Chapter Nine
Xandril
The Presentation, well-attended as it is, will fare much better with Valenar introducing my bride.
He has always been the one with the charming smiles, the smooth words, the uncanny ability to move through all circles of society without drawing attention to himself.
If anyone from the Wardens should have taken the Emerald Throne, it’s him.
He has the patience for frivolous parties that I do not.
He has an understanding of the political battlefield in a way I never will.
My sole value lies in what labor I can provide for the throne.
There is no time to get more familiar with my bride when there are patrols to send out, reports to study, and endless damage to repair left by the previous king.
The throne tree is in a sorry state, all but withering to dust before my eyes.
I don’t know how long it will hold out for, but I know there’s not a moment to spare for anything that isn’t in service of the Crown.
Day after day, I hole up in the war room trying to undo the damage Farandir wreaked.
The Wilds continue to grow stronger, eroding our borders, infecting our lands.
In prosperous, healthy times, Crownwood would be able to protect its roots from the incursion, but in its current weakened state?
No one knows whether the throne will survive if the Wilds reach that far.
And while we face the unrelenting march of wild magic, our neighbors have seized the opportunity to strengthen their own positions.
Latest reports from the mountains suggest that soldiers from Iron Reach have been patrolling beyond their borders, perhaps scouting for something—a relic, a resource, or reconnaissance for a future attack—whatever it is, we can’t be caught unaware.
I refuse to be the king who failed.
Morwen enters without a word, back to fetch the tray of food I haven’t touched. She hesitates before lifting it, looking back toward me with an arch look.
“The kitchens do fine work with the limitations we have,” she says as if scolding a naughty dog. “Royals who take that for granted may soon find themselves eating the same porridge as the rest of us.”
I grunt, not willing to be lectured by her with everything else going on. Before she can leave, though, my mind latches onto her word choice.
“You don’t mean only me,” I realize.
Morwen’s lips purse, hefting the heavy tray like it’s light as a pillow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your bride is on a hunger strike.”
My stomach twists. Why wouldn’t she protest being attached to a beast like me? Even if it comes with a crown and title, it’s hardly worth the exchange. I should have made a new bargain with the Dealmaker. I don’t know why I stopped myself. Now I have one more complication to securing my rule.
“Of course, that’s not accounting for the missing breads and cheeses, nor the crumbs found in her laundry…”
My stomach unclenches a fraction. At least she’s eating. But Morwen’s not bringing it up for nothing. Castle staff talks, and if they’re unhappy with us, neither my bride nor myself will be safe. Other concerns may have to wait until I’ve taken the time to rally the troops.
“Thank you for your wisdom,” I say, dismissing Morwen while mulling over how I’m possibly going to keep everyone happy.
After sending orders for increased patrols through some of the lesser-traveled mountain passes, I look to the time and rub my eyes. A wiser demon would turn in for the night, recover some of their faculties before another day of difficult decisions. I am known for my strength, not my wisdom.
As I have every night since the Presentation, I finish my administrative work, stand to stretch, and then make my way down to the sparring grounds. The combination of bracing cold and engaging in something I know how to do are the only things helping me cling to my last scrap of sanity.
My breath fogs around me, the ice beneath my feet cracking and melting with each step.
When I step into the coliseum, the sounds of sparring weapons clashing feels like home.
I take a moment to absorb the sounds, the smell of sweat and determination, the group of demons who are slowly shaping up to be the kind of guard I might trust to protect me.
Not that I can take credit for that in the least.
“Imagine seeing Your Highness here,” Captain Hilduin says as she crosses through one sparring pair after another, her steps effortlessly falling in time so that she flows like a stream around each blow and dodge.
“Since when am I ‘Your Highness’ to you?” I ask over my shoulder while examining the weapons rack.
Hilduin perches with her hip cocked against the wall, one brow arched, her arms folded, no longer the captain I’ve fought countless battles with but rather the friend I’ve shared drinks and losses with. “I don’t know, when will you start acting like him?”
My hand clenches around the practice sword I’ve chosen, my body frozen while I shove down a wave of anger that I know shouldn’t be directed at her.
