Chapter IV Negotiations
IV Negotiations
“You will not take my prize!”
I am frozen to the spot, uncomprehending, baffled. I’m not even scared. I should be, seeing a man charging at me with a sword, but I’m not. He’s my father. He’d never harm me.
There’s movement, everything happening so fast, I don’t even notice how I find myself on the floor. I gasp from being pushed by a hard, male arm. I look up in time to see the Tyrant face my father, his hands empty. I wonder idly if he’ll die.
But he can’t, can he? “The Tyrant never once lost a battle. He can duel twelve men at once and walk away unscathed.”
He moves so fast, it feels impossible, and the sword, instead of going in his gut where it was aimed just a second ago, slides harmlessly between his arm and side. He grabs my father’s hair with one hand and brings his face down onto his raised knee.
There is a sickly crunch. Blood. My father drops the sword, and the Tyrant grabs his head with both hands, releasing a wild, primal roar. He pulls my father’s head back, baring his throat, and brings him down onto his bloodied knee.
This crunch is louder. Sicklier. My father goes limp in his hold, and the Agnidari lets him fall to the floor, breathing hard. He pushes hair that fell loose around his face off his forehead and throws his head back with a beastly growl.
I can’t move. Somehow, I know what happened, but a wild, stupid hope clamors in my chest.
He’ll get up. If only I don’t look at him, if I don’t see it, he’ll get up. Any second now. He’ll be fine.
When I hear a long, high-pitched wail, stretching in the horrible silence, it takes me a moment to realize the sound comes from my throat.
The Tyrant groans and shakes his head like a dog shaking off water. I still look at him rather than my father, who will get up—if only I don’t see what happened to him. If I don’t see it, I reason, it’s like it did not happen.
“There goes my wedding night,” I think the Tyrant says, pressing both hands to his face.
But I’m not sure. He might have said something else. There’s a ringing in my ears, and the whine gets louder, and I don’t understand how I’m able to make such a sound. Don’t I need to breathe?
“Fix it,” he says, his voice coming from afar.
Two graceful, male hands fall on my shoulders, and the whine stops. I draw in a shaky breath. Tears fall down my face, and a gentle hand covers my eyes.
“Come on, little diamond. It will be all right. Here, let’s stand up. Good girl. Very nice. You can keep crying, but don’t look, okay? I’ll guide you out of here. You can trust me.”
It’s Khay, I realize through the fog of baffled grief inside me, grief that feels misplaced, because my father will get up any second if I just don’t…
But I have to see it.
“Wait!”
I push Khay’s hand off my eyes and turn, gasping when I see the body. There is no mistaking it. My father is dead, his face smashed in, an ugly mess of blood, bone, and tissue. He lies on his back with arms and legs akimbo. So undignified.
“Why did you do that, little diamond?” Khay asks with gentle reproach. “You really didn’t have to see.”
I don’t reply, nor do I protest when he turns me, and we resume walking. My legs move without any directions from my brain, as if they are separate from the rest of me.
Out of the throne room, through the echoing entrance hall, its floor dirty with the same bloody mud that covers the Tyrant’s boots, all of their boots. A woman screams in a side room to the rhythmic sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. I turn that way, as if in a dream, and Khay turns me back.
“No. Enough for today.”
“Beasts,” I whisper with numb, bloodless lips. “Monsters.”
“Be that as it may, I am the monster in charge of you, and I won’t let you get any more upset today,” Khay says in a calm, firm voice.
“Don’t you mind?” I ask, my mind briefly diverted from horror and grief by his unexpected reaction. “Being called a beast?”
“I don’t mind,” he says, leading me slowly up the stairs. I stumble more than once, and he supports me every time. “It’s no wonder you think this way after everything you saw. And maybe you’re right. Maybe we are beasts, but there are worse things to be. Hey, move it! Not out in the open!”
He calls ahead, and I realize there are shouts up on the landing, women sobbing, begging, women in pain. Grunts and complaints come from the Agnidari men, but before we reach the landing, the hall upstairs is empty, muffled sounds of rape coming from behind closed doors.
“Why are they doing this?” I ask in a voice completely devoid of feeling. I am numb in and out.
