Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The man who’d been given Goran Arranil’s title after his execution strongly resembled his father, so much so that Alethea’s stomach turned just looking at him.
He was on his knees in the middle of the war tent, wrists bound behind his back.
His face was pale and brutalized, his short blond hair caked with dirt and blood.
Despite his situation, there wasn’t a trace of defeat in his arrogant posture.
Emi, Dawes, and Kerrigan stood at the back of the tent, giving Nakir and his spymaster plenty of room to work. Alethea stood with them, just behind Emi, as if the small woman could shield her from what was to come.
“Couldn’t resist getting a good look at the new Great Lord of Ephesus, Arranil?” Gregor spat.
The temperature of the room rose a few degrees, most of it emanating from Kerrigan. Gregor’s eyes, defiant and filled with bitterness, met Kerrigan’s and then Alethea’s for a fleeting moment before Nakir intervened.
“You’re not going to talk to her,” Nakir commanded, roughly snatching the man’s face and forcing him to meet his gaze.
“You’re going to talk to me. If you speak to anyone in this room aside from me or my spymaster, there will be consequences.
” His voice was steel—another side of him Alethea hadn’t seen before.
Perhaps this was one of the ways he’d earned his reputation as a monster.
But Alethea wasn’t afraid. This wasn’t her first interrogation.
“Where did you get your mercenaries?” Balthasar asked, balancing a knife between two practiced, skilled fingers.
“Setta,” Gregor proclaimed proudly. “The Great Lady Erryn Osman was happy to support her sister’s righteous cause.”
Nakir crossed his arms. “And it was Queen Zenobia’s orders that brought you here, to my camp, where you were outmatched. Bold.”
A smug, bloody smile split the man’s face. He was clearly unaware of the storm brewing in Nakir’s silence.
Dawes cleared his throat, stepping forward to pass Nakir a piece of folded parchment. “Found this on him.”
Nakir opened it slowly, reading its contents without a change in his expression before passing it to Balthasar. When he spoke again, it was with barely concealed disdain. “Queen Zenobia has issued a proclamation... a bounty, if you will, on Princess Alethea’s safe return.”
Her stomach dropped. Her mother did know she was here after all. How could she not, after her stunt at the gates of Hyelea?
Gregor’s arrogant smile widened, his teeth bloody.
“And she gave you soldiers from Setta to come and get her.” Nakir’s tone dripped with disgust.
Nakir bent down, bringing himself to Leandro’s level. His eyes bore into the man before him. “Tell me, this promise she’s made... Do you really believe Zenobia Onasis would marry her daughter off to anyone who brought her home?”
“That’s what she’s said, innit? That’s the proclamation. Whoever brings the princess back to her wins her hand in marriage. Becomes the future King of Lenorea. Too bad you’re busy trying to take it for yourself the hard way, Aeshlien. You could save yourself the trouble.”
Nakir laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “If you think Zenobia would allow anyone, let alone me, to marry her daughter, simply for her safe return... you’re even stupider than you look.”
Alethea’s mind stopped at the realization of what had just transpired. “Whoever brings the princess back to her wins her hand in marriage.” Even now, she and her future were pawns in a game played by people who sought power for their own gain.
The realization was like a bucket of cold water over her head. Alethea would never be free from her mother’s scheming.
Emi reached for her, wrapping her up protectively, her expression stern. Alethea started to feel dizzy again, the room acquiring a slight tilt. The world seemed to blur at the edges, and the pain in her side intensified.
“Alethea’s future is in her own hands,” Nakir promised his prisoner. “Unlike yours. You’re going to tell me exactly how you found us...”
Alethea opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. The room was spinning violently now. Emi and Dawes caught her before she hit the ground, their worried voices fading as darkness claimed her.
Nakir paced around the Healer’s tent, pushing his hair behind his horns to try to stop himself from shaking.
“You’re going to wear a path in the dirt if you keep on with that,” Bernadea chided.
He didn’t stop. His mind was a tempest, the sight of Alethea’s unconscious form haunting him. “What were you thinking, bringing her in there, anyway?”
Dorian, a young man with sandy blond hair and brown eyes, attended to Alethea as she lay unconscious, the white bandage at her side tinged with dark red blood once more. He was Nakir’s finest Healer and the only one he trusted with her.
