Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sickly-sweet smell of stale whiskey permeated the air of the dank room.
It had been a week since Orla left Owain alone and bleeding on his chamber floors.
Her dagger had been buried deep, and it took nearly a quarter of an hour to heal himself.
He still felt a twinge of pain each time he walked.
Though the pain of Orla’s words had cut deeper than any dagger ever could.
A worthless bastard. That’s what he had always been to the nobles of Edam. What he had made himself to her through his actions.
Owain’s thoughts returned to that night, as they had time and time again since she left him.
She hadn’t been on the terrace after he spoke with Chrys, so he went looking for her.
The last thing he expected was for her to be holding a dagger to his throat, ready to kill him when he had walked into their rooms. He had planned to tell her that night on the terrace.
To tell her what he had been plotting and how he wouldn’t go through with it.
To tell her that she had changed him. That he loved her.
But clearly, someone got there first, and now she was gone.
It didn’t matter that, by all official accounts, he had achieved his goals. King Mikki was dead. His father, King Vernon, was now on the way from Edam to Imsil to claim the throne, claiming both Edam and Emmental as his rightful kingdoms.
By decree of the king, Owain was legitimized and had become the new heir apparent and prince of both Edam and Emmental.
He was to rule Edam in his father’s stead while his father secured Emmental for his own.
Because Orla had been seen near the king’s private offices and fled shortly after King Mikki’s death, Lord Patrin and Lord Calix declared her as King Mikki’s murderer and traitor to the realm.
The plan Owain had painstakingly put into place had been a success.
Respect, honor, power. They were all his for the taking. But he just felt numb.
He had spent the majority of the last week in his rooms. Chrys had once again been donning his likeness to attend meetings in his stead. Each morning Owain woke, he drank, he slept, he drank. A vicious cycle of self-pity for a male who deserved none.
Orla had been right; he had betrayed her.
It was his fault that she was attacked in the gardens.
His fault that she had come to the palace in the first place.
It was his missive to King Mikki, requesting her presence, that brought her to the place she hated so much.
It didn’t matter what happened afterwards; he had never been honest with her.
She had given so much of herself to him, and he had only given her lies and deceptions.
“You look like a pile of horse shit.”
He hadn’t even heard the door open, but Chrys walked into the parlor before opening the curtains that Owain had drawn over the balcony.
He hated looking out at the gardens now.
It was impossible to look at them and not think of Orla.
The first few nights after she left, he would sit out on the balcony and wait, hoping against all odds that she would appear.
“You sure know how to make a male feel wanted,” he said dryly before taking a long swig of his glass of whiskey.
He was sure Chrys was right. It had been a week since Orla left, and Owain hadn’t shaved or even bathed.
His usually scruffy jaw was now a small untamed beard, and there was no way he didn’t reek of whiskey, as it was his only sustenance for the past week.
“Ah, but you are wanted,” Chrys said sarcastically.
“A whole kingdom is wondering when their heir will return to Edam. But it seems like you couldn’t care less.
” He always knew it was bad when Chrys was the one dressing him down.
He continued. “And I can’t keep impersonating you unless you decide to drink yourself to death in these rooms and want me to become the actual Prince of Edam and Emmental. ”
Owain sighed deeply. Chrys was right. His wallowing wouldn’t bring Orla back.
It wouldn’t erase the pain that he had caused her.
It wouldn’t make her love him. He knew the role he needed to play and the mask he needed to don.
But now the mask and the role felt off. He could finally breathe with Orla, but now that air was gone, leaving nothing but choking oppression in its wake.
Nodding with resolve, he stood up from the settee that had become his resting place.
“Meet me in an hour. I’ll be ready.”
An hour later, Owain was finally bathed and no longer smelled of whiskey.
He had been too tired to shave so he left the beard, but with Chrys by his side, he soldiered on to a meeting with Lords Patrin, Calix, and Allium, as well as the heirs to the Kingdoms of Mondseer and Urdhe, who were now allied with the new King Vernon and his cause.
All five of the males bowed when Owain entered the room, muttering “Your Highness” in terse greetings.
It should have elated him to be the most powerful male in the room and to command their respect.
But a part of Owain knew that they still didn’t respect him.
As always, they acted their parts to his face, but there was no love or adoration on these males’ faces at having him be named their heir.
It would never be enough. He would never be enough.
He was now the prince of the largest kingdom on the continent of Esrom.
The heir apparent to the crown; and he was still be nothing but a worthless bastard in their eyes.
Owain had betrayed the one person who had ever looked at him like he was worth a damn for them.
Hells, he was an imbecile.
Owain’s numb resolve carried him through the meeting just enough to pay attention to what the other lords were saying.
His father would be there in a manner of days.
The Edamish forces hadn’t needed to engage the king’s army.
Since the palace’s official message was that Orla killed King Mikki, the coup had been swift and effective.
There had been whispers from several members of the staff that something was amiss with the official story.
Those unlucky enough to get caught expressing such notions were quickly put to death.
King Mikki’s closest advisors were rotting away in the palace dungeons, and knowing King Vernon’s penchant for violence, they would likely die soon as well.
Rumors spread that King Mikki’s queen was locked away in her quarters, surely one of the next to be put to the sword.
Now the only issues were dealing with challenges to King Vernon’s claim to the crown, which would likely come from the Kingdoms of Pommel and Roquefort.