“Because you did it first,” Khay says, and for the first time since I met him, his voice is not kind. It’s vicious. “You did it to my sisters. We only give back what we got.”
“I did not. None of those women hurt your sisters,” I say in a whisper, unable to comprehend his logic.
“No, but their fathers and brothers did,” Khay says with scorn. “No matter. Lead me to your room, and I’ll find you a maid for a bath or whatever you need to get better.”
“I need today to never have happened.”
Khay snorts without amusement. “Too late for that.”
When we reach my rooms, he gets me settled in my embroidery chair by the window, the same one I sat in just a few hours ago, pondering death. It feels like years have passed since then. The room stinks, but I am too numb to mind.
When I see coarse fabric crumpled on the floor, the dress and bonnet my father brought me, I flinch. My throat burns with guilt. Oh, I should have listened. I should have donned the disguise and taken one rape. Now, I’ll have a lifetime of them, and no father.
Khay leaves, and I stare ahead at the wall, now bright with the morning light. Not even a day has passed, I marvel as I sit there, my conscious mind floating somewhere under the ceiling, my body unfeeling, left behind.
Not even a full day, and I am married, orphaned, and my kingdom is lost.
Soon he comes back, leading in a sniffing, red-faced serving girl, who hurriedly fixes her clothes as she comes in.
“Serve the princess.”
He leaves and I watch the girl, watch her tears and a jagged hole in her blouse she tries to hide under her apron.
“Were you hurt?” I ask in a voice that sounds distant and uninterested to my own ears.
She nods, giving me a quick, wary look. I watch her a moment longer. She’s in her early twenties like me. I can’t bring myself to be sorry for her, but I have to know.
“Were you hurt by him?” I ask, pointing with my chin at the door.
I lost track of time, and I don’t know how long Khay was gone. He probably had time to defile a woman or two.
She shakes her head, and I nod.
“You don’t have to do anything.” I point to a day bed by the far side of the room. It’s covered by my favorite throw blanket, made of the softest wool dyed pigeon blue. “Just lie down and stay out of sight. I think you’ll be safe here. I hope.”
She curtsies with a sniff and goes to lie down, covering herself with the blanket, her back to the room. I watch her for a few minutes, something worming through my confusion, a thought breaking through.
The thought says, This isn’t right.
Not because it’s immoral. Morality is a nebulous and relative thing, and not a good base for an argument. What’s happening is wrong for an entirely different reason, a reason that can be argued upon.
“Speak facts, my prize. Leave feelings and virtues to the priests.”
That lesson stuck in my head more than the others, and not because of its profound wisdom. My father had me in his lap when he taught me, and his hands…
I will not think of that.
What I can do is ponder the wrongness of rape for another minute until my thoughts are in order. Then I’m up, striding to the door, throwing it open.
I can’t deal with my father’s death or the memories of him, but this, I can fix. It feels good to have a purpose.
Khay leans against the wall outside, one long leg cocked up, knee bent.
“Where are you going?” he asks with a weary sigh. “I won’t let you run away, my lady.”
My lady. Something in my chest stirs harder at the title he calls me, and I stand taller. That’s right. I’m the queen now, for better or worse. Not just a bed warmer.
“I’m not running,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “Come with me.”
He pushes away from the wall in a graceful motion and falls into step by my side, eyeing me curiously.
“I need to see him.”
Khay makes a questioning noise.
“The Tyrant. Where is he?”
“You really should call him something else,” Khay says, pointing toward the main staircase. “He’s appointing local governors that will take over in his absence. They are in the library.”
“Very well,” I hiss, walking faster and faster, hastened by the sounds of female pain filtering out through a closed door. “I will call him something else. Something he can’t ignore.”
The doors of the library are open. I don’t stop to take in the sight of the Agnidari, our mortal enemies, standing around my father’s map table in the middle of the enormous room with bookshelves stretching two floors up.
I used to hide in the stacks. The gallery was my favorite place, because I’d always see my governess coming.
I walk straight over to the Tyrant, who falls silent when he sees me.
