Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Owain reached for a bottle of whiskey out of the small cellarette in his chambers when a knock sounded at the door. The rooms were well appointed, a spacious parlor that led into the bedroom with an attached washroom. The large balcony off the parlor overlooked some of the palace gardens.
“Come in,” he said, pouring himself and Chrys two knuckles of whiskey each. They were going to need it.
As Chrys entered the room, Owain waved his hand, putting a sound shield in place on the door. They would have to meet with Lord Patrin and the others this evening, but Chrys was the only one he trusted to talk candidly about their plans.
“I thought that went well.” Chrys took the glass from Owain and lounged on the settee.
“Ah, yes, do make yourself comfortable,” Owain said as he rolled his eyes at his friend.
“Happily.” Chrys smirked as he raised his glass to Owain before he downed it in one.
Chrys was right; it had gone as well as could be expected.
The king appeared not to suspect anything amiss.
He talked about the ways their kingdoms could improve diplomatic relations and seemed earnest about having Owain see the kingdom.
“How lucky for us that he assigned you to be guarded by the Hero of Fontina; that should make the job much easier. We might make it back to Edam before the infernal ball even takes place.”
“Lucky indeed.” Owain knew it hadn’t been luck that had gotten them this far but careful planning. Still, better to credit luck than to put all his cards on the table. “It would be obvious if we showed our cards too soon. Stealth is our advantage here,” Owain said.
“True, we will need to come up with a plan. You know Lord Patrin and those eager nobles will want to see the job done quickly. They have waited years for this; they won’t want to draw it out.”
“Good thing I am in charge, not them.”
“Much to their chagrin. Tell me, what do you think King Mikki really wants from us?”
“I don’t know,” Owain said truthfully. Like King Vernon, King Mikki had always been interested in remaining powerful. It’s how Emmental has maintained its status as the most powerful kingdom on the continent for centuries.
“Whatever game he’s playing, we have to make sure our plans are put in place first. Emmental won’t get anything over on us again.
” Owain raised his glass towards Chrys before drinking it all.
“Now get ready, Chrys, you have some spying to do.” Chrys smirked again, knowing his changeling power would be most useful for the mission at hand.
“You know I always love a bit of roleplay,” Chrys remarked, winking at Owain.
“Cheeky bastard,” Owain replied with a grin.
The two males discussed who Chrys would be impersonating first. While their goal was to spy on King Mikki and Orla, Owain didn’t trust the lords he brought with him, and he set Chrys to spy on them as well while posing as a member of the king’s staff.
* * *
A few hours, and a few glasses of whiskey later, Owain waited outside for Orla to appear for their tour. He expected her to come out of her room, but she was walking in from the southern walkway.
Curious.
She walked towards him, shoulders straight, face set in an impassive expression.
He had to steel himself as she approached since their meeting had not gone well.
It was clear she didn’t remember him; he didn’t think she would, though a part of him hoped.
He’d had many years to think about her, and he had heard rumors about the female walking towards him.
In Edam she was portrayed as vicious, bloodthirsty, vain, and self-important. That wasn’t how he had remembered her, but he had never actually talked to her, only seen her from afar. He knew that the rumors must be true, though, and her barging making demands of him was confirmation.
She had killed Gwayne, but he was a monster, and Owain had no love for his eldest brother.
Aengus, for all his faults, would have made a much better king anyways.
Of all the crimes she should have been held to task over, it was killing so many innocent warriors.
Owain struggled to understand how the female in front of him could have been so cruel.
Yes, Elves were ruthless, but surely killing your own warriors had to be beyond the pale.
Though, King Mikki spoke about her with such reverence, unfazed by her wiping out so much of his army.
Clearly Owain’s memory was faulty; he had been seriously injured the first time he saw her, after all.
But he had been tasked with a job. And the bargain he had made with his father, King Vernon, meant that if he succeeded, that he would be legitimized and recognized as his father’s true heir.
Right now, he was heir in name only, given the title of Lord when he should have been styled as a prince.
But once this bargain was fulfilled, his dreams of being accepted by those of his kingdom would be realized.
He couldn’t let one warrior get in the way of all he had hoped for.
But as she walked towards him, her full hips swaying, long black braids flowing down her back, a small part of him still hoped the rumors were wrong.
“What would you like to see first?” she said in a clipped, matter-of-fact tone, not meeting his eyes as she spoke.
“Still no apology, I see,” he said with a teasing air to his voice. The several double shots of whiskey had clearly taken effect. “How about this, Lady Orla, take me to your favorite part of this palace. You are the realm’s hero after all; I’m sure you’ve spent a lot of time here.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
That got her attention. She was looking him in the eyes now. Her dark eyes narrowed at him.
“What, hero?”
In Edam, it was always said with contempt. Who in their right mind would fashion themselves a hero after killing thousands of warriors, including their own, to take down one male?
“That and Lady. I’m just Orla. And have it your way. I’ll have you back to your rooms by supper.” And she set off without telling him where they were going.
She led him through various carpeted hallways before reaching an exit to the palace that led down a gravel path. It was a warm day for autumn, the way Owain preferred it, the sun still high in the sky. Floral scents enveloped him as they walked farther along the path towards the garden.
The garden she had taken him to was the rose garden.
It was laid out in a circle with roses of all hues, the brightest yellows to the deepest reds surrounded the large marble fountain.
Benches could be found on all sides of the garden.
The layout was similar to a large clock with twelve different varieties of roses set out in the large circle.
“This is your favorite? I don’t know why, but you didn’t strike me as a rose kind of girl.” The garden was beautiful. They didn’t have anything like it in Edam. As the northernmost kingdom on the continent, it was too cold most of the year for the flowers to grow properly.
