Chapter 9 Wen
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Wen
I woke up to someone’s foot in my face and the distinct sensation of being unable to move my left arm.
“Whose foot is this?” I mumbled, my voice muffled against what I suspected was a very small heel.
“Killian’s,” Mal said groggily from somewhere to my right.
“It’s in my face.”
“He is very flexible.”
I tried to shift position and discovered that not only was Killian’s foot in my face, but he was somehow starfished across both of us, taking up the entire bed despite being roughly the size of a moderately large pillow.
One arm was flung across Mal’s chest, the other was somehow behind my neck, and he was drooling. On Mal’s chest.
“Mmmph... cookies...” Killian mumbled in his sleep.
“He’s dreaming about cookies,” I observed. “And I can’t feel my arm.”
“He is lying on it.”
I finally managed to extract myself enough to look at the situation. Killian was indeed spread out like a starfish, completely diagonal across the bed, taking up maximum space with minimum body mass. It was actually impressive.
“How is he taking up the entire bed? He’s tiny.”
“It is certainly a gift,” Mal said, and I could hear the smile in his voice even though I couldn’t see his face past our son’s sprawled body.
Five minutes later, Killian’s eyes snapped open and he sat up in one motion, full of energy at a volume that should be illegal before 7am. It was as if he sensed we were awake and didn’t want to waste one single second.
“GOOD MORNING!”
I winced. “Inside voice, baby.”
“THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE!”
“That is your outside voice,” Mal said, sitting up and wiping the drool off his chest with a napkin.
“Oh. Sorry.” Killian’s voice dropped to a stage whisper that was somehow louder than his normal speaking voice. “Is this better?”
“Sure,” I lied, because I was not going to argue so early in the morning.
An hour later, after breakfast and getting dressed and Killian asking approximately seven hundred questions about where we were going and why he couldn’t come, we were trying to leave him with Sorcha.
Keyword: trying.
“I wanna come!” Killian protested, clinging to my leg like a very determined barnacle.
“Not this time, sweetheart. You’re staying with Grandma.”
“But I’ll be SO good! The goodest! I promise!”
“You will have more fun here,” Mal said, attempting to pry him off my leg.
“No I won’t! You guys get to do all the cool stuff and I have to stay here and be bored.”
“We’re just going to boring meetings,” I said.
Killian looked up at me with those big eyes that were far too clever for a four-year-old. “Then why can’t I come if it’s boring?”
He had a point. Damn it.
Sorcha, bless her, stepped in. “I will give you cookies.”
Killian’s head swiveled toward her with laser focus. “How many cookies?”
“Two cookies.”
“THREE cookies.”
Sorcha blinked. “Fine. Three cookies.”
“With the chocolate chips?”
I stared at my son in impressed horror. “You’re really negotiating right now?”
“I’m a good nego-cya-tor,” he said proudly, stumbling over the word but getting the concept across.
“Where did he learn this?” Mal asked, looking at me.
“You. He learned it from you.”
“I am not that calculating.”
Sorcha and I looked at each other, then back at him in perfect synchronization. “Yes you are.”
“Three cookies with chocolate chips,” Killian confirmed. “And I pick which ones.”
“Done,” Sorcha said, holding out her hand.
Killian shook it solemnly like he was closing a business deal. Which, I supposed, he was.
We left him with Sorcha and approximately forty guards because we were absolutely not taking chances after the assassination attempt. Paranoid? Yes. Necessary? Also yes.
Torin was waiting outside the family quarters with a report.
“Your Majesties,” he said, falling into step beside us. “The trail on the assassins leads outside Lytopia. To kingdoms beyond our alliance.”
Oh. This wasn’t good.
“Which kingdoms?” Mal asked.
“Igryside. A shadowy kingdom near the sea. We don’t know much about them. They keep to themselves, very isolated. Not part of any alliances.”
Torin looked between us. “There’s a tavern on the outer borders of Ravenor where travelers from all kingdoms gather. People talk. We might be able to gather more information there before sending spies.”
“A tavern,” Mal said thoughtfully, then looked back at me. “We should go.”
“And I’m coming with you,” I said.
He didn’t argue. Good, because I was going whether he liked it or not.
***
The tavern was called The Rusty Dagger, which should have been my first clue that we were highly overdressed.
“This place smells like fish,” I said, looking around at the decidedly sketchy establishment. Dark wood, darker corners, and patrons who all looked like they’d killed someone at least once.
“We are not staying long,” Mal said, his hand on the small of my back.
“Everyone is staring at us.”
“We do look out of place.”
