Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
The rage-filled shouts circled Dimitrios like a cloak made of pure flame.
The main hall had once been a place of gossip, food, and wine, comfort for all these provincial lords. The fury in this room sealed at least one decision: asking for a vote would hand Alexandra the crown.
Very few offered him mercy.
Rena Nicolea, however, had all these men by the balls.
His aunt had arrived days ago, released by Antonis to attend Court as his proxy. She’d arrived and greeted him with her typical warmth. She asked after his health. Made him feel loved and seen.
Then, instead of asking for rooms or rest, she asked a question he would have only expected from his mother. “How can I help?” The woman didn’t want sleep. She had to be reminded to eat. Any hint of gossip earned a look that sent the busybodies scurrying.
Dimitrios immediately wrote Pandora with his observations and assured his mother that her little sister had him well in hand.
Today, Rena had all of Court in a tight fist. She was fearless, and these men hung on her every word. When she recounted the situation between Leonidas and Titos, they appeared to believe her.
For the most part.
Even with proof in hand, Dimitrios’s very presence called everything into doubt.
“Why should we believe you?” one of the lords barked at Dimitrios. He shoved to his feet and waved a crumpled letter with Titos’s seal overhead. “You could have forged these to protect your name.”
“Leonidas was a good, loyal Perean man,” another shouted. “You’re nothing but a foreigner—”
“Enough.” Rena sliced a look over these men that would draw blood if they weren’t careful with their next words. “Protect Leonidas’s name and loyalty to your dying breath, but the ink on these letters has long been dry.”
The room hushed.
Rena stood at the center, turning, the full weight of her stare on every single member.
“Panilis’s financial records do not lie,” she said, lifting a thick volume bound in deep red leather.
“I’ve reviewed every line. Underreported profits.
Bribes from merchant guilds. Entire sectors gutted by smuggling, all under Leonidas’s protection.
Shall I read the entry detailing payment for the spies stationed in the Soterran court?
Personally, I found the withdrawals for personal use quite interesting—that’s it, that’s the line: personal use.
I understand that we funded military actions without clear orders as well. Our coffers are dry, My Lords.”
“Leonidas lowered our taxes,” someone shouted from the back.
The dead man’s defense reinvigorated the cheers in support.
Rena laughed. “But you believe those letters from Titos Demakis to be a lie, My Lord, do you not? In saying as much, then you also believed Leonidas when he told you he was acting on my nephew’s request. Shouldn’t you then credit Dimitrios for those lowered taxes?”
The men grumbled.
“If the letters are real,” she continued, “then Leonidas was ordered to placate you while Soterran men robbed your trade routes. In that case, My Lord, you would be correct. Leonidas lowered your taxes of his own volition, only he did it at Titos’s command.”
The arguments resumed, this time with half the room quarreling with the other half.
Dimitrios slipped out of the chaos.
On the outskirts, General Pateras stood waiting, eyes sharp, mouth grim. He gave a pointed nod to Rena. “In a different life, your aunt would have made an excellent general.”
Dimitrios’s mouth turned up in a way that felt unfamiliar and raw, but real. “I’m lucky to have her.”
“While she establishes your good name here, we should talk. Privately.”
They left the shouts behind in favor of the quiet corridor outside.
“I found our missing unit,” Pateras began.
Dimitrios’s heart gave a mighty thunk. “Where?”
“Communication meant for Leonidas eventually made it to my desk, and it appears that they were ordered to sail to Yiria. Commander Demas reported their arrival and preparations for attack.” The general exhaled a sharp breath through his nose. “There’s more.”
Dimitrios’s heart slammed into his ribs. Once. Twice. “What happened?”
“Communications are slow between here and Yiria—whatever their orders, they’ve likely already been carried out. I’m actively working on answers, but…I can’t imagine it went well. For us. This was a foolish—”
“We attacked the Yirians? What could Leonidas have possibly been think—?” The answer hit like a struck bell.
“Our coffers are empty. Our navy has been weakened. Attacking an ally with a renowned military force would be an exceedingly stupid decision for a new king to make, and might turn the local population against him.”
Pateras straightened. “You think Titos ordered this?”
“He could overturn us with little to no effort if this were to get out.” Dimitrios motioned to the main hall. “It’s already starting.”
Pateras nodded. “It’s entirely possible. Yiria’s Grand Matriarch won’t react well. This will likely invite another war.”