“You don’t know me well enough to know what kind of girl I would be. But no, this one isn’t my favorite. You said I get to pick where we went, so here we are.”
While moving around the garden to take in the delicate flowers, Owain watched as Orla made her way around the flowers.
She stopped frequently, touching the various roses and running her fingers gently along the petals.
Turning her back on him, she ran her fingers through the loose soil at the base of one of the deep red rose bushes.
She seemed to relish in the feel of the soil.
Owain had never seen anyone look so content to be running their hands through a pile of dirt. It was strange.
She looked more relaxed here than she had in the palace.
In the palace, she was breathing heavily and picking at her cuticles.
Here, among the flowers, her shoulders were no longer up to her ears.
He watched her as she looked at the roses, her dark hair falling over her shoulder, revealing the elegant slope of her neck.
Her dark brown skin reflected the golden hue of the sun.
Something prickled along his neck as he watched her eyes close as she inhaled the scent of the roses. She looked peaceful.
The thought made him immediately suspicious. Here was a bloodthirsty warrior who had killed thousands. Likely, she was trying to get him comfortable so he let his guard down. It would be unsurprising if King Mikki’s actual goal had been to kill King Vernon’s last living heir.
Well, two could play that game. Owain would have to ensure he got what he needed from her before King Mikki showed his cards, or worse, forced Owain to show his.
He had to get information from her. Edam’s battalions had been decimated during the war.
It was why they hadn’t attacked again in the ensuing years.
As their prized warrior, she would know about if their king’s army suffered similar losses.
No sense waging another war only to find they were outnumbered, again.
“You garden?” he asked.
“I do,” she replied simply, looking at a particularly pink rose with petals larger than the rest.
“Gardening seems an odd pastime for a warrior.”
She stiffened at his words; he had clearly hit some kind of nerve. Her hands had been relaxed at her side but now they were clasped behind her back. Her shoulders, relaxed a moment ago, were now tense.
“No odder a pastime than playing at being a lord,” she said in a cutting remark.
“What do you mean playing at?” He said defensively as his cocky smirk fell.
She hadn’t seemed to remember him, but maybe she had heard of the bastard born to King Vernon. No one in Edam took him seriously. Most didn’t want him to be their heir, didn’t view him as worthy. Had she seen what they saw, a bastard playing at the games of nobles?
“You’re clearly a warrior, at least by trade.
For one, you’re wearing leather armor, you have a broadsword strapped to your back, and the manners of someone who grew up in the barracks, not in the halls of a palace.
” She looked him up and down as she read him like a book.
He felt laid bare and he didn’t like it.
“Nobles don’t even call you prince. So while you may be the king’s son, you clearly weren’t bred for this role. ”
Her caustic words cut him like a knife. She might as well have ran him through with his sword for the way her words made him feel. She wasn’t wrong; Owain hadn’t been bred to be the heir.
Until he was five, his father hadn’t even recognized him as his son.
But her words weren’t the only thing that shocked him; he was used to court mutterings about his background.
Used to the way people looked at him like he was less than, but she hadn’t said the words with that same malice.
No, she just spoke them as if they were a matter of fact.
Simply true.
He was used to the backhanded way that other Elves spoke about him, full of venom, disguised as pretty words. He had never had someone speak to him in such a direct way, no pretense, no bullshit, only truth. It still hurt like a bitch though.
“Tell me, are you always this impolite? I would have thought the Hero of Fontina would have better manners.”
More proof that the rumors were true. She was the self-important person others made her out to be.
“That’s rich coming from a male who called me vile mere hours ago. I don’t owe you politeness, Owain, and I already told you to stop calling me that.” She turned away from him, walking back towards the entrance of the gardens.
In a tense silence, she walked him around the stables, only breaking it to greet the stable hands that came up to thank her for her service. Orla would flinch ever so slightly whenever someone would come up to thank her or talk about her impressive deeds. He wondered why.
True to her word, Orla dropped him back off at his rooms in time for supper to be delivered by the butler.
Owain was joined by Chrys, Lord Patrin, and the other lords who had made the journey: Lord Allium and Lord Calix.
All the men were close advisors to Owain’s father.
And all of them loathed Owain. Lord Calix and Lord Patrin held him in particularly low esteem.
The men talked at length about their plans.
Owain’s objective was to get close to Orla and gain information about the current might of Emmental’s army and any weaknesses that could be exploited.
When the time came, Chrys would be tasked with using his ability as a changeling to kill King Mikki while donning the appearance of Orla.
The other lords would spend the time at the palace garnering support for the upcoming coup.
Owain listened to their plans on ways and means, but his mind was still in the gardens with Orla, fixating on the act she put on.
As if a talented warrior was that enthralled by a few flowers.
More than anything, he ruminated on the way she read him.
It was strange for him to feel seen like that; she looked at him as if he were as transparent as glass.
It took hours for the lords to feel confident in their plan for the next several moons, and it was well past two in the morning when they all left.
After the meeting with the lords, Owain found himself looking out of the balcony at the palace gardens.
These were different gardens than the ones Orla had taken him to this afternoon. Less planned and more wild.
These gardens reminded him of springtime in the magic lands when he was a boy.
The pale silver glow of the moon evoked memories of spending time with his mother in her homeland, eating berries by the river under the moonlight, laughing at the silly things his mother would do or say, and lying in fields of tall grasses as he watched the sunrise.
The scent of wildflowers enveloped him as he was transported back to those days of his childhood, and the last times he truly felt a sense of peace.
As he looked, he was surprised to see in the center of the garden, sitting on a bench with her knees tucked under her chin, was Orla.