“She asked,” Nakir replied shortly, his tone sharp, unable to contain the frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“The girl was just stabbed, for Lilith’s sake.”
His temper flared. Every moment she spent unconscious grated on him. He’d already sent the rest away to take care of the mess that was his camp, but he couldn’t be convinced to leave her side.
“I noticed.”
“Aren’t you going to chastise me for giving her that Sending Ritual?” Bernadea was purposely provoking him, trying to give him something else to focus on to divert his attention from the gnawing worry.
“You and I both know that I won’t.” It wasn’t working, unfortunately.
“Very well. I’ll have to find another way to keep my trouble-making reputation.” The older woman chuckled. “Though if I had known what was to come... Ah, I would have still done the same thing. Look at you. You’re clearly attached to her.”
Nakir’s eyes narrowed, and he continued pacing, unable to stay still in the face of his worry. “I’m responsible for her. We made a bargain.”
“You’re in love with her, young man, and you know it.” Bernadea was unwavering.
He didn’t deny her, but his response was guarded. “It’s too soon to know anything like that.”
His Augur guffawed, her laughter echoing with a mix of wisdom and humor. “That didn’t stop your parents. It was love at first sight for the two of them. I’ll never forget it. And it changed the kingdom.”
He swallowed thickly at the mention of his parents, pushing away the ever-present grief that haunted him like a ghost.
“I think Evanthia would have liked her.” Bernadea gently brushed a few stray hairs out of the Oracle’s face while the Healer continued his work.
Nakir had no biting remark for her. He couldn’t deny the truth of it.
Alethea appeared almost peaceful as she lay there, oblivious to her surroundings.
Vulnerable. He couldn’t fight his protective instincts.
Hell, Nakir couldn’t even make himself leave her damn tent until he knew she was going to be all right.
“How is she progressing?” he asked the young Healer, trying to keep a lid on his temper. Dorian was a talented mage and had served Goran faithfully. He was the least deserving person for Nakir’s ire, but the man felt as though he were coming undone at the seams.
“She’ll survive. She may need to take it easy. I recommend she ride in a cart on the way to Meseira. She shouldn’t be straining or riding on horseback for several days.” Dorian uttered another few incantations before breathing a heavy sigh. “I’ve done what I can for now.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
“Of course.” The Healer stood and departed quickly. Nakir knew he had others to attend to. Though their losses were small, many of his soldiers had been injured.
“You can’t help it, can you?” Bernadea’s voice had softened to a tone that no longer irked him.
Nakir breathed a long, heavy sigh and sat down next to the Oracle.
“I can’t explain it,” he admitted in a whisper.
His gaze lingered on Alethea’s still form as he brushed his fingertips against her temple.
“I never thought...” His voice trailed off, unable to articulate the storm of emotions churning within him.
“That she would be dropped into your life like this? That’s how your mother felt about your father.
She was engaged, you know, to Emre Volkan’s late older brother.
But she met Lazaros and everything changed overnight.
Your horns aren’t the only curse on Aeshma’s descendants.
The Hasans are particularly known for their fierce, intense love.
It burns within them like a flame. You know...
in another world, the two of you might have been a smart political match. ”
He snorted, side-eying the ancient woman with disbelief.
“Think about it. She would still be the only daughter of the Great Lord and Lady of Setta. You would be the handsome, eligible young prince. In another world...”
Nakir’s jaw tightened. There was no point in thinking about what might have been.
Or what could never be. “She’s leaving when I take the throne,” he told the Augur flatly.
“That’s the deal we made. Our bargain. She’s got a whole world to see...
She doesn’t want to be queen, and the very last thing she needs in this world is to be tied to me. ”
“And you don’t want to be king,” Bernadea countered, lowering her tone.
Nakir sighed.
“You and I both know why you’re doing this.
Because you promised your father you would.
You promised Goran Arranil before he was captured.
These people all follow you not because you’re a Hasan, but because you’ve proven yourself through trial and tribulation to be a good man.
” Bernadea laid a gentle touch against his forearm.
“Sometimes, the heart doesn’t adhere to the bargains we strike.
It leads us down paths we never intended to tread.
It is hard for a good man to be king, but with the Truth-Teller at your side,”—she glanced at Alethea between them—“I believe you can survive whatever is to come.”
Everything came to a stop as Nakir’s mind halted on her words.
“What did you call her?”