14. Chapter 14
Iwake with the uncomfortable certainty that I’m being watched.
Not in the obvious way, of course. There is no guard standing over my bed, no shadow curled at the foot of it like some obedient nightmare, no king sitting in the corner with that unnerving stare of his as if watching me sleep is a perfectly reasonable use of royal time.
Not that I expect Thorin to be there—I have dreamed about him some nights, though.
Most nights. And some mornings it feels real…
as if he sits there, watching me while I sleep.
Even now, the feeling is there as I settle in the bed, eyes heavy and persistent, pressing against the back of my neck.
I lie still for several breaths, staring at the dark canopy above my bed and wondering what has become of my life that waking up alone in a room larger than my entire cottage feels like the least troubling possibility.
The chamber is quiet, warmed by the low fire burning in the hearth.
The velvet curtains are drawn back just enough for the gray morning light to spill across the cream rug.
A tray of food waits on the table, because apparently the palace has decided to continue its campaign of feeding me into submission.
Bread, fruit, tea, and some kind of pastry dusted with sugar sit arranged beautifully enough that my stomach growls. Traitorous stomach.
“I am surrounded by betrayal,” I mutter, throwing the blankets aside.
The room doesn't answer, of course, but I suspect the walls are listening. Everything in Andell feels like it listens.
I eat the pastry, nourishing myself because I’m sure I’ll be forced to use my magic until I am on the brink of death again. Who will bring me back from that? Not the king, with his loyal shadows.
I'm halfway through getting dressed, braiding the unruly mass of curls before pinning them so the rest cascade down my back when Mazelle arrives. She steps into the room with her usual air of polished disapproval, looking poised and beautiful as ever. I envy her confidence, and authority she doesn’t mind exerting over people.
Mostly, I envy her ability to walk around the palace, unguarded.
Her eyes sweep over me as she takes one look at the empty plate. She says nothing.
“You ate,” she says at last.
Ah, and here I was expecting a dramatic comment on my appearance. For once, it seems that is not the central focal point for her today. I’m sure I’ll find some way to disappoint her.
“Yes, it seems my stomach won’t allow me to starve myself to death. That must be so disappointing for you.”
“It's not. Our king has no desire to see you starve. Well done for managing breakfast without being told—for once.”
“Don't sound so pleased. It was against my will.” I glance at the table before looking back at her with an exaggerated sigh. “I simply don't want to keep offending the cook. The food here is delicious.”
I grimace. “Unfortunately, that's one thing this palace seems to have gotten right.”
“It rarely is disappointing.”
There is something very irritating about a woman who refuses to be baited properly.
It’s as if she has had enough of taunting me, which is no fun because I actually enjoy it.
Onyx would have smirked and Thorin would have said something cold or infuriating, pushing me to my limit the way Mazelle usually does.
But Mazelle simply stands there, composed as a blade, waiting for me to finish carrying on.
Naturally, that makes me want to be more difficult.
“Am I being dragged to the garden today?” I ask, reaching for the tea. “Or has His Majesty decided to allow everyone a reprieve from my charming presence?”
“His Majesty is occupied today, and will not oversee your training.” She looks way too smug with herself.
The smug little smile tugging at her mouth tells me she's been looking forward to delivering that news. The cup pauses halfway to my mouth. The way she said it and the smirk that accompanies it sends a pang straight to my chest.
Occupied.
I take a sip of tea to hide it and burn my tongue for my trouble. Wonderful way to start the morning, as always.
“Tragic,” I say, once I recover enough to speak. “I had hoped to spend my morning with demands to work miracles.”
Mazelle watches me for a moment too long. “Our king has better things to do than watch over you. He is not your personal guard, Lady Tarethyn.” I catch something flash across her face, gone in an instant. Jealousy? No…. resentment, perhaps.
“Captain Onyx has requested permission to escort you through the lower city.” She continues.
The cup nearly slips from my fingers as I set it down carefully. After our kiss—Thorin is allowing Onyx to be near me? What game is he playing?
I watch Mazelle carefully, searching for any sign that Thorin confided in her about what he saw in this room days ago. Her expression remains perfectly composed, giving nothing away. Whatever secrets Mazelle keeps, I won't uncover them by reading her face.