“We can’t afford a war. We can barely support our current defense against Soterra as it is, and they have yet to throw any real weight behind an action.
” Dimitrios shoved fingers through his hair.
“We have to speak to their Grand Matriarch right away. She has to know I never would have sanctioned this.”
“Have you yet chosen someone to replace Nektarios Callas?”
So far, the only chosen member of his council was the man standing before him. He had yet to find anyone he could trust as his foreign emissary.
“Any suggestions?” Dimitrios asked.
“I’ll give it some thought if that is what you wish.”
“Please.”
“In the meantime, might I suggest you reach out to Yiria yourself? It will take time to reach her, but as I understand it, Shadi is a reasonable woman and will, at the very least, listen to what you have to say. We shouldn’t delay.”
Dimitrios dropped his chin in a nod, then froze as the familiar sound of clacking nails sprinted toward him. He turned as three pups skidded around a corner, followed by Caius, who was sweating and out of breath. Theron, Thalios, and Lykos leapt excitedly at Dimitrios’s legs.
He bent for his pets and let them lick his chin and face, the tension of the last hour vanishing from his limbs. “Devils, what are you doing out of your room?”
“They snuck out,” Caius explained, breathless.
A rare chuckle escaped the general. “I will see if I can learn anything more about our situation, and report back, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, General.”
Milonia appeared then, nearly as out of breath, and swept to a stop upon seeing him. Today, her chiton was a pristine ivory, fastened at the shoulders with bronze clips. Geometric patterns bordered the hem and neckline in deep shades of burgundy and gold.
“My apologies,” she said. “It seems someone”—she shot a look at her son—“didn’t latch the door properly.”
His Head of House had a way of avoiding his gaze in recent weeks, and he couldn’t stand it despite knowing it was for the best. The kiss they shared slammed into him every time he saw her, and he wanted more. Needed more.
“It’s all right,” Dimitrios said.
He’d taken to letting the dogs roam the palace with him, but didn’t think it appropriate today. Caius had an open invitation to play with them, however, and it seemed the young man had taken advantage in his absence.
“They need a walk outside,” Dimitrios said to Caius. The puppies yipped and bounced at the familiar word, then darted toward the exit. They knew exactly where to find the nearest garden. “I trust you’re up for the task?”
The boy beamed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Go on, then. Hurry.”
“Stay close,” Milonia said. She smiled after her son, but her expression faltered at the edges.
Dimitrios should find Pateras. Or return to the stake at the center of the furious lords. But that damning scent—lilacs. Faint but inescapable. The woman had him chained by the ankle to her every move.
His heart kicked hard, ravenous. Would she taste the same? He’d been avoiding peaches since their kiss, unable to stand the sweetness of it when it didn’t come from her mouth.
“I should go.” Milonia’s words were formal, and her eyes swept the floor, the walls, the tapestries. Never him. The courage she was rarely without seemed to have vanished entirely.
She turned away, chin lowered, and started back the way she came.
Her approaching absence became a weight too unpleasant to bear. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
She froze, gown swaying gently around her ankles.
He moved in behind her, drawn like a midnight tide. Close enough to feel the day’s heat lingering on her skin. “I’ve been avoiding you, as well,” he murmured. “It hasn’t helped.”
Milonia turned, slow and deliberate, lifting her chin. Those dark golden-brown eyes—utterly unreadable—locked with his.
Her lips parted—
He braced for a dismissal.
But her voice was breathy. Uneven. “Not for a lack of trying, it seems.”
“Should we…” He dared another step closer. “Talk about it?”
The long column of her throat moved with a deep swallow. “We can.” She glanced down the hall, where voices escaped from the main hall. “Maybe not here.”
Dimitrios should see to the shouts, but… His presence wouldn’t solve anything right away. It would take time and finesse to win those men over.
Besides, dead men can’t rule, and Milonia was single-handedly bringing him back to life. He’d be a fool to let this distance between them grow further.
He considered their location and the distance to his or her private chambers. Too far. However, one room nearby sat empty this time of year. “Follow me.”
The frosted panes inside the winter solarium let in a wash of silver light. The hearth, carved with etchings of winter flora, sat cold and dark. The room was hushed, too warm. A whole world away from the madness outside.
Milonia stepped past him to glide her fingertips across the surface of the marble table in the center.