10. A strangely familiar nightcap
A STRANGELY FAMILIAR NIGHTCAP
ENORA
I’d never had dinner company that left so much to be desired, despite a lovely meal.
As we were served a flavorful soup that had me tempted to lick the bowl clean, neither of my tablemates spoke.
At first, I appreciated the silence as I warred with keeping myself composed while my stomach growled and I shoved spoonfuls of the savory broth into my mouth.
Next came a generous portion of roasted poultry and vegetables with the softest bread rolls I’d ever touched.
But aside from my mumbled comments around mouthfuls of food on just how good our fare was, the king and his mage didn’t utter more than a grunt of acknowledgement.
Maksym filled my glass twice, so he clearly hadn’t forgotten I was sitting beside him, on his invitation, but he didn’t extend an ounce of that hospitality to Jasper.
The palpable tension brewing between them would’ve been humorous, if it weren’t for how it left me to think about little other than how my situation kept multiplying into a bigger mess.
I would’ve killed for an ounce of lighthearted dinner conversation, because the food only went so far in corralling my thoughts, especially when a flush started creeping back into my skin.
It was why, after a petite Umbrite woman with a limp and a missing eye served us heaping slices of berry pie, I opened my mouth.
The wine probably helped with that too.
“You know, Jasper,” I drew out his name, and the mage’s shadowed attention snapped up from his plate. “If the whole mysterious hood thing is just for me, you don’t need to worry about it.”
The king made a thoughtful noise deep in his throat and rose, walking over to one of the sideboard tables. Jasper said nothing, but I had plenty of words ready.
“Whatever’s wrong with your face—if there even is anything wrong with it—I’m sure I’ve seen plenty worse.
” I reached for my wine glass but found it empty.
“There are bright iron mines near the fortress I grew up in, and the techniques they extract the ore aren’t exactly safe.
I’ve spent my whole life around people with terrible burns and disfigurements.
Whatever you’ve got will not bother me, I promise. ”
The mage’s chest rose and fell with a huff. “My hood isn’t for your comfort.”
Maybe I was mistaken in thinking the mage was the more hospitable one. I opened my mouth to expel something half thought out, but Maksym inserted his lean frame into my periphery with a bottle of spirits and three glasses.
“A little something stronger to round out our meal.” He set down the glasses with a clunk between our three place settings and uncorked the amber liquid. “Have you ever had lapsus, Miss Wynn?”
“Lapsus? No…I can’t say I have.” I waited for him to finish pouring us each a couple of fingers’ worth before I snatched the bottle from his hands.
Something about the small label pasted onto it—a simple, cream-colored square with a rose stamped in black ink—hit a note of familiarity in my mind. “What is it?”
“Only the most traditional Umbrite tavern fodder.” He slid a glass towards his mage, then me, and took one for himself before sitting. “I’d be shocked if you had. I doubt it makes it very far out of our borders.”
There seemed to be a growing number of things I realized didn’t make it outside of Grimmoria’s borders—information, mostly.
Though now I could add goods to that list too.
I picked up the glass, a weighty crystal piece etched with waves, and gave its contents a cursory swirl before lifting it to my nose for a sniff.
My stomach turned with such ferocity, I tensed.
It smelled similar enough to spirits I’d put back in our own taverns in Odessa—maybe a little more aged than I was used to—but something about it stirred an unpleasant part of my mind.
Maybe it was my body’s way of telling me I had drunk it on one of many muddy nights, and it would appreciate it if I never did again, especially as tonics were fighting desperately in my system.
Unfortunately for my body, the king and his mage were watching me expectantly.
Well, at least I thought the mage was. Hard to tell with the brooding, shadowy hood business.
I offered a tight smile, and Maksym raised his glass, muttering, “Audeamus,” before he downed his drink in one pull.
While I didn’t speak…whatever an Umbrite’s ancestral tongue was, I knew enough about drinking to take my cue.
I pleaded with my stomach as I shot back the spirits, to not revolt at my blatant disregard of its warning as that sharp burn slid down my throat.
The last thing I wanted to do was immediately expel the lapsus and our meal all over the table and have the king reconsider his offers.