“My king,” I say, not letting myself be afraid now that I got this far. “I came to inform you your subjects are being raped.”
His brows rise high in bemusement. I meet his gaze head on, craning my neck. It’s difficult to appear regal while standing two heads shorter than everyone else in the room, but I do my best.
“My subjects?” he asks, snorting softly. “My subjects are back in Roharra, where we’ll travel tomorrow.”
“Yes,” I snap. “And your subjects are here, as well. My father is dead. You were his lawful heir through marriage, and now, you are the king. The people of Farneer, your subjects, are being raped.”
Behind me, Khay makes a sound of awed surprise.
I see why that’s a shock—the Agnidari have proceeded the same way they always did after a conquest before.
But this time, it’s different. The Tyrant actually gained the position of ruler lawfully, not through the conquest. The people of Farneer are not a conquered nation—they are his to rule over, his to protect.
None of them seem to have realized this until now.
I swallow and try to be taller. The Tyrant’s face hardens, understanding dawning, and he watches me in silence. I wait patiently, ready to defend my position with all it takes. This, at least, I am good at.
Obstinate Princess, at your service.
“If I understand correctly,” he says at last, eyes narrowed in shrewd assessment, “it is my queen’s wish for the people of Farneer not to be raped.”
I almost smile. This is a game to him, and I was schooled in court games for years.
“No,” I say sharply. “It is my wish for the king’s subjects to be safe and well. Thus, I am informing the king, that is you, that harm has befallen the servants of his castle. The king will decide how to proceed.”
I turn away, ready to leave. His hand curls around my arm so fast, I gasp from surprise.
“Turn around,” he says in a low, serious voice. When I do, he nods. “I see what you are trying to do, but I am not a king like your father. I am not at home here. These are not my people.”
My lip curls in disgust—but what else did I expect from an Agnidari? He’s an uncivilized barbarian who won’t even give the king the honor of a proper death.
The memory of my father’s crushed face flashes through my mind. I almost spit in hate.
“You vowed to serve your kingdom and subjects,” I say with a sneer. “Already breaking your vows, my king? It’s good to know I am free to break mine, as well.”
His hold on my upper arm tightens. We stare into each other’s eyes, locked in a contest of who hates whom more, until he hisses at me with his teeth bared, and I can’t hold back a tiny, miniscule flinch.
The damned teeth.
He pulls back, his silver eyes glinting with satisfaction at my show of fear.
“I will order the rapes to be stopped if you welcome me to your bed with a pleasant smile and a willing cunt when we arrive in Roharra.”
My mouth falls open, and I stare at him, speechless. The crudeness of his words makes me doubt he really said them for a moment. He grimaces, looking away, but his grip remains steady.
“Contrary to what you might believe, my queen, I am not heartless. I’ll let you grieve your father. But once we reach my kingdom, you will become my wife in every sense of the word. Do we have a deal?”
I swallow, remembering the screams I heard in the corridors. He is a monster for negotiating his own pleasure against the suffering of others, but I have no other way to convince him.
“How long does it take to reach Roharra from here?” I ask, stiffening my legs so he won’t see their trembling.
“Ten days, give or take a few.”
I nod sharply. “Then yes.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my reply, already turning away until his long hair sways behind his back. Even bound at his nape, it easily reaches his lower back, a waterfall of glossy white. “Arvi, spread my new orders. No more rapes in Farneer. Whoever disobeys me will be disemboweled.”
The bald Agnidari with blue tattoos curling around his skull brings his fist to his chest. “Yes, my king!”
Khay tugs my hand when the Tyrant turns back to the maps, the other Agnidari focusing on him.
“Come on. You need that bath, and probably food.”
“Find me a servant who wasn’t hurt,” I demand, my jaw trembling now that the ordeal is over. “I can’t look at their tears.”
“I will. Now come, little diamond.”
I go, and with every step, the Tyrant’s words play like an echo in my head. “Pleasant smile. Willing cunt. Pleasant smile. Willing cunt.”
But that’s ten days away, I comfort myself. Ten days to either come to terms with what I’ll have to do, or try to run away. Ten days is a lot. Not enough to grieve a parent, but enough to plan and scheme.