Hilduin steps forward, her hand covering the practice sword’s hilt and pushing it back to the weapons rack. “Let’s go unarmed. For old time’s sake,” she says with a challenge in her steely eyes.
I hesitate, but she nudges me with the toe of her boot.
“Come on. Let’s show them who’s running things,” she adds, grinning.
There are very few demons in the realm who would willingly engage me in unarmed combat.
With my stone spikes and lava fissures, not to mention my sheer size, most need whatever leverage a weapon or shield might provide them.
Valenar has his speed and agility, but even he won’t face me without throwing daggers.
As soon as word of our bout reaches the guards, they lose interest in their own matches, slowly forming a wide circle around us, skepticism written on all their faces.
It’s no wonder why, either. Hilduin seems terribly out-matched by the looks of it. She’s strong, and her build doesn’t leave any doubt to how capable she is, but I still dwarf her, and to an outsider, I should be able to snap her in half without much effort.
But Hilduin is more than she appears. She never would have made it to captain in the Wardens if she wasn’t.
Anyone with an ounce of sense could figure that out, but figuring and knowing are different things.
She isn’t the type to flash or flaunt her abilities, but when we square off, there’s no room for pulling punches, either.
“Captain’s gonna get flattened,” I hear from the crowd.
“I’ll take that bet,” answers another voice.
“Distracted already, Your Highness?” Hilduin taunts, widening her stance.
“You couldn’t be so lucky,” I say, circling with her, neither of us making the first move.
She feints. I don’t fall for it. I swing, she ducks. Token moves. The starting dance. She moves to feint again, but this time follows through, steeling her fist and jabbing me in an old scar.
I bite back a wince, heat flaring through me as she chuckles.
So we’re fighting dirty already? She only knows about that tender spot because it’s a souvenir from a battle we fought together.
Squaring my shoulders, I lower my head and charge her. Hilduin dodges, but slips on the ice and struggles to regain her footing. In that small window of opportunity, I move to strike again.
She’s ready for the blow, a solid metallic clang echoing around the sparring ground as my spiked knuckles connect with her steelskin. The impact reverberates up my arm, and I lose my chance to grapple her.
“Still the same old tricks,” I grumble, shaking out my hand, narrowing my gaze at her. She can only maintain the steelskin on one portion of her body at a time, and only for a short while. If I can trick her into guarding the wrong part, I could actually land a hit.
“And yet you still fall for them,” she grins.
Steam from ice melting around my feet hisses, making her chuckle.
“No better at hiding your tells, either,” she says with a taunting lilt that makes the space around us warmer.
The jeers and goading from the guards washes over me, none of it registering. I’m too focused. This is where I belong. In battle, using my strength, fighting those who’d stand in my way. Not up in a tower, hands tied by civility and decorum, feeling outwitted at every turn.
I lunge for Hilduin. For a moment, I think I’ve got her. Then the air shimmers metallic and she’s six inches to the left, leaving me stumbling and trying to catch myself.
“You still like up like a bonfire before you overcommit,” she challenges, sweeping my legs with a forceful kick.
That one, I’m expecting. Before she finishes the sweep, I lock onto her leg and pull her down with me, the wind knocked out of her as she lands on her back.
“And you can’t resist bringing someone down a peg,” I grunt, both of us racing to be the first one back on our feet.
She’s nimbler and faster, up and ready again in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, I’ve put too much energy behind too many missed blows. I’m winded, over-exerted, and running on pure spite and grit.
From the outskirts of the gathered crowd, I hear some chuckling and murmurs, I try to drown it out, but something filters through.
“Guess we know why he chose a human pet, eh? Can’t even keep up with the captain.”
There’s a howl of laughter and I see red.
“Must be easier for a Wilds-touched to tame a human.”
More laughter.
It’s the last thing I hear before a roar of rage fills my ears. The distance between me and the hecklers closes in the blink of an eye, and nothing has felt more right than driving my fist toward the ground again and again. Not for a long time.
Hands and claws grab at me, but it’s a steel grip around my wrist that finally breaks through the haze.
Hilduin drags me away, pulling me aside while the shaken guards tend to their comrade and eye me like a rabid hound.
I feel like one.