Chapter 11 The War Room
THE WAR ROOM
Slaide awoke to daggers of sunlight jabbing into his eyelids through the half-opened velvet curtains. Who the fuck left those open? He rolled over, groaning as his over-indulgence the night before caught up with him. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pounding in his head to cease.
Flashes of memory flickered behind his eyelids, reminding him of just how hard he’d reveled last night.
Glasses of wine that never emptied. Naked serving women straddling him and feeding fruits and sweets to him like a god.
Dumping mead down his throat and licking the streams overflowing from the corners of his mouth.
The sounds they made… It was probably a great time, but he paid for it doubly in the form of a skull threatening to crack in two, and a stomach promising to turn itself inside out. “Fuck… me…” he groaned.
“Again?” Someone giggled, a seductive sound.
Or at least it would have been if he wasn’t so hungover.
His eyes shot open, despite the searing pain.
At the sight of the naked woman in his bed, Slaide groaned again and ran his hands through his hair.
Apparently, he’d actually been inebriated enough to bring one of them home.
Oh, Magnus is going to love this. He sneered at the thought, at the satisfaction he would receive from Magnus’s displeasure.
“No,” he mumbled. But then again…
The woman beside him—was it Marcella? Ariella?
He couldn’t remember and, frankly, didn’t care—sat up on her elbow, gazing lustfully from below her lashes.
He had to admire her, even if he was thoroughly disgusted with himself.
She was a tanned beauty, with the softest skin imaginable.
Her hooded eyes were a color he couldn’t quite place, something almost unnatural, with a hint of purple.
Her mouth was small and thin, but perfectly delicate… and functional, if memory served him.
She had a beautiful neck, which was now painted with marks of lust. Had he done that? His eyes traced her neck down to the soft lines of her collarbones, landing finally on her breasts, which he decided were in fact his favorite part about her. At least, his favorite part currently above the duvet.
Slaide reached for her, gently but firmly grabbing her right breast. He cupped it and ran his thumb over her nipple, finding it completely hardened and peaking under his touch.
The woman let her head loll back as a moan escaped her lips.
He too closed his eyes, his body remembering the feel of her, even though he couldn’t recall a thing.
He hardened at the prospect of having her again, and he dared not acknowledge that the ceaseless pounding in his head was quickly being replaced with the throbbing of his cock.
Fuck it. Why not? He reached across her body and pulled her closer to him, putting her flat on her back as he did so.
Then Slaide’s hands did what they did best. He traced a line from her breast with a featherlight touch, trailing down to her navel and then beyond, to the soft skin just above the apex of her thighs.
Her back arched and her entire body shivered with anticipation and need.
He growled under his breath, fighting the urge to thoroughly ruin her.
His contemplation was interrupted by a knock at the door, which then swung wide without allowing them even a moment longer to right themselves.
Slaide’s hangover returned immediately as his guard stepped aside to reveal Magnus pushing his way into the room.
The woman scrambled, grabbing frantically at the sheets to cover herself before the King.
Slaide just smirked and left himself completely exposed.
He only bothered to brush a sweaty lock of hair from his face.
Magnus grunted at the sight before him. “You disgust me.”
Says the pig, Slaide thought. “Am I not allowed to enjoy myself?”
“You’ve been doing too much of that lately. Get your shit together. We’re meeting in the war room to discuss important matters.”
“Which requires me because?” As far as he was concerned, he had much better things to do.
“It involves the future of this kingdom and your place in it. And because I said so.” They stared at each other, two immovable forces, each in their own way.
And this is what happens when you give a spoiled brat the reins. “Sure thing, Magnus. But don’t wait up. I’m not quite finished here.”
Magnus’s cheeks reddened, and Slaide thought he the spitting image of a tea kettle ready to scream. Careful, Highness, we wouldn’t want you to implode. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off with a stern look that promised to rip his tongue out at the base. Slaide sighed.
“Right, right. Point taken.” He turned to the woman.
“Apologies, dear. It was lovely, truly, but you heard the man. Duty calls.” She nodded obediently, but looked to the king, waiting for him to leave so she could gather herself.
