Chapter Six #2
Iver turned his attention to the shelves lining the walls, looking through books and crumpled parchment. “Where do you keep your maps, records of troop strength and the armory inventory?”
Heat shot into William’s cheeks. “The steward has them.” If the answer shocked Iver, he didn’t let it show.
William was grateful for that. As king, he should be aware of where these things were.
“I’ll ask her to bring them, and we can go through them together?
” He hated that it came out like a question instead of a statement.
“Of course.”
William couldn’t remember a time when he had not dreaded dealing with his duties.
Somehow, it came easier with Iver by his side.
Iver had reigned for a century. He knew what to do.
William would take full advantage of that.
And if Iver thought William capable of handling the orc invasion, who was he to say he wasn’t?
He might not have kept up with troop movements in the south or the number of women deployed, but the steward would have the information.
If William took the time to look through it, he’d grasp the situation and could respond adequately.
It didn’t sound like a fun pastime, but it didn’t bother him if he had Iver’s support.
Was that what he’d needed all along? Someone who told him he was doing fine, someone who encouraged him?
The steward brought them the paperwork of the past year. A fae servant helped her carry the crates to the study while William and Iver cleared the desk and made space on shelves and in cabinets. The steward had considerably more notes than William had anticipated.
Together with Iver, he went over the numbers and gained an understanding of how the military situation in northern Vale differed vastly from that in the south.
“I’ve been holding on to too many troops,” William said as he calculated the manpower the northern nobility could contribute to the war effort.
“It’s not wrong to be cautious, but I agree that you can send significant numbers south.”
To William’s ears, that was almost a compliment.
Nothing he’d done had ever been good enough for his father.
Even when he’d pleased one of his strict tutors, his father had found fault with his work.
Once, he’d asked how William would go about striking an alliance with the dwarfs against the Six Ice Queendoms of the North.
William couldn’t remember his answer, but he did remember the vicious slap in the face it had earned him.
It’d stung his soul more than his cheek.
Shaking off the memory, William said, “I’ll deploy the Winter forces plus as much as the northern nobility can spare.”
“Keep a small contingent of fae knights at Silverlight. Just as a precaution.” A suggestion, not a rejection.
“All right. I’ll draft a reply to James and send it with Eric. He’s going to scout the orc encampments and report suspicious troop movements to James. James won’t have to be asked to relay news to me.”
William jotted down his message and sealed it with golden wax, his lion-head signet ring authenticating the missive.
They arranged to see off Eric in the courtyard, where William handed him the letter.
If it was cold outside, William no longer felt it.
It had to be, judging by the many layers Eric had wrapped himself in.
William was sad to see him go, but this had always been part of the plan.
Eric would remain in William’s employ outside the faerie realm, and as a result, he couldn’t stay at Silverlight Castle for long.
“May you travel under her shield,” William said as Eric, ready for the long ride south, jumped onto his horse.
The wind played with the thick strands of his dark hair, and he bowed his head. “Your Majesties.”
Then he was off, charging through the gate. It’d be a long time before William saw him again.
It had taken them no time to respond to James’s missive. William had always procrastinated instead of facing his duties head-on. Good thing he was keeping Iver around. He’d urge him to attend to important matters. Maybe he’d even offer support again. That’d be nice.
Deep down, William knew why he put off political matters—it was the behavior William’s father had, sneeringly, come to expect of him.
Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, William behaved in ways others presumed he would.
But if Iver believed him capable… With him, William could have a fresh start.
Iver knew little about William other than rumors he’d heard.
If William wanted a clean slate, this was it. His chance to be a better person.
The bells of the castle church struck two o’clock.
“Oh dear,” Iver said, humor lacing his tone, “I’ve made us late for lunch.”
“You made us late?”
“Well, yes, I insisted we deal with James’s missive.”
William snorted, unable to stop the giddiness from spreading his lips. He felt accomplished.
