundrayn.”
His words jolt me from my thoughts.
“What about the second shipment?”
The advisers stare at me in surprise. I realize it’s the first time I’ve spoken in the meeting today.
“Er, the second shipment of food stores to Tundrayn.” Sunlight glints off the adviser’s spectacles as he checks his notes. “It’s due to leave in three days.”
“What are we sending?”
He checks his notes again. “Per the agreement, two carriages laden with breads and grains, two with vegetables and fruit, and a small herd of sheep. Assuming they survive the journey.”
“Triple the amounts.”
He blinks. “Apologies?”
“I said triple the amounts.”
“Sire—”
I grit my teeth. “What about 'triple' is confusing to you? Do you need help with the sums?”
He flushes, averting his gaze. “No, sire. It will be done.”
I rise from my chair. “I’ll return later.”
“But sire—”
The door slams shut behind me.
Thirty minutes later, I’m heading to our chambers, a heavy tray laden with food in my hands. Trepidation skitters along my spine—Mayah is undoubtedly pissed. I have a fair bit of groveling ahead of me.
But I’ll gladly get on my knees for her.
I nod to Gregoran and Freynk stationed dutifully outside the door, along with the line of other guards. Gregoran opens the door for me, and I walk inside.
My wife is reading on the sofa, lower lip caught between her teeth. Mayah glances up as I enter. The book slams shut, quickly tossed aside. She glares at me, brows drawn tight, a vicious scowl turning down her full lips.
A fucking vision.
“Are my eyes deceiving me?” she declares, hand pressed over her chest. “Is that my husband?”
All the sarcasm in the world couldn’t stop the warmth that crackles through my chest when she says “my husband.”
I stand in the doorway with a sheepish expression, nothing to offer the simmering woman before me besides an apologetic smile and mushroom stew.
“I’m sorry, Mayah. I’ve been a terrible husband. Neglected you and broke my promise to have you try mushroom stew on your first night.”
“I’m tired of your apologies,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “I’m a prisoner, locked within these four walls. Alone. I can’t live like this, Zev.”
Her words send a sharp pang through my chest.
I set the tray down on the small table and sit beside her on the sofa. She jerks away from my grasp when I reach for her, and it sends a cutting ache through my heart.
“I don’t have an excuse, Mayah. I need to find a better way. I’m truly sorry.”
“Tell me what’s kept you away.”
I ladle a bowlful of stew and hand it to her before answering, measuring my words.
“The Rebellion. They’ve been attacking both Arbinji and Tundrayni battalions stationed along the contested borders.
They have more wielders than expected—waterwielders, earthwielders, healers.
We’ve suffered many casualties. Sulon is in communication with your father’s generals.
We’re trying to devise a joint strategy, but neither side is happy about working together.
” I rake a hand through my hair in frustration.
“If things don’t get better, I’ll have to go to the border.
I’ve been trying to manage the situation.
Delegate tasks, strategize. It’s why I’ve been absent. I’m trying to stay here. With you.”
Her expression softens slightly.
“Anything else?” she asks, dipping her bread into the stew before taking an aggressive bite. A small drop of soup lingers on the corner of her mouth, and she lets me wipe it away.
“My father is working on securing an alliance with Volca. He’s sent so many gifts for their princess, I’ve lost track.”
“She must be smarter than me if she’s refusing to marry Faramir.”
“Impossible,” I murmur, toying with a loose strand of her hair before cradling her cheek. She leans into my touch, and I’m not certain she even realizes it. “I’ve missed you. How have your days been?”
“Slow. Boring. Mindless.” She frowns, setting aside her spoon and folding her arms. “I wrote a letter to my father. Finished reading my books. Picked out the menu for the Equinox Festival.”
A wave of guilt washes through me at the mention of the letter, but I can’t muster the courage to tell her I read it. Not when she’s still upset with me.
“I’ll take you to the library to get more books,” I try, hoping it’ll appease her.
Silence.
“And tomorrow … we’ll do something special for dinner.”
I offer her my most charming smile.
It has no effect.
“We can explore the capital?” I offer. It’s unfair for me to use the contents of her letter to win her over, but fuck, here I am. A terrible husband and an asshole.
But it works. Mayah’s warm smile melts the tension from my shoulders.
Skies, let me keep my promise.