When Slaide realized what she was waiting on, he shooed the king out the door with an impatient hand motion.
Magnus shook his head in disbelief, but turned in a huff and left, nonetheless.
As soon as the door closed behind him, the woman made haste, gathering her undergarments and clothes, though she simply wadded the former up in her hand and slipped into her dress with nothing underneath.
Well, I suppose that answers that question, then.
He’d been debating on whether she’d be expecting payment, and seeing as a common townswoman wouldn’t have skipped putting on her underclothes, he figured he must have picked up one of the local Madames’ girls in his drunken stupor.
“Here you are. My thanks, truly.” She looked at the coins in his palm and smacked him firmly across his cheek. Slaide was dumbfounded. Shit. Too little? I suppose it has been awhile—
“I am not a whore!” she shouted at him. She grabbed what remained of her belongings and stormed out, slamming the door.
Slaide scratched the back of his head. “Could have fooled me.”
As usual, he was the last to arrive. The war room was packed with far too many foul-smelling, sweaty men for his liking. Let’s get this over with. While there were plenty of open seats to choose from, Slaide chose his preferred place against the wall, tucked into the shadows with his arms crossed.
The war room was one of the largest chambers in the castle.
There was a hearth at one end and a giant carved table in the center detailing Aeos and the surrounding kingdoms. During wartimes, the map was used to track the movements of various armies and strategize against their foes.
It was exquisitely detailed, featuring varying elevations in accordance with the topography of the land itself, which of course included the Bonespire Mountains to the northeast, the Dragon’s Teeth to the southwest, the Western Wastes, and the Shadow Fen.
Stormhold, the mage citadel, was the only other city given a dimensional prominence on the map.
Others were dedicated with dots depicting their relative location.
A red dotted line comprised the Border. Cutting through Aeos and encompassing the mountain ranges as part of its barrier, it effectively divided the kingdom into northern and southern halves.
The southern half had been forfeited to Axios because of the volatile nature of the lands below the Border, and the vast number of magical beings living in the fen and beyond.
As the meeting was called to order, the King’s Hand made his usual introductory statements as though they hadn’t had hundreds of these meetings in this same room prior to today.
Magnus sat at the head of the war table in a chair upholstered in maroon velvet, wearing his standard, unamused scowl.
A young serving boy flitted around the room, silently filling the goblet of wine before each guest. But Slaide went without.
Something tells me I’ll want my wits today.
“Well,” Magnus began, clearing his throat, “The Champion’s Tournament has garnered support from every corner of the kingdom, and is shaping up to be our largest tournament yet.
Noble houses of the realm are sending their finest men to compete.
” He paused as though expecting a pat on the back for this.
When he didn’t receive it, he continued.
“And I am proud to announce the Raven Blade Knights have already wrangled up a half-dozen traitorous magic-wielders. Your efforts made it possible.”
The gathered lords clapped.
Slaide sneered, rolling his eyes. Half a dozen prisoners in one sweep would have been a disgrace once upon a time, when it was common to round up as many as thirty witches in a single raid.
“What is the plan with them, Your Majesty?” Lord Giles asked.
Courtland Rhodes, Chief Commandant of the Raven Blade spoke eagerly. “Public executions would serve as a good reminder to the populace that magic has consequences.” A few of the nobles present mumbled their agreement.
Archmage Gammen stood abruptly. “Your Majesty, I must beg you to consider the bigger picture here. A quick execution, while effective in the moment, has less of a lasting impression than the other options we discussed.”
“Yes,” Magnus acknowledged, “I am well aware we have plenty of options. I am not concerned with making any decisions on them at the moment. We still have the tournament and celebrations to get through before their fate is determined. I may even let Tristan decide, as a gift from me.”
No one spoke up this time.
“Now then, we’ll crown our Champion from a selection of the finest men our lords send. But, I’ve added a new twist. To make things more interesting, I’m going to toss a few of our criminals in—for a chance at earning their freedom.”
Murmurs rose around the room.