They met their families in the Green Room, where servants had decorated a midwinter tree with candles, ribbons and ornaments. More of these trees had been put up all over the castle—in the church, the great hall, even the ballroom.
Charlotte and her three children sat on one side of a long table, Ailenor and Silenia with her adult children on the other.
They rose as William and Iver entered, bowing to welcome them.
Iver, a hand on the small of William’s back, steered him toward Charlotte and Ailenor, away from Silenia.
Iver really didn’t want the two of them to speak.
But why? Last time, Silenia hadn’t said anything he didn’t know already.
Only when they’d sat down, did their families return to their seats. With the servants watching, royal etiquette didn’t stop where the bloodline began, though William would raise his children differently—the children he’d have with Iver.
He shot him a glance, but Iver had his eyes on Silenia.
She wore a dusty pink dress and a disgruntled expression—was she upset because they’d kept her waiting?
She’d seemed pleasant when William had spoken with her, but she might’ve been on her best behavior in front of a king she didn’t know.
Did she and Iver not get along? That was beyond William; he would’ve loved to have siblings. Charlotte was like a sister to him.
The cup-bearers and attendants served a richly spiced vegetable soup as a starter, followed by venison and rabbit platters.
Iver, who kept glancing at Silenia, accidentally scraped his finger with a knife.
William’s heart stopped at the sight of welling blood, but then the wound closed and healed within moments, leaving Iver’s skin unmarred as if nothing had happened. Had he even noticed?
Like the day before, Charlotte and Ailenor lost themselves in conversation, this time bonding over a shared love for stargazing.
At one point, Ailenor clasped Charlotte’s hand across the table, saying, “The stars are different in the faerie realm. You see a whole other set of constellations than in the human world. I must show you tonight once the sun has set.” Charlotte’s answering smile was brighter than the sun.
Perhaps sensing her sister’s bad mood and wanting to cheer her up, Ailenor later roped Silenia into the discussion, and soon, the three of them were chatting.
With their mother deep in conversation, Charlotte’s children grew restless.
William entertained the girls with stories of dragons.
Charlotte’s youngest, Ed, unselfconsciously climbed onto Iver’s lap and demanded to learn about the fae.
He indulged him, and Ed’s eyes grew big and he giggled with joy when Iver described the ghostly white horses the winter fae rode.
William smiled. If Iver was getting along with little Ed, things were going well.
For dessert, the servants brought the strangest dish—it was a small and solid green ball dotted with dark flakes and served in a glass bowl.
William stuck his spoon into it, and when he tasted it, he found that the food was cold—a frozen dessert.
It tasted sweet and minty, mixed with something richer.
Was it flavored snow? Yes, Iver explained and rattled off the dish’s ingredients, half of which William had never heard of.
After lunch, Iver told William he was going to see the fae officiant and make final arrangements for the wedding. The ceremony would begin after sunset, which, with the short days, was only a couple of hours away—high time to prepare.
Their families retreated to Charlotte’s apartment and the guest wing. Given the nature of what would happen during the first part of the ceremony, they’d not be present, joining later for the feast.
The winter fae’s tradition of public consummation of the marriage was something else.
William’s pulse accelerated at the thought of Iver holding him down, taking him while the fae watched on.
But it could easily be the other way round—William pinning Iver to the ground, his body writhing as William pushed his legs apart and shoved into that small, tight space.
Smiling, he walked into his bedchamber, letting the door fall closed behind him. This was going to be— William stopped in his tracks. On the other side of the room, a figure in a skintight, red dress leaned against the opposite wall. Beatrice. His concubine. Former concubine.
She pushed off the wall and sauntered over, the velvet skirt of her dress flowing around her legs—long, shapely legs, as William well remembered. Her tightly laced bodice accentuated her trim waist and the voluptuous mounds of her ample cleavage.
Not long ago, he would’ve pushed her onto the bed, hiked up her skirt and taken her, but to his surprise, he felt no interest. He was annoyed.
“What are you doing here?”