Chapter 9 #2
I can’t help but respect the weight of his status. He’s more than an ordinary warrior. The rank of a General is a particularly hard position to maintain, given that they fight for leadership in a real ring. Grandpa made me sit through a few fights. It wasn’t pretty. I didn’t want to look, but
Trisha was smitten.
He must be very skilled with his weapon.
“He’s one of the best,” Aidon leans towards me, pretending to whisper. Jestin and the bearded Fae beside him shoot him an accusing eyebrow.
“Chief is readying Rhodria’s army for departure. He predicts it ought to be assembled by the end of winter.”
“It is outrageous!” A female Fae with short black hair cries out. She must be an ambassador from Tricity.
Don’t you know who she is? asks Aidon in my mind.
No, who?
Really?
Tell me, I demand.
It’s your mother’s partner.
I blink, scanning her face more carefully this time, taking in the sharp cheekbones, the piercing gaze. Slowly, recognition clicks into place. He is fucking right. Adrianna Prunar is sitting next to me. No wonder she was shooting me those dirty looks.
The deity, General, nods, his solemn tone contradicting the rigid control of his professional posture. “Chief has ordered conscription not only among the full-time warriors, but also within the courts, to provide their share of troops.”
“WHAT????” I snap, jerking to my feet and cringe, finding six pairs of eyes focused on me. Still, before I think of how to get out of the situation without further embarrassment, the problem solves itself on its own, because the whole room bows their heads in acknowledgement.
Either driven by respect or fear. I chose not to dwell on which.
However, three heads have stayed still: Lord’s, General’s, and Aidon’s. They scrutinise me without any inhibition. As if they could ever consider themselves my equals. What a joke.
No cute nickname for me? asks Aidon in my head, in an offended tone.
“Chief Gerald announced that the kingdom of Sindral threatened his autonomous court of elemental Fae. He intends to use Rhodria’s resources to crush an imaginary threat, though in truth he’s merely hunting a casus belli to justify his personal vendetta,” Jestin says, sinking into his chair. Silence follows. Every eye turns to me.
Elementals indeed share the closest border with Sindral, but the ghouls are too powerful to risk a war. Fae magic is strong, but the ghouls wield the magic of the seven deadly sins. Such a war would bring too many casualties, and that’s only if the twin Gods don’t exterminate us for disobedience.
Disaster.
“Chief sent a war declaration to King Marcelo Argos less than five sunsets ago. Filip…” Jestin gives me his knowing look. Fuck. That’s what Uncle Filip wanted to tell me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I fucked up.
”…informed me that the king received the orb and demanded a meeting with the High Queen, or he would send his army.”
My blood boils. The storm stirs inside, tempting me with a power so vast, it could devour everything if I dared to release it. I take a deep breath. Focusing on inhaling and exhaling. As if the fucking breathing exercise will keep my temper in check.
“I am planning on sending an orb to Chief Gerald to set an opportunity to discuss it,” I say with formality, successfully masking the rage inside me.
“That’s it?” Aidon asks in outrage. Loudly, bringing me under scrutiny of others.
Nasty bastard.
Vile scum of a Fae.
“Such an unseemly language.” He smacks his lips with a tone full of fucking disdain, and I whirl towards him, my entire body reacting to the audacity of him judging my manners.
And now they all stare.
Great.
What the fuck can I say to this?
Yes, that’s it, I am too weak to do anything about this.
Scumly cockroach.
“That is not even a real word,” he taunts, crossing his arms and leaning on the chair. The others shoot him confused glares.
“I am certain it was a misunderstanding.” I go back to the question, plaster a smile on my face, but I am not certain fumes aren’t coming from my nostrils.
If he pushes me any further, I will snap his head off, even if hurting the bond master will cost me some excruciating agony.
Yet, I am beginning to think that sending his sorry excuse of an ass to an early meeting with Gorok will be worth it.
.Are you offending my ass? I can assure you, My Lady, it is as well sculptured as my face, He says in my mind, all the time smirking like the asshole he is.
