Chapter 5 #2
So what if that vile old bitch had spoken true this time? Whatever she promised was merely a way to lure Aurora away from his side.
“And why did you allow her to approach my wife?”
The guard frowned in confusion.
“Because Her Highness allowed it, and because I ensured neither the high priestess nor her paladins ever got within striking distance. In the future, I will prevent her from approaching. Please, forgive my error.”
Theron pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was he taking his anger out on her guard?
The woman had done exactly as she’d been taught.
He’d not told her to treat Aurora as a prisoner rather than a royal, and he hesitated to do so now.
Word would get back to Boreas, and Flora would find some way to demand compensation for her adopted daughter’s maltreatment.
What he did to her as a husband was one thing—and he’d not done anything worthy of the queen’s ire—but if an attendant or soldier treated her disrespectfully that would be a different matter.
In the meantime, the best he could do was keep Orithyia and her ilk as far from Aurora as possible.
“You are forgiven. But any of Orithyia’s people must be viewed with the greatest suspicion. The high priestess has a knack for putting my wife in injurious situations, whether by word or deed. Now, back to your duties.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Theron spent the rest of the day trying to weaken the Viridian soldiers.
Mischief of all sorts had been the order of the day—sending his soldiers on missions to tamper with Viridian cookpots, spreading rumours that Stentor had angered the spirits, sabotaging the carts carrying the weapons and food supplies, and spooking the horses pulling the carriages of the nobles and bureaucrats.
By the time they had stopped to make camp, half the soldiers were puking their guts out while others were picking fights over who exactly had allowed the food to spoil.
Cart axles had broken by the dozen, leaving the remaining ones to carry supplies at a snail’s pace.
Even as the sun dipped below the horizon, the carts were still hobbling into camp, their pack animals bone weary and close to collapsing.
Soldiers were yelling at nobles for refusing to ride their lopers to make their carriages available for army rations and weapons.
All the while the nobles were whispering about bad luck and openly contemplating which rites they could perform to appease the spirits.
With any luck, when the bandits arrived the whole of the Viridian horde would already be tearing each other’s throats out.
As ridiculous is it seemed, Stentor really had been the linchpin holding together the Viridian army.
If Theron could ensure no one managed to take control of them, he was certain he could use the bandits and some well-timed mischief to have them abandoning their posts.
Provided, of course, that Commander Nireus discovered who amongst the Aureans had turned traitor.
Perhaps he should instruct Nireus to tell each of his people a different lie, one which would be of great and immediate interest to the Viridians, and see which one the Viridians acted on.
Musing on the best way to entrap the newest traitor in his midst, Theron entered his tent to find the first such traitor struggling to stand.
His heart clenched. Aurora looked almost as bad as she had when she’d been stricken by torchlight fever.
Though it was obvious she’d bathed and changed her attire, by the light of the brazier it was clear she was sweating and shaky.
Her breaths were ragged and her back hunched.
He’d only seen a woman’s monthly courses pain them this badly in two others he’d healed.
They’d both described the pain as excruciating.
Theron clenched his fists. He felt helpless—and angry.
Until Aurora allowed him to use his magic on her again, he would have to wait to find out if she suffered from the same strange affliction.
Thus far she’d refused to allow anyone to touch her unnecessarily.
But if the dark circles and ashen complexion were any indication, he might have to step in before she passed out.
Attendants stood to the side, brows pinched in concern as Aurora glared them into retreat, her arms shaking as she used the central pole of the tent to hold herself up.
“I can walk there myself,” she growled.
“Please allow us to carry you there in the palanquin at least, Your Highness,” one of the attendants begged.
“I said—”
“You’re dismissed. I will escort Her Highness to Myrina’s tent.” Theron stepped in.
Aurora turned her glare on him.
“If you insist on punishing yourself by walking there, I won’t stop you. But I will demand you allow me to take you there.”
It spoke volumes about the state of her that she merely scowled at him before taking his hand and leaning heavily on him. As they exited the tent and set off in the direction of Myrina’s, he dared offer more.
