Twenty Eight #2
Niyah blinks, coming out of her stupor and takes an open seat next to Rohan.
“Let me introduce you,” the king says, as he goes around the table and makes introductions to his nobles.
My head feels fuzzy, and Rohan sits beside me once more, hand on my cheek. I blink and look at him.
His face is full of concern, back stiff.
“Does Niyah know why she is here?” King Halen asks Ivara, and my eyes go to her once more, leaning forward in my seat.
“I’m aware of why I am here, Halen,” Niyah says, as I take her in.
Her back is ramrod straight, hands in her lap.
“That is King Halen to you,” he reprimands, an air of malice around him. The guards point their arrows at her.
Her mother leans into her and whispers something that causes her to tense.
Niyah clears her throat. “I apologize, King Halen.”
She doesn’t sound sorry at all, and Alexandar seems to think so too. He scoffs.
“Good, now.” King Halen smiles, steepling his hands on the table. “We’ve been at war for many years, Niyah, but we’re about to put that to rest with your acceptance.”
Acceptance for what?
“If you’re going to have me address you with a title, King Halen, I ask that you do the same with me,” she says, voice hard. I suck in a startled breath.
A quiet chuckle comes from across the table, and Alexandar’s usually bored face has a smirk upon it, looking at Niyah with so much glee in his eyes it makes my stomach turn.
Ivor hides his smile behind his hand while his wife clears her throat.
“Breathe, Little Whisperer,” Rohan says in my ear, and I turn to him, looking down. His thigh is still bleeding.
He was shot with an arrow. What am I doing?!
I reach a shaky hand toward it and he grabs it, squeezing softly.
“I’m fine,” he reassures me.
I grab his hand with both of mine, needing him to settle my nerves.
I want to leave this room where my nightmare sits across from me, where a cruel king drinks his wine while his deadly games kill off the Dragorie and dragons.
I want to go home.
And yet, elves are seated at the table.
Elves from where I came from.
“Very well,” the king says. “As I was saying, princess, we’ve been at war for many years, and how fortuitous it is that we can come to this agreement.”
“I have agreed to nothing yet,” she remarks. “We are talking through terms of the agreement.”
“You have no choice,” Alexandar says, and her head whips to him. She bares her teeth.
“Do not talk to me,” she spits, and I curl into Rohan more as he slides an arm around my back.
“Come now, princess,” he taunts. “You don’t mean that?”
She picks up a knife and throws it at him.
I gasp.
Alexandar lifts a gloved hand, grabbing the dagger an inch from his face, without flinching. “I guess you do mean that.”
“Niyah!” her mother admonishes. “Stop that right now.”
“He needs to stay out of it!” she shouts.
“He is your—”
“Enough!” the king booms, and I startle, my head swinging to him as guards step closer.
He’s standing now, face red with anger.
“I have welcomed you into my home and you will respect it!” he shouts, glaring at Niyah. Then his eyes go to his son. “And you will act as a prince should!”
Alexandar’s nostrils flare, but he gives a sharp nod.
“Forgive us, King Halen,” Ivara says. “I will make sure she is reprimanded for her outburst.”
Niyah tenses.
“See to it that you do, Ivara, and I shall do the same.”
“There is no need to go so far,” Ivor chimes in. “I’m sure it’s been a tiring day.”
“No matter the day, you respect the king,” Emerish scowls at the other elves, and my stomach rolls at the sound of his voice.
“Exactly, I will not stand for it,” Halen fumes.
I shiver, dreading to think about what that means as Emerish’s eyes return to me.
Rohan growls, and Emerish’s eyes flick to his, before he swallows roughly and looks away.
The threat is clear.
Don’t look at her, or I will tell Halen everything.
I subtly lean closer to Rohan as I look around the table to see if anyone saw that interaction, but all that is happening is Niyah and Alexandar are silently glaring at each other.
“You’re here because we have invited you to form an alliance,” Halen continues. “Over the coming days, we shall work out our treaty and an elf will marry one of my sons.”
“Is that who you have chosen, my king? An… an elf?” Lady Marcell asks, face sour.
“We just need to finalize the smaller details,” Ivara says, eyeing her. “Which I’m sure we will.”
“Yes, your letter did say as much.” Halen takes a drink. “Though if this… behavior continues, there is another to take her place.”
All of a sudden, every set of eyes in the room are upon me.
“If you are implying the replacement be Alara… Change it.” Rohan says, his voice a deadly rumble.
“Alara…” Niyah mumbles.
Halen smirks. “She is an elf, and this alliance requires an elf.”
Lady Marcell clears her throat. “My Franchesca is a wonderful girl—”
“Then find someone else,” Rohan growls, cutting her off and pointing to another elven woman that came with them. “Her.”
“I will find whomever I see fit!” Halen roars.
“Let’s just calm down,” Ivor tries.
“Not. Her.” Rohan stands, despite his bleeding thigh, while my heart is in my throat.
I don’t want to marry Alexandar or Nathanial.
I don’t want any of them.
I want Rohan.
King Halen stands too. “You think you have a say, boy?”
“I think it will be over my dead body that she weds to another. She is mine!”
“I’ll do it.”
My eyes go to Niyah at the quiet words.
“Is she though?” Halen muses. “I seem to recall you were to give her to me.”
“She was never yours and she never will be.”
“I’ll do it,” Niyah repeats, but no one hears her over the arguing.
“She is my property!” the king roars.
“She belongs to herself and me second,” Rohan counters.
“Rohan,” I choke out, my hand going to his side.
A chair slams to the floor. “I said, I will do it!”
We all turn and look at Niyah, her chest heaving, eyes wild.
“It has already been agreed upon that I am the candidate. So it will be me.”
Silence.
The nobles look at her, sipping their wine and muttering to themselves.
My gaze goes to Alexandar as he watches Niyah, staying silent.
“Very well,” the king says after a moment. “But just know that I can, and will change my mind if I am not satisfied.”
“You will be satisfied, King Halen.” Ivara reassures him.
Rohan is shaking, and I grab his fist, gently pulling his arm. After a moment, he allows me to pull him to his seat. Yet his body stays rigid.
“Ah, brother, are we vying for her affection?” Nathanial asks.
“Her affection is like knives,” Alexandar replies.
“Now then, let us enjoy a meal of a great future to come.” Halen raises his goblet, and looks at Rohan with a slimy smile. “Well, for some of us, anyway.”
“Lord Emerish,” Nathanial starts. “Shall we make a new bet?”