“You’re wearing a cape. Of course we look out of place.” I looked at him. “You look like a period magician.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. Just funny in a place called The Rusty Dagger.”
Torin, who was dressed in plain clothes and blending in much better than we were, nodded toward a table in the corner. “The merchant is over there.”
“The drunk one?” I asked.
“They are all drunk.”
“The VERY drunk one. Pink cheeks. Drooling.”
“That one, yes.”
We approached the table alone, Torin staying behind to watch our backs. The merchant looked up at us with bleary eyes.
“Whadda you want?” he slurred.
“Information,” Mal said in his kingly voice, which was definitely the wrong tone for this establishment.
“I don’t talk to fancy people.”
“See?” I whispered to Mal. “Overdressed.”
“I will pay you,” Mal said, ignoring me.
The merchant’s eyes sharpened with interest despite the alcohol. “How much?”
“What do you know about Igryside?”
“Depends on how much gold you got.”
“I think we’re being extorted,” I whispered to Mal.
“I am aware.” Mal produced a pouch of gold. The merchant’s eyes went wide.
“Some men from there came through. Ravenor border. Weird guys. Real quiet-like. Then they died.”
I blinked. “They died?”
“Yeah. King killed ‘em or something.” He clearly didn’t realize he was talking to the actual king. This was so awkward.
Mal and I exchanged looks.
“Don’t know why,” the merchant continued, taking another swig of whatever rotgut he was drinking. “Maybe they were assassins. Maybe they looked at him funny. Kings are touchy like that.”
“Indeed,” Mal said, his voice perfectly controlled.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“You two seem touchy too. You nobles?”
“Something like that,” I managed.
“Figures. You smell expensive.”
Mal’s eyebrows rose. “I smell expensive?”
“Like... fancy soap. The good stuff.”
I lost it. “Oh my god.”
We got a few more details before we thanked the merchant and got out of there. I almost died from trying not to laugh.
“You smell like fancy soap,” I said the moment we were outside.
“Stop.”
“King Fancy Soap.”
“I will leave you here.”
“No, you won’t.”
“No, I will not,” he admitted, his mouth quirking up.
Torin met with us a second later, followed by the rest of the guards that were scattered through the tavern and the perimeter. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Yes,” Mal said. “Send your best spies to Igryside immediately. We need to know what they’re planning.”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
Mal took my hand as we started walking back toward the castle. His fingers laced through mine, warm and solid.
“Also, ‘Igryside’ is such an ominous name,” I said. “Right? Why is it always something dark-sounding?”
“If someone named their kingdom Happyland, I would immediately suspect them of terrible crimes,” Mal said.
“‘Welcome to Happyland, where everyone smiles... or else,’” I repeated in my ominous voice.
He laughed, and the sound made my chest warm.
We walked back to the castle together, fingers intertwined, united and happy.
And the moment we step foot in it, we called an emergency meeting with all the allied kingdoms. I did not want to see their faces ever again after the shitshow at the banquet, but it was necessary.
We were in an alliance, and I couldn’t ignore them forever. If only.
Within the hour, the council room was packed with kings, queens, and their advisors.
The Gods decided to spare me one, because there weren’t any of the dignitaries that spoke against Killian that fucking night.
I didn’t know how I would’ve reacted if I saw one of them ever again.
Or how Mal would’ve reacted. Probably with his fists, and I would’ve cheered.
Aurion was there, looking unusually serious. Daphne sat beside him, giving me an encouraging smile. Casimya had been invited to explain about my bloodline. The representatives and royalty from the other kingdoms filled out the rest of the room.
Some of them were still wary about Killian’s powers, about the fact that their “human” queen had turned out to be not-so-human after all. I could see it in their faces, the way they looked at me.
Too bad. They could deal with it.
Mal and I sat together at the head of the table, presenting a united front. Under the table, his hand found mine and linked our fingers together. I squeezed back.
“There was an assassination attempt on my son, and it was orchestrated by a kingdom called Igryside,” Mal began. “We have intelligence suggesting they’re planning something larger.”
“And we are just supposed to trust that the queen’s newfound powers are... safe?” Xander Silvermane asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.
I gave him a cold smile. “You’re supposed to trust that if you threaten my family again, you’ll find out exactly how safe they are.”
“Damn,” Daphne whispered to Aurion. “That’s my bestie.”
“Perhaps a demonstration?” Mortimer Goldridge suggested, more kindly. “Of these portal powers?”
“I don’t have enough control yet. I could accidentally portal us all to another dimension and I don’t think that would help the alliance.”