8. Chapter 8 #2
Everan’s brows dipped, and Kord expertly held back a laugh. Cyrus stared at the painting. Phillip was a handsome man, and Gregor looked absolutely nothing like him.
“You know, it has been a long journey,” Cyrus said. “I’ll take that room now.”
“Oh, of course!” Gregor said. “I almost forgot.” And he led them back the way they’d come.
They reached an elaborate suite on the east side, and Gregor promised to send for them once it was time for dinner. Inside, Cyrus let out a long exhale after he’d closed the door.
“Seems like a friendly fellow so far,” Kord said.
Cyrus frowned. “I don’t like him.”
“All things holy,” Kord muttered.
“Relax. I’m not going to do anything,” Cyrus assured him. “I’m just saying I don’t like him.”
“Me neither,” Everan added.
Kord sighed. “Well, I don’t either, if I’m honest, but we’re going to go to dinner, and you need to pretend like you do.”
Dinner was as royal dinners were—unnecessarily excessive in atmosphere, food, and time.
However, Cyrus obliged. Kord and Everan had been seated on the far side of the room with the other men who’d accompanied them.
Cyrus wanted to object, but he noticed Gregor placed his own men at a distance as well, leaving the two of them space for private conversation.
“Again, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you finally made the trip,” Gregor told him, despite having said it multiple times.
He nudged Cyrus with his elbow, which meant he was sitting entirely too close.
“And I’m very eager for us to explore the possibilities between our two kingdoms,” he added.
Cyrus eyed him skeptically. “Tell me of what’s between Japheth and the Shadowlands,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to waste any more time if Gregor had no intention of severing his alliance with the Shadow King.
“Ah.” Gregor smiled as he shifted uneasily in his chair. “As you may have gathered, relations are strained at the moment. Now that Kharav is allied with Mercia, who is allied with my brother, it either makes them all friends or all enemies. It is a devastating betrayal by Mikael.”
Mikael. Was that his name? This Shadow King. So little was known about the Shadowlands.
“So, you severed your alliance?”
“Oh, no. Of course not.” He shifted again. “In fact, I would prefer Mikael not know about this meeting of ours.”
Cyrus frowned. This wouldn’t work at all. “Then I’m not interested,” he said.
Gregor pulled back, his mouth open in disbelief. He swallowed quickly. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I cannot be a friend of the Shadow King. Nor a friend of a friend. And I need an ally of action. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” Cyrus moved to rise, but Gregor’s thin fingers wrapped around his arm, stopping him.
“I’m sure you are aware of the situation that most recently occurred in Kharav,” Gregor said. His voice grew even quieter. “An attack on the queen.”
Cyrus stilled in his chair. “Do you know something?” he asked.
Gregor smiled at him. “I might.”
Did Gregor know it was him? The odious man’s eyes gleamed as his smile broadened. Was he trying to hold it over Cyrus’s head? Was he threatening him with this knowledge?
Gregor’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer. “Perhaps I might even have been involved ,” he said.
Cyrus let the breath of fight ease from his lungs as the fire across his skin cooled. This idiot had absolutely no idea. Cyrus’s left eyelid twitched under the strain of a stone countenance. “Is that so?” he said finally.
“You say you need an ally of action,” Gregor cooed. “Now, I admit it did miss the mark, but it was a temporary setback, I assure you.”
“That’s good,” Cyrus found himself saying. “Did you go yourself?”
“I should have,” Gregor said. “Perhaps the job might have gotten done, then.”
Cyrus snorted and quickly covered it with a cough. This man was absolutely unbelievable.
“But we could accomplish great things together, I think,” Gregor continued.
Cyrus settled back in his chair. “Perhaps we could.”
The turn in conversation made the evening infinitely more interesting, and Cyrus tolerated the rest of the dinner without too much agony. However, he could barely contain himself by the time he got back to the suite, where he filled in Everan and Kord on everything Gregor had said.
“Why would he claim responsibility for a failed effort against the Mercian queen?” Kord asked.
“To get in Cyrus’s good graces,” Everan answered. “This is a good thing, though. Not only does it show Gregor’s desperation, which I think means he will break with the Shadowlands, but it also means no one knows who is responsible for our attempt, including the Shadow King.”
Cyrus had already surmised the same. He still held somewhat of a benefit of surprise for whenever he chose to move against the Shadow King again.
“Agree to an accord,” Everan pressed.
Kord frowned. “An accord on what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cyrus said. “I think he’ll take anything that remotely looks like an alliance.”
“What will you offer him?” Everan asked.
“He’s a bitter man; I’ll offer him the promise of war. And trade.”
Kord snorted. “Trade what? We don’t have anything.”
“He doesn’t know that. I’ll keep it vague.”
And that was precisely what Cyrus did as he and Gregor met the next morning. It was easy to do, since Gregor asked him nothing more about Cyrus, or Rael, or their trade. Gregor did, however, take the opportunity to boast everything Japheth had to offer.
“We have plants that can’t be found anywhere else in the world,” he gloated as they strolled through a stained-glass ambulatory after breakfast. “Morander, serium, encanthus…”
Cyrus paused in his step. “Did you say serium ?”
The plant Essandra had been searching for.
“Ah, finally, a man with appreciation of the rare herbs of this world.” Gregor grinned. “I will give you some clippings to take back if you wish. Each leaf is worth a small fortune.”
“You’ll give me a bush, with intact roots.”
Gregor paused. “Serium cannot survive in Rael.”
“You’ll give me a bush, and we’ll have an accord.”
Gregor gaped at him.
Cyrus cocked his head. “You have more than one, presumably.”
“Of-of course,” Gregor stammered.
“So, this is hardly an ask at all,” Cyrus said. Because it wasn’t an ask. He wasn’t leaving Japheth without that fucking bush.
“An-and we’ll have an accord?”
Cyrus nodded. “That’s right.”
“There is still so much to work through.”
“We’ll work it through over the next several weeks.”
Gregor was speechless. “I’ll prepare a bush for you to take back.”
“Excellent.” Cyrus held out his hand. “My friend.”