They were the two smallest kingdoms on the continent, and neither had access to trade with the other nations, making it unlikely that they would be able to withstand an assault from the other kingdoms.
“Your father will be most proud.” The praise was laced with venom. Though no one was owning up to their role, Owain had assumed it was Lord Calix who had actually killed King Mikki. Owain wasn’t sure why the lords were overstating his hand in their coup, but he knew it was not to his advantage.
* * *
The days continued in a monotonous drone. The only thing of note being his father’s imminent arrival. Would he be proud? Would he finally look at Owain the way he had looked at Gwayne and Aengus? Or would he hold the same contempt for Owain as he always had?
On the day of his father’s arrival, Owain was summoned to the throne room. He hadn’t been in the room since the days after Orla’s attack. This time, when he entered, it was his father sitting on the opulent throne.
When entering the throne room, Owain bowed low to his father before making his way up towards the dais. The king was surrounded by a retinue of advisors including Lords Patrin, Calix, and Allium, plus many other Edamish nobles who would no doubt hold important roles in his father’s court.
Owain looked nothing like his father. King Vernon was a slender male with pale yellow hair and stern brown eyes. He was unsurprised to find those stern eyes boring into him. Chrys had let Owain know that his father was informed about his affections for Orla. No doubt Lord Patrin’s doing.
His father’s taloned fingers were making deep scratches into the arm of the throne, but as always, his face was an unreadable mask. The mask that Owain had also perfected over the years.
“Welcome, Prince Owain,” his father greeted him in a cold, uninterested tone.
“My king,” Owain replied, bowing again.
“I hear that you were instrumental in leading the mission to help acquire my throne and getting me one step closer to the power I rightfully demand.” He paused. For a moment, Owain felt a small twinge of pride at the praise.
“Though, I heard your methods were unorthodox. I shouldn’t be surprised; your mother would also bed anything with a pulse. Like mother, like son.” A cruel smirk crossed his father’s thin lips. The onlooking advisors exchanged looks with one another while chuckling at Owain’s expense.
Owain’s blood turned to ice at his father’s words, but he kept his composure, face remaining in the same uninterested expression that he always wore in his father’s presence.
Of course the king hadn’t actually been about to praise him publicly.
Years of cruel words and even crueler beatings should have taught Owain that.
But he was so desperate for this all to have been worth something.
That losing Orla had been worth it. He hoped his father would finally see him as more than his bastard born son of a whore.
It was at that moment that Owain realized how pointless this whole endeavor had been.
He wanted to be valued, to be respected, but as his father publicly shamed him and reminded the most important nobles in Edam of Owain’s true place, he knew that there was nothing he could have ever done to make these people value him.
He felt every bit the worthless bastard that Orla had called him. He felt twelve years old again, hiding from the pain of not being good enough. But he couldn’t let those around him see that.
“It served its purpose,” Owain replied, hoping that his father would move on, trying to hide how his father’s words had affected him.
“Not yet, but it will,” the king replied.
“My king?” Owain had a growing sense of dread at what his father was implying.
“Your whore hasn’t served her purpose yet. She is a traitor to our realm and a reported king slayer. We can’t have the subjects of the realm thinking that they can kill a king and get away with it. No, that won’t do.” He stared into Owain’s eyes, challenging him to protest.
“What is it you require of me, my king?” Owain already knew what his father would require, but in this room full of vipers, he couldn’t reveal the horror that was now seizing him at the plan his father was clearly hatching.
“You know where the whore resides, yes?” Owain nodded in affirmation, biting his tongue.
“Well, care to tell us, Prince Owain?”
“She hails from a small fishing village, Ovidur. It’s on the coast of Emmental and Mondseer.” The lie was out of his mouth quickly.
His father’s gaze narrowed on him. Though he wasn’t skilled in mind work, he had a knack for reading people, and Owain was sure he would see through the lie even though he hadn’t challenged Owain out loud.
It wouldn’t be hard to find out where Orla actually lived.
She was famous in their realm, but Owain hoped the lie would buy him some time.
“Good, then you will take a small envoy to capture her, and she will be brought back here to face the king’s justice.
If she puts up a fight, you have my permission to subdue her by any means necessary.
Though this time, hopefully those means won’t include your cock.
” More chuckles from the surrounding advisors.
“You have three days to head to Ovidur. And this time, prince, if you fail, you pay with your life as well as the life of your whore. I have important plans for this continent, and I won’t let a nymph and a bastard get in my way.
You’re dismissed,” he said, waving his taloned hand dismissively while looking towards his advisors.
Heart pounding, Owain bowed before turning to walk out of the throne room as laughter continued behind him.
He fought against the urge to run out of the room and straight to the stables.
His father was going to send warriors to kill Orla.
He was testing Owain. Seeing where his loyalties lay.
Owain had failed to kill her once, and his father would not be merciful if he failed again.
But Owain knew he couldn’t kill her. Telling the lie about where she lived was more than enough proof of that.
And the fact that he had more opportunities than he could count to kill her and he didn’t. He hadn’t even really tried.
Owain knew that his father would make good on his promise. He would kill Orla, and he wouldn’t put it past his father to make him watch before killing him too. Owain had but one thought as he stalked towards his rooms in the palace.
I have to protect her. I have to protect what’s mine. Mine.
The word echoed in his head. He had no right to claim Orla, especially after how he had betrayed her. But in his heart, she was his. And if she rejected him, well, he deserved that, but he would do everything he could to keep her safe.