Chapter 9 Alarik #2
‘It seems that while Regna is still on the hunt for a winged beast of her own, she has had to make do with gliders. Light metal sheaths designed to work as wings.’ Alarik didn’t know whether to laugh or wince at his cousin’s words, but then Elias put his arms out and mimicked a giant bird in flight, causing him to snort.
‘Regna is training her soldiers to fly?’ he said, in disbelief.
Vine chuckled. ‘We’ll have a battalion and she’ll have a flock.’
Alarik barked a laugh, scattering the blackbirds along the hedges.
‘Regna never could resist the allure of a little invention,’ remarked Elias, conceding the barest hint of a smile.
‘I, for one, prefer brute force,’ said Alarik.
‘With any luck, a brisk wind will take them out before they get to us. But in the meantime, I’ll double our archers and speak to Vesper about the lances,’ said Vine. ‘Regna’s soldiers will fall the second they try to fly. And our beasts can enjoy the fun of retrieving their bodies. Wings and all.’
For a moment, the wind stilled, and Alarik watched his mountains inhale.
Ignoring his unease, he again looked to his cousin. ‘Anything else to report?’
‘Just that I’m starving,’ said Elias, with a huff. ‘I’ve been riding all night.’
‘Come,’ said Alarik, turning back towards the palace. ‘We’ll eat in the war room.’
Alarik was reclining in the war room, with his boots kicked up on the table and his gaze on the bloody battle painting above him, when the servants arrived with lunch, which consisted of two large wooden boards of cured meats and cheeses, an entire tankard of ale, and a loaf of crusty bread so fresh it made Elias pitch forward in his seat.
The iron door had barely closed behind the servants when it whooshed open again. Another platter arrived, carried this time by Lief.
Alarik took one look at his mother’s meddlesome steward and swore.
Lief waggled his fingers. ‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty. Please pardon my interruption.’
Alarik’s eye twitched. ‘You must have a death wish, Lief.’
‘Certainly not.’ Lief chuckled as he set his platter down, before backing up several paces, probably in case the king decided to lunge across the table and throttle him.
‘No death wish, just this array of delicious tiny cakes.’ He swept his hand towards the silver platter which contained several miniature frosted cakes. ‘They are a gift from Queen Valeska.’
Elias and Vine exchanged a bewildered look.
Alarik was still glaring at the steward. ‘I did not ask for cake.’
‘Why, that is the very nature of a gift, Your Majesty. You do not need to ask for it.’ The steward shuffled uncomfortably. ‘And every wedding must have a cake.’
There was a finger-snap of deadly silence. Then Alarik lunged across the table. Vine shot up, dragging him back before he could strangle the steward. ‘Calm down,’ she said. ‘It’s just cake.’
‘Wedding cake,’ hissed Alarik.
‘Who cares what kind of cake it is,’ said Elias, dragging the platter towards them. ‘Sugar is sugar. If you ask me, we could all do with some right about now.’
‘Then you can marry the princess that comes with it,’ muttered Alarik.
He flashed a wolfish smile. ‘Oh no, Majesty. That esteemed honour belongs to the king.’
Lief tiptoed closer. ‘The dowager queen has instructed me not to leave this room until you have chosen your favourite cake …’
Alarik returned his glare to the steward. ‘Do you wish to play the jailor?’
Lief paled. ‘No, thank you.’
Vine sighed. ‘Tell us about the cakes, Lief.’
He pressed his palms together gratefully, then quickly went on. ‘Well, first, as you see, we have a delightful sponge with strawberry jam and fresh cream, sprinkled with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.’
Vine swiped up the tiny cake and bit into it. ‘Perfect,’ she said, through a stuffed mouth. ‘I choose this one.’
Lief glanced uncertainly at the king, before going on. ‘Next to it, we have a delicate lavender sponge with gooseberry jam, topped with rich whorls of buttercream—’
Elias devoured it in two bites. ‘You won’t beat this one,’ he said, swallowing thickly. ‘But feel free to try.’
‘Traitors.’ Alarik leaned back and closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but here. Hell, he’d take afternoon tea with the Spear over this particular brand of boredom.
‘And our third cake is infused with lemon curd and—’
‘No,’ Alarik barked, surprising himself. He snapped his eyes open and sat forward. ‘No lemon.’
Lemons made him think of his wrangler. There are people starving throughout your kingdom. Next time you decide to waste food, you should remember that. That undisguised ire in her eyes, then the unwelcome twist in his chest at her words, each one as precise as a blade.
Lief blinked in surprise, but perhaps feeling relieved to have the king’s input at all, he complied, placing two of the little cakes to one side. Elias and Vine made quick work of them.
Alarik’s head was beginning to pound. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, wearily.
Lief frowned at the remaining cakes. ‘The dowager queen really did insist that I—’
‘Which one is my mother’s favourite?’ said Alarik, eager to bring a swift end to this ridiculous charade.
‘She has curated these options, so she has clearly tried all of them already. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s hiding outside the door right now, listening in.
So, just tell me, Lief, which one is her favourite? ’
Lief pointed to the smallest cake, a perfect, three-tiered circle. The white icing was gold dusted and decorated in delicate purple flowers. ‘The dowager queen is partial to this passion fruit and white chocolate one. The fruit itself is extraordinary. It comes all the way from—’
‘Fine,’ said Alarik, shoving the platter away. ‘I choose that one. Now, get out.’
Lief scooped up the platter. ‘Very well, Your Majesty. Thank you for your speedy—’
‘Go,’ snarled the king.
Lief was halfway out the door, when the king shot up in his seat, an idea occurring to him so quickly, he didn’t have time to second-guess it. ‘Wait.’
The steward paused.
‘Leave the cake on the table. Go find a candle. As small as your baby finger.’
Vine looked at him strangely. Elias was now too engrossed in the cheeseboard to care.
‘Right away, Your Majesty.’ The steward set the platter down as instructed, then scurried off without daring to question his king. Alarik waited for the door to close, then turned back to the table, ignoring the sparkling little cake and reaching instead for a curl of meat.
‘Right,’ he said, turning his gaze to the bloody painting above him, as though the previous interruption had never happened. ‘Back to war.’