Chapter 42 #2
The guard led her to a drawing room of red-velvet couches with colourful cushions and golden drapes decorating the windows.
A fire roared beneath the mantlepiece and Arla had to physically restrain her hands from roaming over the rows of books crammed neatly into dark oak shelves.
How rude, to leave her waiting. At least she hadn’t come across Orson.
She had been left sitting for close to ten minutes before she could no longer contain the thief within her. Her feet carried her across the room, her hands brushing over ornaments and gold buckles lying on top of desks, and shelves. If they left her here any longer—
‘Did your mother never teach you it was rude to steal?’ a honeyed, familiar voice cooed from the doorway.
‘No, Prince Reuben, she didn’t.’ She turned to face him, craftily slipping a gold pin into her pocket. ‘Your people killed her before I had a chance to be taught good manners.’
‘Hello to you, too, Lady Reinhart.’ He was smiling at her, a twisted, defiant sort of smile that reminded her fleetingly of Hark.
Gods, just the thought of Hark sent a spear of ice through her heart.
‘As much as I enjoy looking at you, Your Highness, it is your father I have come to see,’ she crooned, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the mantlepiece.
Gone was the friendship they had developed a few short weeks ago.
She could see it in the way Reuben eyed her as if she were a firework about to explode.
She could see it in the way that not a shred of decency lined his face.
Fine. He could die, too, then.
‘Hmm, I thought we might hit this little snag,’ he said, a cold smile still on his face as he pushed off the doorframe and approached her.
She didn’t know why she didn’t move her hand to one of the many knives hidden on her body, but Reuben intrigued her in ways she wished he didn’t. He wouldn’t hurt her.
‘And what snag would that be?’
‘That you are not welcome here. His Majesty wants your head. It’s only out of respect for the King of Hadalyn that he has not ordered you dead on arrival.’
Arla swallowed the laugh so desperately ready to come barking out. ‘Oh, he can have my head, Your Highness.’ Reuben tilted his head slightly at her words, as if he couldn’t believe they were coming from her tongue. ‘But he has to come and get it himself.’
She tossed him one of her best courtly smiles and glided past him, through the doorway he leant against, as she followed the path she had mentally plotted the first time she had stepped foot inside Larkire Palace.
The throne room was easy to find and the guards standing with their blades crossed in front of the huge doors not unexpected. The thought of a confrontation sent a thrill through her blood.
‘Do you ever listen?’ Reuben called after her, his voice breathy and strained.
‘Not usually,’ she chirped back, finding far too much amusement in teasing the Prince of Kastonia. She ignored the writhing, sharp feeling in her stomach at the thought of killing his father in front of him. Would Prince Reuben balk at the sight of blood?
His father certainly hadn’t.
‘Then I suppose it is no use keeping the wolf from the door, is it? Weapons first,’ Reuben ordered, and for the first time since meeting him, Arla saw a sliver of the royal blood he bore. The authority and command in his voice left no room for even her attitude.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Thara growled through the bond.
She didn’t have a choice, though, did she? She had come here to avenge all those who had been affected by Elrod’s abhorrent practices, and to make sure Halos never had to worry that her children would face the same atrocities their ancestors had.
She needed to face Elrod today and the only way to gain access to the king was without her weapons.
One by one she unstrapped what she had concealed on her.
Blades slid from inside her sleeves, pressed securely against her wrists.
Knives at her hips dropped in their scabbards onto the polished stone floor.
Her bow was laid carefully on the ground as she pulled more blades out of her long boots, and even brutally sharp silver pins slid from their place in her hair.
Reuben looked at her in mild amusement, bewilderment smudging his features as if he couldn’t quite fathom the number of weapons such a small woman could mask on herself.
‘Finished?’
She nodded, her tongue curling over her teeth as he scanned the length of her body.
‘All of them, Reinhart.’
She sighed, pulling the final item from inside the waistband of her leather trousers and allowing it to fall to the floor with a thud. She was careful to leave the dragonhart brooch pinned to her jacket.
‘All done. Now that I’ve promised to be a good girl will you please let me speak to your father?’
Even Cyrus wouldn’t let her get away with the mockery and sarcasm she stitched into her voice. Lady Reinhart indeed.
‘Gentlemen.’ Reuben gestured to the soldiers guarding the entrance to the throne room, nodding as they sheathed their blades and pushed firmly on the doors. Without a glance towards her, he strode through the doors, leaving a clear path for Arla to follow.