The Games Kings Play
By mid-morning, they had a plan. It was far from foolproof, but it was the best they had. In a few hours, they would put it to the test.
“Slaide,” Hazel began, “what happens when everything is over? Assuming I survive, I mean. What’s next for us?” She fiddled nervously with her necklace. Did she realize how often she did that?
For us. Gods. How could he tell her there was no us? How could he tell her that she’d survive this tournament only to be handed back to the King? She wasn’t the one earning her freedom. He was.
She was being bargained into a lifetime of servitude.
“Well, there’s the ball. We can dance and get drunk, but I’d wager you’re not asking about that. I suppose you’ll be able to do whatever you want,” he lied. She’d never really asked what was in this for her beyond surviving her execution. He hoped she wasn’t about to start now.
“Did you mean what you said, about me freeing the oppressed? I’m assuming you were referring to the slaves in Blackrock?”
“Yes, I meant it. And, sort of. I mean… you absolutely freed them and made sure no one would ever be enslaved there again. But you didn’t stop with the slaves.”
She nodded. “That’s good. I-I don’t know how—if it was me, that is—how I’m supposed to help anyone when I can’t even help myself. When you took me to the gulch… when I saw what they did to those people and the conditions they were working in…”
“Do you understand why I took you there? It wasn’t to hurt you. It was to motivate you. Everyone loathes the King, but only those who truly know what he endorses hate him. Unfortunately, hate isn’t enough. Hel, if hate alone could kill him, I would have taken care of it long ago.”
“So, what do we do?” she asked sincerely.
“We start with a conversation. It probably won’t get us anywhere, but we can at least let him know how bad the conditions have become.”
“You don’t think he knows?”
“I’m certain he doesn’t. He hasn’t been there in years.” A truth-wrapped lie. Magnus knew. But even Slaide had been taken aback by the extent of the violence.
It would be a hard, ugly conversation, though it was a long time coming. He was tired of the games. The charades and secrets.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed Hazel’s hand. “No time like the present to get this shit done.”
She yelped when he pulled her arm, but quickly fell into step behind him.
Magnus may be the High King. He might be the most powerful man in all the land—politically speaking, anyway—but it was time for him to answer some questions. Slaide charged down the main hallway toward the throne room with Hazel in tow.
They arrived at the throne room doors, where two Raven Blade Knights stood guard.
Slaide pulled up, nearly skidding to a stop when he noticed them.
Knights? On guard for a meeting? The guards stood statuesque, choosing not to acknowledge Slaide and Hazel’s presence.
That was, at least, until Slaide stepped forward.
Without a word, the knights shifted, crossing their spears before the doors.
“I suppose that’s on me, for thinking you’d let me waltz in. His Majesty is expecting me, though, so step aside.”
One guard eyed him from behind his iron helmet. He lifted his face guard, and Slaide recognized the man from his missing left eye. Oswald. Not a shot in Hel he’s letting me through.
“As a matter of fact, I have strict orders to keep these doors barred until the meeting concludes. No one in, no one out. Including you, Slaide Elias. Especially you.”
“Aw, good. You do remember me. I was beginning to wonder if you’d already forgotten all the good times we spent together. Good to see you in good spirits and that you’ve managed to keep at least one eye.”
“No thanks to you, bastard.” He glowered.
“No, I suppose not. Anyway, it’s been great fun seeing your ugly face again, but we’ve got an urgent meeting with Magnus.”
“I said His Majesty is busy. You know better than to play the fool with me, Slaide. I learned my lesson. Never again.” He crossed his arms.
“That’s a shame. I was just thinking I’d get a chance to add your right eye to my collection, too.”
Hazel leveled an incredulous look at him. And he wasn’t sure why. Surely by now she’d figured out that his middle name, if he’d had one, would have been Despicable. Or perhaps Depraved. Or Wicked. He had a penchant for harassing and taunting his adversaries, and Oswald was no exception.
After all, it had been Slaide who’d relieved Oswald of his left eye in the first place.
The two had scrapped after an exchange of words turned violent in the middle of the banquet feast celebrating the Midsummer hunt.
To this day, Slaide found himself laughing at the memory, how he’d popped Oswald’s eye right out of the socket with a soup spoon—no sooner than the toasts had been finished—and launched it across the room.
The eye had rolled across the packed dirt floor and came to a stop before the paws of one of the King’s hounds.
