12. Of feasts and unexpected kisses #3
The king cast his attention down to me, amber eyes flickering to my bargain-marked palm before he looked back out across the room and raised his own marked hand. I mirrored him and fought back a wince at the shocked gasps. Maksym had not uttered a single actual word about me, but chaos broke out.
“Odessan whore!” someone shouted through the cacophony of noise. “She should have been hanged!” came another, and my chest tightened. I dropped my hand as another man began to shout something unsavory, but Maksym bellowed out over top of him, “Enough!”
The room fell silent.
“When I reclaimed this throne, I promised every one of you we would usher in a new age for Grimmoria. That we would leave behind the generations of destruction by the tyranny of our ancestors. Clearly, you’ve all forgotten, so let me refresh your memory by clarifying something simple.
” Not a single soul moved or uttered a noise.
“Enora is not only bound to me by a vow of blood, but she is a princess of Odessa as well. She will be treated with the respect her birthright and her place at my side have both earned her.”
Goddess, my chest was warm in a way I didn’t entirely want to parse.
When Maksym had all but berated me in the jail cells, I’d clearly only experienced a fraction of the authority he could deliver a statement with. Its vicious direction at his disciples only compounded my inner turmoil—a welcome distraction from the volley of insults.
What a shame it didn’t last long.
The weathered and stocky man I’d watched Maksym with in the atrium that afternoon stood, approaching the clearing before the dais.
He cast me a single, scathing look with his depthless eyes before he spoke to Maksym in the same unfamiliar language as earlier. I didn’t need to understand his words to interpret his clipped and displeased tone or the shouts of agreement that popped up around the room.
As he finished his scathing tirade, Maksym descended on him with such speed, I tensed. The king was in front of him in a couple of lengthy strides, seizing the man by the shirt and hissing something vicious in their common tongue before releasing him with a shove.
I had grossly underestimated how strong Maksym’s slim frame was.
“Does anyone else feel like joining Soteris for lashings at first light?” Maksym growled out at the crowd, and my jaw went slack.
“No? Good. And so there will never be grounds for questioning my decision again. Enora will take part in the Agōn Ferr, and she will be treated no differently than any other participant, Elixia or not. Am I understood?”
A displeased rumble kicked up across the throne room, and Maksym turned back to me, letting exasperation settle onto his features. He gestured at the diminutive chair placed beside his throne and murmured, “You have my deepest apologies. Sit, please?”
I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been quite so uncomfortable at a feast, and my discomfort meant one thing—I drank. A lot. More than I should have, but it wasn’t like I had many other options for distraction.
Maksym didn’t stop me either, even if his subtle glances at my pours were full of concern. As if he wasn’t the one swaying on the spot when I first arrived.
However the king had hoped this feast would go, I had a feeling this was far from it.
Aside from a brief uptick in excitement when Maksym had called his eligible Elixia up to draw stones to determine who would take part, the mood in the throne hall had been nothing short of depressing.
How I lasted as many hours as I did before I grew tired of the murmurs and the stares was a monumental feat.
To his credit, Maksym made an effort to ease some of my tension, checking if I was comfortable, if my food was fine, or if I needed anything.
But even his patience for his most revered subjects—and me—waned as the night went on.
He withdrew to a point of complete silence and stopped sipping from the goblet propped in his hand.
Observing the room and nothing more.
Now, I was fairly used to men giving mixed signals about their feelings, but Maksym was utterly infuriating to get a read on. I still wasn’t sure if our union might not be completely miserable, or if I wouldn’t be making it through to the other side of the next few months alive.
“Maksym?” I whispered, not wanting to rouse any other attention, but the king’s vacant stare didn’t lift from its anchor point. I sighed and reached over, touching his elbow propped on the uncomfortable-looking armrest of his throne.
He stiffened and glanced over, slapping on a smile.
At least we were equally uncomfortable.
“Would it be rude if I left?” I asked. “Not that I’m not having a thrilling time or anything, but…”
All the fake pleasantry on his face softened into understanding, and he shook his head. “Not at all. It would be wise for you to rest as much as you can before the initiation tomorrow. Let me rouse a bit of a distraction so you can leave in peace.”
Just when I thought I might hate him, he came through with consideration and usefulness.
With a pointed glance and flick of his hand, Gallan was at Maksym’s side, glancing at me and then the king as they whispered between each other.
Gallan nodded before he mouthed good night at me, turning back to the room and calling out something in the same language I was tired of not understanding.
Chairs scraped as excited chatter picked up.
Some of the Elixia and other men gathered around the central table.
Daggers started glinting, and that was clearly my cue to slip out.
I tossed one cautious look at Maksym, who was wearing a devastatingly sad smile, and I made a straight path for the side door. Shockingly, I didn’t stumble once the entire way there, but I heard a single call out of good fucking riddance before the door shut.
My breath came out in a painfully shaky rush, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other to get back to my room as fast as I could.
It had been a long damn time since I faced public scorn so harsh for my apparent perpetual status of dirty little secret.
As a child, a combination of blissful na?vety and my father kept me away from scathing words.
The late King of Odessa treated me like I were a gift plucked from the stars and deposited into his hands, and he made sure anyone I interacted with treated me no differently than any other children at court.
My maids, my teachers, my friends, all handpicked and carefully culled when needed.
But as I got older, it became harder for my father to keep me so sheltered.
I was almost eleven when my brother was born. That was when I first learned what the word bastard meant and why I’d heard it directed at me so many times. And maybe it was the fault of that new awareness, but at the same time, I truly noticed the dirty looks turned on me as that word was muttered.