8. Nicholas
8
Nicholas
T he air in the castle had become stifling. Staff had replicated by the dozens, bustling around, cleaning all manner of areas I’d never suspected required it, such as the interior of a door latch.
No metal surface escaped a fresh polish, and dust possibly older than my grandfather caked the air before drifting on a current out the open windows. The grooves of my knuckles pressed into my cheek, my body languid, half-slumped in the throne as Ricks single-handedly coordinated the staff to thoroughly clean every square inch of this room.
“Presentable.” Marco sauntered through the open double doors, raking his gaze over the staff as they flitted about. His hands rested in his pockets, the picture of casual calm.
The oppressive heaviness in the air lifted, and I launched from my seat, a new weightlessness accompanying my steps as I approached him with open arms.
“Cousin,” I greeted. “It’s good to see you back in one piece.” We embraced, sharing a series of firm pats against each other’s backs.
“My cousin, things must be getting quite dull around here if a simple camping trip makes me a prize upon my return.”
Pulling back, but leaving my hands on his shoulders, I smiled as I replied, “Dull isn’t exactly how I’d put it.”
A feline smile paired with his piercing cerulean eyes. “Do tell.”
Draping an arm around his neck, I spoke over my shoulder as I guided Marco back out of the room. “I’ll return by the quarter hour, Ricks.”
“See that you do, Your Highness. There is lots to discuss!” He cast the line, sinking the lure into my shoulder. An invisible thread with an irremovable tension warned me that escaping even for a few minutes wouldn’t provide any relief.
I flopped on my bed as Marco poured from the decanter on my personal bar cart into a beveled glass.
“Damn. So you’re finally doing it. Getting hitched.” His mouth pulled to one side in a jerking motion and the muscle in his neck tensed. “Cheers to the death of your manhood.” Without anyone joining in, he downed the inch of smoked whiskey, clicking his tongue afterward from the burn.
“Perhaps it was cocky of me to think I’d be able to shirk tradition, handle things well enough on my own.” I stared at the intricate designs on my ceiling, lions waging war against man. In a mural of battle, the lions fell to man. A testament to sheer will and determination. I guessed some beasts couldn’t be conquered. Like political strategies requiring betrothal.
“Nick, come on. You’re the best ruler I know.” He swaggered to the bottom post of my bed and leaned against it, swirling another prepared glass.
“Besides you?” If I didn’t say it, surely he would. The amusement played on my face.
He huffed a laugh over the glass already tipping into his mouth. Once he nursed it, he admitted, “Seriously. I make no proclivities that I am responsible for the success of my kingdom. I simply stepped into the position, an already well-oiled machine. I’m barely even called upon for anything anymore. I live a life of leisure, and just so happen to have a title that gives me unfettered access to it. Whereas you, on the other hand…” He sipped again. “Have always taken your responsibilities seriously. You’ve done well by your people, Nick.”
“Not well enough.” I dragged a heavy palm over my face, burdened with the weight of failure.
“Hey.” Marco smacked my leg. “You think any ruler has ever had a happy, submissive people during the entirety of their reign? There’s always something. War. Famine. Differences in worship. A studly cousin who threatens to steal every eligible lady.” A roguish grin formed on his chiseled face.
A raspy laugh escaped me. “Maybe that’d solve all my problems.”
He shrugged a single shoulder before finishing the glass. “Always here for you. Now tell me, what does the future Queen of Highcrest look like? Paint me a picture.” He sat and fell back on the end of my bed. We both lay staring at the ceiling, something we did as boys.
“She—” I could barely begin the sentence. An awkward scoffing laugh came out. “Suddenly assigning a pronoun to a person I hadn’t considered could even exist seems absurd.”
“Go on.” He nudged my shin with his foot.
“She is loyal. To her people. My people. Kind. Full of grace—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” He flapped his fingers over his thumb. “You just described her role as a queen. I want to know who she is once that crown comes off. Once I leave and she becomes the only person you retreat to behind closed doors. I pray you will look for something beyond a duty to lie stiff as a board and let you empty into her.”
My heel met his hip with a considerable push. He jostled, but laughed it off. The kick was for his crudeness, but then reality cast a grim shadow over me. In a matter of months, there would be a woman in these chambers. In the adjoining suite, of course, but there’d be a silent expectation for one of us to visit the other in bed. The production of an heir. A blossoming lump in my throat hardened into a dry ball.
“Well?”