The hound, of course, inhaled the eyeball without so much as a second thought. Horrified screams had gone up around the banquet tent, and one obnoxious woman had shrieked just before fainting. He laughed at the memory, earning a scowl from Oswald.
A knock sounded from the other side of the doors, ending Slaide’s romp down memory lane. Oswald one-eye and his partner stepped back, each grabbing a door handle and pulling their respective door wide.
A few nobles and council members filtered out of the throne room, followed by two more guards. Hazel stepped slightly behind Slaide, probably trying to stay out of the way.
As they passed, neither the noblemen nor the council members paid her any mind. The first guard walked by without incident. The second guard stopped to peer around Slaide for a glimpse of her.
“Hazel?” the guard asked. She glanced around Slaide, who looked between the two of them with narrowed eyebrows. “Oh, right,” he said. He slid his eye guard up, revealing dark brown eyes set into a tan face. “Better?”
Slaide watched as she squinted at the man. There was no way she—but he saw the recognition the moment it hit her face, her eyes lighting up.
“Zeke? Ezekiel Bertram. Is that you?”
Zeke lifted his helm off and tucked it under his arm. “The one and only. Gods of Caelis, Hazel, when I heard the news… I can’t believe it—the things they’re saying you did. But it will all get straightened out, you’ll see. And you’re…” he glanced over at Slaide, “You’re okay, I take it?”
Slaide stepped forward. “Is there a reason you felt a need to look at me before asking her if she’s okay? Because unlike you, I’ve been keeping her alive.”
Zeke bristled. “Are we pretending this situation is good for her?” He gestured between the two of them.
“She stands accused of using magic, which is crazy by the way, and you’re King Magnus’s own witch-hunting dog.
No one actually believes she’s safe under your watch.
Plus, you entered her into the tourney as your little pawn. But go on.”
Slaide stepped into Zeke’s space, which apparently triggered something in Hazel.
“Hate to interrupt this pissing match, but stand down, both of you. This is completely unnecessary. Slaide, meet Zeke. Zeke, Slaide. Believe it or not, you’re both on the same side. Sort of. At any rate, I’m unharmed, see?” She held her arms out to the side and spun around.
Zeke had the nerve to look unconvinced.
“Zeke. I know Slaide has an unsavory history, and I’ll be the first to admit his methods are… unconventional. But, walking around with him is like walking around with a helhound. It’s rare for anyone to so much as look in my direction.”
Zeke rolled his eyes.
“And Slaide,” she continued, “this is my best friend since childhood, Ezekiel Bertram.”
From beside her, Slaide grunted.
Hazel shot him what he figured was meant to be a warning glance.
“Not to ruin this sweet reunion, but we’ve got things to do, remember?” he chided.
“Wait, you’re working with him?” Zeke looked at her in shock.
Slaide flung his arm over Hazel’s shoulders and pulled her in close. “That’s right, pal. She’s helping me with an important personal project, and you’re currently keeping us from a meeting with the King.” He didn’t need to emphasize the word personal, but the way it made Zeke flinch was worth it.
Hazel tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held tight, a saccharine grin stretched across his face. She elbowed him.
“Knock it off. Yes, Zeke. Slaide and I are, as of today, working on something. I think. And we do have to discuss something with His Majesty. We can catch up later though, okay?”
His brow furrowed. “Yeah, okay. Good seeing you, Hazel.” He glanced at Slaide before adding, “Stay safe.” He placed his helm back upon his head and closed the visor.
The guard announced their arrival after the King returned from his brief break between sessions. Slaide knew their time was limited, as a second military advisory session was set to convene shortly. They had to keep this brief.
“Your Majesty, you have visitors. They claim it is urgent.”
Slaide walked in before Hazel. He sketched a full bow, and Hazel followed his lead.
Magnus squinted at Slaide as though he could see his true intentions. He then looked at Hazel, who bowed far longer than she needed to.
“Well, is one of you going to start talking or are you just here to waste my time?” he grumbled.
“No, Your Majesty. We do not wish to waste your time.” The words choked out of Slaide. He rarely had it in him to address the King appropriately and with such decorum, but they needed Magnus to hear them out.
Even though he knew this was likely a futile effort, they had to try. Slaide knew Magnus was aware of how Slaide felt about enslaving people. Slaide also knew Magnus was well aware of what would happen to his kingdom if his subjects ever learned the truth.