Chapter 16 #2
King Korvane is exactly as I remembered, with narrow, deep-set eyes and a sharp, angular nose and chin. He’s not as broad as his son, and I doubt he was ever close to as good-looking, but his body exudes power. So much so, I swear I can almost see it rippling around him like an aura.
He moves swiftly, shaking the hands of the groups near him before turning his attention to other areas of the room. When his gaze falls on our little gathering, nausea sweeps through me.
‘Need my hand again?’ Llinos mutters. ‘Or would you rather my dagger?’
‘Both,’ I hiss back, while simultaneously forcing my cheeks upwards in a smile. I can fake deference. For now.
Korvane’s eyes skim past the rest of us and land on Benny. His lips purse slightly, but before he can speak, Benny offers him a courtly bow.
‘Benaris Birch, of the Eastern Isles. An honour to meet you, Your Majesty.’
‘Birch. That’s not a name I’m familiar with. Lesser noble, I assume?’
Prick, I think, as Llinos sucks in a breath next to me. But Benny seems utterly unperturbed by the comment. ‘Quite possibly,’ he replies with perfect politeness.
From there, Korvane moves his attention to Llinos and the others from the Isles, though where Jai has got to, I’m not sure.
By the time Coulter has finished babbling to the monarch, my heart is lodged so far up my throat I can barely swallow.
Every part of me is praying that Korvane will speak to Jonas next.
That maybe the two of them will get so embroiled in conversation that I’ll be able to slip away unnoticed.
But the king looks at me instead. His stare is just as piercing as his son’s. My hand is perfectly steady, like it could still hold a dagger firmly enough to stab him, but I resist the urge to test it.
King Korvane looks at me, waiting for me to extend a hand for him to take, but I refuse to shake the hand of the man who murdered my brother.
Rather than speak, he rolls his gaze across my shoulders and chest, looking for a tattoo. For marks of the city I show fealty to. Some people in the slums wear the Wrohelm rings, but not me. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than show fealty to anything this man and his family hold in esteem.
Knowledge sparks in his eyes, and I know he’s worked out who I am. ‘It would seem as though Etta is giving a chance to even the most unmeritorious in this Retterheld,’ he murmurs.
‘Are you questioning the Goddess’s wisdom, Your Majesty?’ I reply, my eyebrow arching. There’s no denying the sliver of satisfaction that comes with knowing my presence here riles even a tiny part of him.
I can only imagine what it’ll be like if – when – I win this thing. The thought makes me smile. He’s publicly said he will give the winner his favour, and it would delight me endlessly to see him forced to acknowledge me.
‘Not at all.’ His smile is thin, cutting, a threat rather than a kindness. ‘But Goddess though she may be, there is no denying that females are slaves to their emotions, especially in situations where only cold, hard logic should rule. It’s what makes them easy to manipulate.’
For a moment, my brain disconnects. Did he just insult the Goddess? I reply without hesitation, ‘Well, it is not for any of us mere mortals to judge her decisions. She chooses with a wisdom and insight that, unfortunately, even the highest of nobles are not blessed with.’
It’s a poorly veiled insult, but unlike Benny, the king doesn’t feign obliviousness to it.
Instead, his cheeks suck inwards and his jaw tightens.
When he speaks, his voice is like gravel.
‘I’ve heard there has already been one attempt on your life, Rettling Kultavaris,’ he says.
‘And before the inauguration, too. It can’t bode well for your chances. ’
I smile back. ‘A failed attempt, which I believe bodes very well indeed.’
He inhales with a hiss and my eyes are drawn to his hand, where a skitter of flames begins to dance. He lets them grow on his palm until the heat reaches my skin and intensifies. My jaw locks as my skin throbs, but I refuse to step back from his less-than-subtle threat.
As suddenly as they come, the flames vanish. He smiles slowly now, his expression dark and sinister. ‘Well, let us hope that you continue to be as fortunate throughout.’ His smile widens. ‘Then again, the Gods’ favour only lasts for so long.’
Done with me, he turns to Jonas. ‘Rettling Lorathin, I will admit I find your choice of company this evening peculiar.’
‘Just trying to make all the visitors to our great city feel welcome,’ Jonas replies smoothly, though I hear the tentativeness in his tone.
‘Indeed. I’m sure there are others who would welcome your hospitality. Though perhaps they are not as pretty as the companion you’ve chosen.’
A thrum of annoyance roils within me. The fact that both Korvane and his son think the only reason Jonas is at my side is so he can screw me says far more about them than us, and it’s taking every bit of willpower I have to bite my tongue.
The king straightens as he draws in a breath, causing the obnoxious stones in his crown to glint.
‘I’ve not seen your father yet this evening,’ he continues to Jonas.
‘I assume he will be bringing his wards with him to watch you and your new friends’ progress in the trials.
There’s one you’re particularly close to, isn’t there? I can’t recall his name?’
Jonas pales. ‘My father has several wards,’ he finally replies. He stands a full head taller than the monarch, but his shoulders have curled inwards, diminishing his height in a manner I could never have believed possible were I not witnessing it now. ‘I like to consider myself close to them all.’
‘How generous. I’m sure that is exactly what they need – a brother who loves them. I pray they all remain safe when you are in the trials. It would be terrible if anything happened to them.’ The threat is unsubtle, just like the man making it.
Heat surges through my body. If evilness has ever taken on a corporeal form, it is surely standing here, right in front of me.
He killed a baby boy, and he’s near enough threatening to do the same to Jonas’s brother, just because Jonas is standing at my side.
How the Gods can allow such a man to rule is beyond me.
My teeth grind together but before I snap, the king dips his chin slightly, flashing his most demure of smiles, which fools precisely no one.
‘I will let you enjoy the rest of your evening,’ he says, with one final glance at me. ‘It is time I attend to my more … esteemed guests.’
And with that final insult, he spins on his heel and leaves.