The irritation of that invisible thread tugged once more, and I didn’t want to remain on the topic. Gathering myself, I rose to my feet, extending my hand for Marco. “Keep me company while I endure party planning?”
He feigned adoration, placing his hand over his heart. “Why Prince Nicholas, I thought you’d never ask.” Then he slapped his hand in mine and I yanked him to his feet.
Marco and I reappeared among the throng of workers, and as if Ricks had done nothing but await my return, he briskly waved me over.
We both strode to the current conversation held between Ricks and Commander Druller, and a couple of his guardsmen.
“Your Highness, Commander Druller has another report for you, but you must deal with it quickly since I have three advisors standing by awaiting your instruction for the upcoming timetable.”
Commander Druller’s face greeted me with no jovial disposition. The lines of his face anchored, hardened by years of war and conflict. Unless something completely unexpected had occurred, I ventured a guess. “Another kidnapping?”
“We found a man murdered by the docks,” Sebastian said, his lips grim and flat.
“Well, that’s new.” Marco cocked his head back, assessing the commander and slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Murdered how?” I probed.
“Stabbed,” the commander exhaled the word, carrying no remorse over the circumstance. In his time, he’d seen plenty of fallen soldiers. This was nothing new, but the ease of his acceptance sent an eerie chill skirting over the back of my neck.
“And you don’t think it’s related to the kidnappings?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Doesn’t fit the pattern. He wasn’t someone I or any of my men recognized. Most likely a shipman passing through. We’re looking into it.”
“Ever the dutiful war hero. Why don’t you buy yourself something nice for all your troubles.” Marco withdrew one of his kingdom’s coins and flicked it off his thumb toward the commander. Sebastian slapped his hand to his chest, pinning the coin.
Marco and Commander Druller mixed as well as oil and water. Jabs and snipes accompanied every interaction, but I could tangibly see the boiling anger in Sebastian’s eyes. Truthfully, Marco was out of place by disrespecting my most decorated commander, treating him like his service was nothing more than a waiter in a pub.
Before words, or swords, could be pulled on one another, I stepped between, setting up invisible barriers with my palms. “That’s enough. Marco, Commander Druller is my most decorated soldier. His work shouldn’t be downplayed.” Marco scratched his eyebrow, looking down at the ground, and I knew he got the message. Hearing him actually apologize, well, I think the ocean would have to freeze over before that happened.
I met Sebastian’s scorching gaze. “That’s two deaths in a short span of time, and I don’t like that. You’ll have your men inquire. Someone killed him, which means someone knows something. If it’s gambling related again, I can’t have bookie’s thinking they can get away with murder. I want you to find them and bring them to me for questioning.”
Seb broke his malicious stare-down with Marco to give me a questioning look. His palm had been fisting that insulting coin so tightly that I half expected it to be bent by now. I imagined the lion insignia perfectly imprinted in his palm.
Our fathers’ family crest bore a lion in battle, and they were represented differently throughout our two kingdoms. Decoration mostly for mine, and their distinct symbol on currency. A reminder that Marco and I held deep connections, two sides of the same coin, so to speak.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Commander Druller said before turning his attention back to my cousin. “How was your hunting trip, Marco?”
A leading statement. Commander Druller couldn’t give two shits about Marco’s hunting experience. If I could predict where this was headed, which I felt inclined that I did, it was about to be a dig on Marco’s pampered nature as a prince, laced with the insult of not addressing his title.
“No hunting done, my friend.” Marco flashed a feral smile, stance still casual. “I figured Nick has enough boars on his hands.”
I swallowed, knowing his inference wasn’t lost on any of us. With a dip of his head and a bouncing step, Marco removed himself from our group and strode out of the room. Wise, considering I could feel the heat radiating from the Commander.
“Wasn’t hunting the whole point of his trip? Seems strange he’s changed his story,” Sebastian mused quietly, mostly to himself it seemed, as he stared after the strutting white-haired royal.
My brow furrowed. I could have sworn Marco had specifically told me in conversation a week ago that he was going to practice hunting. But upon his return, he’d phrased it as ‘camping’. “Surely he has his reasons,” I said, but questioned if it was for Sebastian’s benefit, or mine.
I trusted my cousin explicitly, but Seb’s statement snagged on a thread of doubt. My father ingrained in me never to trust anyone, even those within my inner circle, but I worked hard to not become like that man.
Still, the nagging thought tugged on the question, why would Marco have lied?