Chapter 9 #2
‘And yet I find myself forced to ask.’ Hal sighs, leaning back in his throne.
‘If the people don’t know what to believe, then let’s give them something to believe in.
Let’s show them we’re strong.’ He pulls a sheet of parchment towards him.
‘We sent envoys to all our neighbouring kingdoms weeks ago. Have there been any developments?’
Kalf grimaces.
‘What about Alvora?’ Hal continues, failing to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘Does Queen Celeste intend to support me against my uncle?’
‘We’ve had no word, sire,’ says an adviser in a shimmering golden cloak.
‘And what of the Eastern Isles? Zafar and Katteran?’
Alator looks shifty. ‘Nothing yet. Though I believe your mother’s brother, the King of Vost, has sent a letter. It arrived this morning.’
He fishes it out of the pile and hands it to Hal, who rips it open, then exhales. ‘King Gethen will come to my aid if required.’
My small sigh of relief is countered by a prickling sensation up my spine – the ghost of a lash upon my back.
It was King Gethen’s daughter, Lira, Hal’s cousin, who ordered that I be whipped for spilling wine on her dress.
Only, it wasn’t me. It was a boy serving at the same table, Pip, whose little hands were shaking so badly that he lost control of the jug.
There are many different kinds of fear. I’ve felt them all twice over.
But the fear I felt for that child in that moment overrode any I may have been harbouring for myself.
So I took the blame. The first lash was blinding, the ones that followed worse, cutting deeper, covering my back in a series of bloody welts.
I could barely move afterwards. If it weren’t for Ingra, I might very well still be tethered to that post right now.
‘That leaves our most important alliance,’ Alator is saying. ‘And most pressing.’
‘King Merrick may have been a friend to your father, sire, but he’s a slippery man,’ says Kalf. ‘He likes to be on the winning side.’
‘Who doesn’t?’ Hal mutters.
‘Quite. But unlike your father, who was an honourable ruler, King Merrick will do anything in his power to secure the best alliance, even if that means deceit and duplicity. Even if that means saying one thing and doing another, signing a treaty but adding a hidden clause.’
Alator nods gravely. ‘He’s been known to switch sides at the last possible moment, just to ensure his victory.’
Hal half closes his eyes. ‘What’re you saying?’
‘That King Merrick walks a fine line, sire. He may be your most powerful ally, but he could easily become your biggest threat. If there is going to be a war, he does not care whether you win or whether King Balen wins – only that he does.’
‘He has informed us that during times of such … political uncertainty, he is reconsidering his position.’ Kalf slides another piece of parchment towards Hal with the heel of his hand.
‘This marriage treaty means nothing until you prove to King Merrick that you are the stronger ally. Only then will he consent to give you his daughter.’
My stomach tightens, then shrinks. All around, the walls seem to close in, hundreds of portraits bearing down on me.
For I realize now who they are discussing.
King Merrick … of Thaven. Ruler of Etheri with the power to manipulate precious metals, and father to the beautiful, golden-haired crown jewel of the kingdom – Princess Mirade.
Hal is squeezing the arms of his throne so tightly I fear his knuckles may burst through the skin. He’s watching me, his face slack, eyes dull.
We don’t talk about his betrothal. It’s easier that way.
For the thought of him with somebody else – courting her, kissing her, marrying her – looms over me like a taunting shadow, too painful to bear.
So we pretend it doesn’t exist. But if the union between Hal and the princess is the surest way to victory against his uncle …
For so long I have dreaded this wedding. Now I find myself dreading what might happen if it doesn’t take place. One look at Hal tells me he’s thinking exactly the same thing.
‘Sire?’ Alator prompts.
‘Out.’ It’s barely a whisper.
‘But we –’
‘I said, get out!’ Hal yells, slamming his fist on the table and knocking over his glass. Red pools on white parchment.
His advisers do as he commands, scurrying past me out of the door, led by a concerned-looking Alator.
Kalf lingers a moment, seemingly unsure whether to be irked at his dismissal or pleased that Hal is finally starting to act like an emperor.
When he limps after the others, not bothering to cast a glance in my direction, Hal and I are left alone.
For a time, neither of us speaks.
Then Hal says, ‘I need to clean this up.’
I move across to him. ‘Let me.’
‘No, I’ll do it. I spilled it. I’ll clean it up.’ He takes the rag from my hand and begins scrubbing clumsily at the documents in front of him, smearing the wine even more.
‘Hal –’
‘It won’t – I’m just making it worse –’
‘Hal.’ I rest my hand atop his, and he stills. Gently, I disentangle the rag from his fingers and begin blotting at the parchment.
‘This is such a mess,’ he says, and I know he’s not referring to the wine.
‘My own uncle is trying to usurp me. My half-brother murdered the Council. Which member of my family intends to betray me next? Should I barricade myself inside my rooms in case my mother decides to slit my throat on a whim?’ He barks out an empty, humourless laugh.
‘My House is divided. My advisers doubt me. Even some of the Eyes are spying for Balen. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who’s ever truly honest with me. ’
Guilt chimes in my chest, ringing harsh and loud.
‘What are you going to do?’ I whisper.
‘There are too many chinks in my armour,’ Hal says quietly. ‘And I’m going to fix it.’