“Seleste, it is not,” Nulok interrupts, but I don’t follow the actual conversation anymore.
“The aristocracy raised many protests against this. No one could sway Chief from that decision. A few places rioted. Some youngsters didn’t want to leave and attacked the army. They were put down without trials.”
My heart shrinks.
Grief presses heavily on my heart. I fall into the chair, drained.
“You won’t do anything about that?” Aidon challenges me.
LOUDLY.
My fury reignites with a freaking passion.
“What do you want me to do?!” I snap before I can think better of it.
The collective disdain in the room almost gains physical form.
“My Lady,” General says, attracting my attention.
“If I can offer advice…” he says, still bowing, a hint of a smile on his decadent lips. Yesterday’s connection flickers at the edge of my mind. “…you can take your throne back.”
I stare at him. Another smart-ass chump.
If those males won’t stop infuriating me, I will take the throne back, only to reopen the Fools Festival and throw them in it as the main attraction.
Yeah, lock us in the arena to fight for your own amusement, a naked duel with our swords dangling for all Rhodria to admire? Aidon taunts in my head.
“Oh, of course not!” I snap out, fucking loud, and from the looks around, I reckon I’ve just answered to something more than his ridiculousness.
“You won’t take your throne back?” Aidon adds, leaning against the chair with a mocking brow, helping me catch the topic outside our mental connection.
“Most of the courts would support you, mine would,” Jestin adds, studying the amusement on Aidon’s face.
I look at him. Really look at him. No hidden smiles under those green depths. He looks as serious as General Smartass.
Does Jestin think I should? Does he believe I can? The thoughts pour water on my emotions.
“I thought I was too self-centred to be a High Queen.” My words ooze with sarcasm while I fish for compliments like a pathetic melted candle.
Jestin levels me with a stare. “You are an infuriating, self-centred female, but in a High Queen, this is a great strength. The Queen’s self extends to the borders of her Queendom. That’s a great trait indeed.
Because that Queen would fight for her subjects with her bare claws, like she would fight for herself.”
I am stunned. It is the nicest thing I have heard in years. Even before I made myself an orphan.
So encouraging.
“Of course, you would need to renew the oaths with the ruling Vikan, upon other impediments,” Aidon adds, always bringing me to earth, not letting me grow feathers. As if his whole purpose in life was to bring me down.
Right.
“Fae have it in their blood to serve you, vikans can refuse,” Jestin chimes in as if I didn’t know that.
“What is this meeting supposed to be? War meeting or fucking royal campaign?” I snap and watch as Jestin turns his head away in disappointment. With a hint of remorse, I turn to Aidon, only to find true disgust etched across his face.
“I read reports about villagers brutally whipped because they were late with their taxes, “ General says.
A whine of pain escapes me. Those poor Fae…
The General sizes me up, as if reading every broken fragment of me. “My warriors would fight for you, My Lady.” He holds my gaze, and I surrender. My shoulders slump in defeat.
“I can only promise you to think about that.”
“What is your biggest worry?” the General asks.
I glance at the other Fae. Jestin notices and dismisses them. Finally, we are alone, just the four of us. I straighten my back, chewing over my reply.
“I am not worthy.” There. I’ve said it. Vulnerable. Who would have thought? These males break me. I won’t be able to glue the shattered pieces again. Some parts are already lost. I don’t even know why they affect me so deeply. “I don’t deserve the honour.” The words slip out as a whisper.
The truth is, whether you’re worthy or not, you are better than Chief. That must be enough. Aidon’s voice thunders in my head, answering the questions I didn’t dare to ask.
Relief washes over me, though it’s bittersweet. I want to be a good Queen, not merely better than the worst choice. Vanity, yes, but I’ve never claimed to be without flaws.
“Sels, love. Better to question your worth than overestimate it,” Jestin says, easing the tension slightly. “If you agree, I’ll send an orb to King Argos. We don’t have much time.”
He pauses, giving me space to back out, but I don’t. I dart my gaze from his green eyes to Riven’s silver ones before nodding, more to myself than to them.
It’s time to get my shit together.