Not that I felt strongly about any of my options, but it was nice to have a variety other than just straight to my death.
“Alright there, Miss Wynn?” Maksym laughed as he moved to refill his and Jasper’s glasses.
I kept my empty glass well away from him as I hissed, “Great.”
He shot an amused glance at his mage, amber eyes bright, but he didn’t goad me any further.
Which was a blessing, as I focused on struggling through the rest of the pie I’d been so kindly served.
Minutes ago, it had been delicious, but with the way my stomach churned now, it may very well have been spoiled.
Handling my liquor wasn’t something I’d ever had an issue with, but I clearly wasn’t operating on my norm.
The silence at the table persisted until the king’s chair creaked as he sank back in it.
“Now, a proper dinner in the Keep always includes me raking Jasper over the coals at cards in the lounge,” he said, drawing a hefty sigh from his mage. “In the name of your informed decision, Miss Wynn…would you like to join us?”
While I’d assumed Grimmoria would have different customs and traditions than we did in Odessa, I found myself consistently stunned.
No other nation could possibly exist that put its prisoners up in suites meant for queens, hosted them for dinner, and then invited them to unwind over cards after their meal. On top of that, I’d been given options on how to take my punishment for my alleged crimes.
Still, I wasn’t keen on spending more time with the king and his mage than I had to.
Despite the cordiality spread thick on the surface, there was something rotten beneath it all.
The king sitting beside me, after all, held my life in his lithe fingers, strumming away on his glass, and I still hadn’t begun to fathom what he stood to gain out of marrying someone considered a criminal in the eyes of his kingdom.
“The invitation is appreciated, but I’ll have to pass.” I set my napkin on the table and eased my chair back. “Big decision to make in a couple of days, you see. Need plenty of time to mull it over.”
Maksym smiled, and I could’ve sworn there was a hint of disappointment in his expression I did not understand. At least the mage made sense, with his quick, silent departure from the table to go busy himself with potations adorning the sidebar.
“Of course.” The king hesitated, like he wanted to add something else, but he glanced over at the doors with a sigh instead. “Eilir?” he called out. “I know you’re hovering, you gnat. Come see Miss Wynn back to her room.”
“I really don’t need—”
Maksym waved me off as one of the door panels banged off the wall and Eilir came buzzing in. I caught little of their squeaked flurry of words other than overgrown bat and I changed your bottom, but it was an amusing enough tirade for me to fight back a smile.
The king just propped his chin on his fist, giving me a look that screamed, “See what I deal with?” before Eilir turned their attention on me.
They huffed a breath as they extended their bark-covered palm to me and dipped their head. “Princess.”
Once again, I found myself in awe of just how much strength came from that tiny, unassuming body. Eilir helped me right out of my seat and made no move to let go of my hand once I was upright.
“Thank you for dinner,” I fumbled out to the king quickly before the sprite hauled me away.
Maksym tipped his head in acknowledgment, his dark hair slipping over his shoulder like a sheet of silk. “Get some rest, Miss Wynn.”
As we mapped the same route back to my room, Eilir would not shut up.
Despite my repeated assurances that no, a single dinner with their king was not enough to sway me, they were convinced Grimm’s Keep was about to become my home.
They’d even thought through a plethora of grand plans for just the two of us, including trips to the town called Embervale and a beach close to the Keep.
I felt a twinge of guilt every time I had to remind the sprite I had made no commitment to their king about staying in Grimmoria or tying the rest of my life to him. But my rejections did not deter them.
“Why are you walking so fast, princess?” they chirped at me. “We’ve still got a lot to discuss!”
As if there was any reason other than the promise of a comfortable sleep that had me walking like my legs were on fire. Again. “Oh, we do? Like…”
Eilir huffed at me. “Like how I can convince you to accept Max’s gracious offer, because it is in your best interest.”
Oh, this was going to be good.
“And how is it in my best interest, Eilir? Seeing as you’ve known me for, oh…a day?”
“Well, it’s in your best interest because…” A lengthy pause followed. “Max is an excellent king and a good friend. Therefore, I’m sure he’ll make an incredibly acceptable husband.”