“Onyx requested that?” I say, attempting to hide the shock from my voice. She notices anyway, damn it. I’m more transparent than she is, unfortunately. Her eyes narrow on me, sweeping over me again.
“Yes. Lady Tarethyn, are you hard of hearing?”
“And Thorin allowed it?” I press, wanting to know why. I need to know why Thorin is allowing it.
Mazelle’s mouth tightens faintly at my use of his name, which I enjoy enough to consider saying it again. “His Majesty approved the Captain’s request.”
That piece of information is very interesting.
“Why?”
“That is not my concern, nor should it be yours.”
“You, Lieutenant, are a liar.”
Her eyes sharpen at that statement while I smile sweetly. Mazelle steps farther into the room and gestures toward a folded set of clothing draped across the chair. When did they get there? I look at her as my brows scrunch in confusion.
“When—”
“You are not the only person in this kingdom who possesses magic that is useful. Keep this in mind though—it is possible to exhaust your usefulness.” She says, smirking.
Ignoring her last comment, I glance toward the outfit waiting on the chair: dark trousers, a fitted tunic, and a cloak lined with soft gray fur. Beside them rest black boots that look sturdy enough. They look like practical clothes. Travel clothes. So I am leaving the palace today.
“Dress,” Mazelle says. “Captain Onyx will meet you at the eastern gate.”
“And you?”
“I have other duties.”
“Oh, are other people on your agenda to harass today? I know you enjoy it, don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
She grins, turning to leave before she shoots me a glance. “Among other things.”
I grin despite myself, pressing my lips in to hide it. Her expression remains flat, but I swear I see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes before she turns toward the door.
“Mazelle,” I say before she leaves.
She pauses.
“Why is he allowed to take me out? Onyx, I mean?”
For a moment, she says nothing, just looks at me. The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if she’ll refuse to answer like she did before.
“The king trusts him.” The answer is simple, and she strides out effectively ending the conversation.
I don’t call after her; I have nothing else to say.
Despite what happened with Onyx and I, and my shouting match with Thorin, he is letting Onyx take me out of the palace today.
I don’t want to read too much into it, because I don’t like the direction my thoughts are going.
Instead, I walk toward the clothes, preparing to dress.
* * *
By the time Briar escorts me to the eastern gate, I have replayed those words at least a dozen times, and they make less sense each time. The king trusts Onyx.
His voice had sounded… wounded a few days ago.
I felt the cold fury sweeping off of him when he accused me of fucking the Captain of his Shadow Guard.
I didn’t misinterpret that. He sounded hurt.
And now he’s perfectly alright with me leaving the palace, despite telling me that he keeps me here for my protection? None of this makes sense.
Then I remember Onyx challenging him before Thorin ordered him out of my chambers. The words he spoke just before.
She's not one of your experiments. Remember that.
Thorin hadn’t acknowledged his statement then, or the fact that Onyx was challenging him.
He simply ordered him out. Why would someone living in a kingdom that fears its ruler not be afraid to say something like that?
Maybe their bond runs deeper than I thought, and Onyx’s true loyalty lies with the king.
There’s no other way to interpret Thorin allowing Onyx to speak to him that way.
There is a story there. History. And I don’t know it, because they don’t tell me anything. Of course there is. Everyone in this palace is made of secrets.
Onyx waits beneath the archway leading out of the palace, dressed in dark leather and armor that looks lighter than what he wore on the road.
His black cloak falls over one shoulder, and twin swords rest behind his back.
He’s speaking quietly with Riven, the broad guard from the gardens, but stops the moment he sees me.
His gaze moves over me slowly, taking in my appearance. He doesn’t nod the way he usually does to show his approval. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. But I feel his assessment like a hand against my skin.
Absolutely not. Not today.
I refuse to be affected by both dangerous men in this palace.
One is unfortunate. Two is careless, and could end up blowing up in my face the way it did a few days ago.
I walk to him silently, smiling pleasantly as I always do when I see him.
My smile is missing its usual excitement, though; I’m sure he notices that.
“Captain,” I say, lifting my chin.
His mouth curves faintly. We’re never this formal with each other, and I want to laugh and cry about it at the same time.
“Lady Tarethyn.”
I make a face. “Please, don’t call me that. You never call me that.”
“I thought you were starting to like your new title?”