Chapter Twelve
Ingrid
Morwen does her best to impress upon me the kind of leisure activities that are appropriate for someone of my standing.
She really does. And perhaps with someone a little less strong-willed, she would have been convincing.
But no matter how improper or unseemly she claims I’ll be, I cannot be content sitting around doing nothing.
It’s not a luxury I’ve ever been afforded; there’s always chores to be done, animals to be tended, clothes to be mended, and when at last I finished all my tasks for the day, I’d sit by the fire spinning late into the night until my fingers were too stiff to move.
Stillness and I have never been well-acquainted, and with the state of this place, it’s not a pastime I’m going to adopt any time soon.
Appearances be damned. I’m already the subject of plenty of gossip around here, I’m sure.
From what I’ve gathered, Xandril’s no different in that regard, so what reputation or appearance do I have to maintain?
Morwen may be used to things being done a certain way, but like everyone else around here, she’s going to have to get used to things being different.
It’s not like the way things have always been done has worked out so well for these people. Maybe this place needs to get a little unseemly if it’s going to have any hope of recovery. In my experience, a proper cleaning always makes a bigger mess of things before bringing about any order.
After sitting through what feels like an endless series of measurements and fittings and being stuck with pins and pinched and poked—all while being lectured by Morwen, mind you—I don my heavy cloak once again and set off in search of my betrothed.
I’m sure as the king he must have his own designs for how to repair and replenish his new home.
Who better to consult about what I might do to be of the most use?
And after our encounter this morning, I am not quite so intimidated by him. His willingness to let me set the pace in our relations is…unprecedented. I cannot imagine any of the men I’ve ever known being so accommodating, and I find myself wanting to show my gratitude in some way.
The castle’s halls turn me in circles, bringing me back to the same few rooms within the keep—the throne room, the king’s study, then back to the hallway where our rooms sit across from one another.
My stomach twists, acid burning the back of my throat. It shouldn’t be this easy for me to get turned around; I tried so hard to pay attention when Morwen led me around earlier! Despite repeatedly finding myself in the spaces most likely to harbor the king, he’s nowhere to be found.
For a heartbeat, I consider abandoning this plan of mine.
What good does it do to win Xandril’s favor, help him restore his castle, or impress his people when I’m planning on leaving at the first sign of spring?
But seeing how badly this place needs help—any help—makes thoughts of deserting it come with a wave of guilt.
Swallowing that feeling, I turn back from our hallway again. Helping how I can while I’m here is the best I can offer. Whatever guilt is left after that will be my burden to bear once I’ve returned home and saved Phillip.
Finally admitting defeat, I start asking around the castle if anyone knows where I might find the king. Most of the staff are tight-lipped, or as clueless as I am, but the kitchen staff steer me toward the training grounds.
The moment I step outside, I’m buffeted by strong, icy winds and surrounded by three bulky demons in the same uniform. Staggering back a step, blocked from retreating any further by the door behind me, I’m struck by the sudden urge to flee.
But that’s ridiculous. I’ve done nothing wrong.
Future queen, I remind myself, squaring my shoulders.
“I would like to pass,” I announce with all the haughtiness I can muster. It’s not much, but it seems to do the trick. The guards split, leaving a gap for me to move through. I’ve taken only a few paces toward the training ground when I realize there are footsteps behind me.
I can’t imagine why they’d be following me, so I step off to the side to let them pass, in no real hurry myself. When I stop, so do the footsteps behind me. Staying a few paces back, the trio of guards just watches me like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
Squinting at them suspiciously, I take a step further toward the training ground. The guards take a similarly-sized step.
Oh…future queen, I realize, feeling silly for having to repeat the same reminder. It’s going to take some getting used to. Although, perhaps I shouldn’t get too used to it.
“Would I be correct to assume you’ve been asked to follow me?” I ask, the cold making each word more clipped.
The guards exchange a look, then the middle one nods.
“Is there any chance of you telling me who made the request?”
This time there’s no look. They all three shake their heads in unison.
Right. So whoever it was—I have three main suspects—is more frightening to deal with than whatever temper they think I might display.
That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.
“Right, well, if you’re going to be clinging to my shadow, the least you could do is point me in the direction I want to go. Would any of you know where I might find the king?”
If he was the one who sent the guards after me, he might still be nearby.
Two of the guards say nothing, not even giving indication that they heard my question, but the one on the end takes a half-step forward. “I can lead you to him,” they say, earning the disapproval of their comrades.
I’ve no doubt opinions about my presence here are split—the same happened when Lord Amond took his second wife, and she only had the misfortune of being from a distant country, not another world entirely—but finding what allies I can will be important if I want to accomplish anything while I’m here.
Instead of taking me in the direction I was headed, the guard leads me to a staircase made of twisted, winding branches, up to a watchtower of the same design.
The other pair of guards brings up the rear of our little procession, their heavy breaths fogging around us.
Right now, all the branches around us are bare, dormant for winter, but I have to think the leafy canopy that grows through spring and summer is magnificent.
The whole place is, truly. From the vantage of the watchtower I’m able to see more of the enormous tree that makes up the castle, the many twisting trunks and limbs that have grown into grand ballrooms and balconies, and even still there’s more beyond my view, stretching toward the silver sky.
Roots as big around as most houses form the ground I’ve walked on a number of times without realizing what it all was.
They form walls and gates before trailing down into bridges and roads in the village below.
Frozen fog hangs around the castle walls, so the bridges and roads are more shadows than anything, but seeing how it’s all connected like this, how everything here relies on this tree’s sustaining power, I suddenly understand why the residents are so eager for winter to end.
The cold and gray is difficult enough when it’s only the warmth and sunshine you’re missing, but when the whole of your world pauses for it? It’s no wonder Xandril has had a frosty reception. There’s little room for hope between shivers and thawing one’s fingers.
“This way. Careful, watch your step,” my guard says, leading me across a narrow walkway to the next watchtower, steadying me with their hand when I lose my footing on a patch of ice.
Getting to the third watchtower is much the same, and then my guards cluster around me again, each looking off in a different direction.
Confusion hardly has a chance to unfurl before the clash of steel on stone from below pulls my attention.
Xandril. He’s all I notice at first, sparring on the training ground, moving with an efficiency that I wouldn’t expect from someone of his size.
The dark gray of his color-shifting skin glows violet where his internal heat surfaces, the bright yellow-orange of fire just below.
He plants his feet, ice sizzling around him, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
There’s a familiarity in the way he moves, so similar to how he maneuvered me around the dancefloor my first night here.
I’ve done my best not to think about that again.
The way his strong hands supported me, keeping my feet hovering just above the floor while the warmth of his otherworldly heat spread along my spine before settling low in my belly.
There’s far too much distance between us for me to be able to feel his heat now, but the flush making me lower my hood tells another tale.
I’ve been so focused on my betrothed that it’s not until there’s a dagger at his back that I realize Valenar is his fighting counterpart. His feline eyes focus in on me, his tail twitching before he flings the dagger away, backing up as if to surrender.
Then, they’re both a blur, and the ice cracks when they impact together, Xandril pinning Valenar down, his whole body glowing like his internal flames have been stoked.
There’s a tense moment between them when I’m sure Xandril is going to smash the other demon’s skull, but then they’re both standing, Valenar laughing.
And then they’re looking up at me.
Suddenly sheepish, I offer a small wave, attempting to look pleasant. I know our interaction this morning was…awkward, but it seems to have been an honest misunderstanding. At least I thought it was, until Xandril looks right through me, turning back to the training grounds.
Whatever warmth I felt a moment ago is gone now, and I pull up my hood before the cold air can make my eyes sting any more.