“Acceptable? Goddess, you really know how to peddle him like fine wares, don’t you?” I chuckled, but Eilir was scowling at me. “And what if I just don’t want to marry your sweet, dear Max, hmm? What’s your argument then?”
Eilir’s mouth gaped, baring all their sharp teeth. “The Wastes will chew you up and spit you out!” they squeaked.
“No, they won’t.”
Eilir elicited a noise that sounded awfully like a kettle about to scream. “Yes. They. Will. Princess.”
I fought the quirk in my lip, even though the sprite wasn’t wrong.
If I were to believe the king, I’d be dropped into the Wastes without a single thing to aid me in my survival, unlike the full spread of gear I’d departed Odessa with.
Should luck be on my side, an outpost or encampment would come up before I starved to death, and it would only take me…
months to walk to Odessa. In the unpredictable elements.
With the hungry creatures that roamed those desolate lands.
The option was looking less and less promising, and a throb was building behind my eyes.
“What’s so special about Odessa anyway?” Eilir asked after not quite enough silence. I was ready to argue there was an exhausting list of things that made Odessa incredibly special, but the sprite added, “Is there that much for you to go back to?”
A lump built with fury in my throat.
That was something I’d refused to think about since Maksym made his offer, because the answer was no.
And not in the sense that there was nothing to go back to.
I had Theo—in the loosest sense of the imagination—even though he was probably pretty pissed I didn’t say goodbye.
I had the surviving members of my squad.
A few casual friends in and around the fortress. Joyce.
But that was it.
I no longer had my father. Or Streja. Or most of my peers. My autonomy. That was arguably the most devastating loss the last six months had brought.
Even if I made it back, I wouldn’t be dispatched on the cavalry assignments I once loved.
The ones that sent me to every corner of Odessa for weeks or months at a time.
The ones that steeped me in glimmers of life in our most remote villages, in alpine camps.
Those days were behind me since the moment my father died and our beautiful crown fell atop my brother’s greasy head.
It would only be a matter of time before he saw fit to marry me off again.
My brother and I were not meant to occupy the same realm of reality; we hadn’t been since he almost killed his own mother coming into existence twenty years ago. He’d spent his entire life just waiting for the moment our father could not advocate for my presence in Odessa.
Maybe I’d find myself half-dead on the border with Elysiel next time, on the way to some pretentious high fae merchant, or bobbing in the chasm between Odessa and the human mainland, lost to the water before whatever mortal lord I’d been bound to got his grubby hands on me.
Bleak. Bleak. Bleak.
Everything that had once made Odessa so special to me was gone.
So much so, that being tethered to the King of Grimmoria—and not the one I’d come to marry—as repentance for a crime I did not commit was looking like a promising notion.
The sudden weight of it all made my chest ache, and the corners of my eyes burned something fierce. But my room was close now, just a short distance down the hall, and I needed that privacy desperately.
“Enora?” came Eilir’s concerned squeak.
I found them watching me with their brow-ridge low, a slight frown on their face.
“Hmm? What did you say?” A sad, desperate attempt to see if the sprite would move on to less stress-inducing topics.
They did not.
“I asked if there was much for you to go back to in Odessa? Seems like that king, or brother, or whatever he is, wanted to get rid of you.”
I swallowed and blatantly lied. “There’s plenty for me to go back to. It’s my home, after all.”
A long, pregnant pause followed before Eilir murmured, “I see.”
That burning in my eyes felt harder to keep at bay, but I was just feet away from having privacy.
“If you don’t mind, Eilir,” I intoned, “I don’t think I’m much in the mood for company.”
“Of course.” The disappointment in the sprite’s voice only made my chest ache more. “If you need anything—”
“Three rings of the bell. I remember.”
The buzz of Eilir’s wings started, and a light breeze gusted my face before the sound traveled away. It grew quieter until I was immersed in such saturating silence, I could hear my heart pounding away as it became even harder to breathe.
The first tears came shortly after that.
A handful, at first, tracking paths down my cheeks just after I’d shut my bedroom door. But they built, stronger and stronger, until ugly noises clawed out of me every time I tried to breathe, and a crushing weight bore down on me.
I was so unfathomably fucked.