“I could carry you,” he said.
“You will not.”
He hadn’t married a woman so much as a fairy-sized cactus. But right now, she was weak and in pain. Any sane person would want their suffering to end. All she had to do was be in enough pain to discard her pride.
“I knew—and treated—two other women whose monthly courses affected them as yours does. If the tonics fail to assuage your pain, as I suspect they will, I can heal you as I healed them. While I cannot cure the condition, you don’t have to suffer this way each month.”
Her bitter laugh ended on a groan.
“The answer is still no.”
“Let go of your stubborn pride for one damned moment, Aurora. You can’t even stand without aid.”
“I can stand.”
“Then prove it. Let go of my hand.”
“If I do, then allow me to walk the rest of the way myself.”
She wanted to bargain? Good. So did he, and this was one wager he was confident he would win.
“Deal,” he replied, certain her legs would buckle from underneath her. “But if you falter for even a moment, then you’ll allow me to treat your condition.”
When she allowed him to take away her pain, she would realize how foolish she’d been. Once she discovered how much she needed his magic, she would be more inclined to view him positively. He would win her back one step at a time, no matter how ruthless he needed to be.
A haunted look widened her eyes and the last of the colour leached from her face.
She refused to meet his gaze. No doubt she knew she would soften towards him if he gave her the relief she sought through dubious tonics.
Aurora swallowed nervously, took a deep breath, and let go of his hand.
Her legs shook and she clenched the material of her gown in her white-knuckled fists, but she didn’t fall—didn’t falter.
Theron would’ve been impressed by her fortitude if she weren’t so determined to spurn him.
“Go on then. Walk. I’ll wait here.” He raised his chin in the direction of Myrina’s tent.
To his great shock—and perhaps hers too—she walked. Her gait was unsteady, pained, and lurching, but she put one foot in front of the other until she disappeared behind the nearest tent. Damn her. Damn her fucking stubbornness. How could she hate him this much?
He should leave her to her self-imposed suffering. Let her fall the moment she’d gotten out of sight. It would serve her right.
But the thought of her on her knees in the dirt, having to ask another for aid was too much to bear.
She was his wife. She should be asking him for help.
And in any case, her condition reflected on him. The wife of the King of Aureum, even a traitorous one, should live a comfortable, pampered life.
He said he’d wait where he was, but he decided to be just as dishonourable as his wife believed him to be.
Theron kept his footsteps quiet and followed her around the tent.
The red tent was taller than the average soldier’s and flew a red fabric flag for all to see.
Even in the dim light, it was impossible to lose one’s way.
Which is why he was shocked to find that she had not taken the most direct route to his aunt’s tent.
Nor had she taken any of the less direct routes.
Panic rose like a tide. Had she been abducted?
Had she collapsed somewhere no one could see her?
Before he raised the alarm, before his racing heart could control him entirely, he retraced her steps.
The ground was soft enough that he could see her small footprints in the well-trampled earth.
He followed her trail like a bloodhound on the scent, his heart dropping as it led further and further from the red tent.
When he looked up from her tracks to see where she’d been headed, a snarl built up at the back of his throat. There in the distance, the black tent and its black flag. Orithyia’s tent.
Aurora had betrayed him once again.
He shoved Viridians and clerics aside as he marched over to the black tent.
May the divine Triad have mercy on Aurora and her co-conspirators, because the King of Aureum would have none.
He would put to death every cleric below the level of a priestess and imprison the rest. He would demand Orithyia be deposed.
And as for his wife, she would spend the rest of the journey shackled to their bed or the palanquin.
No more freedom. No more deals. No more civility.
Every single time he gave her room to move, she stabbed him in the back.
Forget seeking her forgiveness, she would need to beg for his.
He would force her to dismiss the Viridians or he would send her back to Boreas, where she could live as his exiled wife and face Flora’s wrath alone.
The very moment he got back to Aureum, he would wed another, even if only a concubine, and make that woman his true queen. Then the moment the cycle of chaos was over, he would declare war on Viridis and his traitor wife.