Chapter Six Xander
My heart is still pounding in my chest after I’ve pulled my shirt back on and the rest of the newcomers have introduced themselves.
Grayson’s hand lands comfortingly on my shoulder, squeezing it once before moving the conversation forward.
Eventually, it turns to who would take King Dolian’s place once he is removed from the throne.
“What claim, if any, do you have to the throne?” Remi asks before taking a bite of apple. Baskets of the fruit, fresh bread, nuts, and some meat left over from the king’s earlier dinner line the table brought in by some of the staff.
“Xander is the bastard son of the king,” Grayson answers, a smirk forming when a few pairs of eyes widen at his bluntness. “The king has not claimed him publicly, and likely never will. An heir not given to him through marriage is a threat.”
“Is he not worried by that threat?” Mara, a woman who owns an apothecary in Vitour, asks, her seat two down from Tienne’s. “Why does he think you won’t make a play for the throne?”
“Because he believes me to be compliant in my loyalty to him. He has spent every moment since he stole me from my mother’s care breaking me down. Beating me into submission both with his hands and his words. In his mind, I’m no more than a grunt. A man whose only purpose is to serve him.”
“You’ve seen the marks,” Grayson adds, his tone sharp.
“Imagine what else the king might have done to ensure that Xander understood that he is only alive because the king allows it.” The mood in the room shifts, an awkward pity now sitting heavy in the air.
I contemplate kicking Grayson under the table.
“In any case, I’m confident he does not view me as a threat. Just as I am confident he means to use Princess Rhea to strengthen his hold on the throne.”
“Is it true?” Jaron asks, heads turning to look at him.
“What?”
“That the princess has gone mad with grief?”
“I don’t believe so,” I answer carefully, turning my gaze back up to the people gathered around me.
“She is of a sound mind; at least, as much as one can be after being forced into isolation for her entire life. She likely does grieve the loss of her parents, but it does not hinder her in the way the king has declared.”
“Does she have a claim to the throne?” Remi asks.
I nod my head. “The only reason King Dolian has held power for this long is because of the rumors spread about the princess. However, should she decide that she wants the throne, I’m not entirely sure that she could be stopped.
She is the true heir, and even the council, submissive as they are to King Dolian, would uphold the rule that the heir to the prior king would outrank a spare sibling. ”
“Do you know where she stands? In regards to the king? To the throne?” This question from Taryn, her hand tightly gripping Remi’s.
“I don’t. Not yet.”
“Is she something to fear?” Remi asks, brows drawn low.
I sigh, giving a short shrug of my shoulders.
“That is something I intend to find out.” The image of the shifter in the dungeon flashes in my mind, a chill breaking out over my skin at the memory of her voice giving out as she screamed beneath Jerrick’s torture.
I force the thought from my mind and continue.
“For now, we keep putting in the work. Our numbers have grown.” I gesture with a sweeping hand to everyone gathered.
They don’t even make up the full total. Our meetings are staggered, both to keep large amounts of people from all having to sneak into the tunnels at once and because, with the exception of a handful of guards and the castle workers, our group is made up of those who live and work in Vitour and the smaller towns that surround it.
They give up working late or extra sleep to be here, and I will not ask them to sacrifice more than absolutely necessary until the time comes to storm the castle itself.
“We are close,” I promise, my face stern and eyes alight with the belief that we can do this.
“When the day comes to give power back to the people, we will show no remorse and no mercy.”
When the meeting concludes, I ask Tienne to remain behind while everyone else leaves in small groups of three or four.
They wait their turns, giving multiple minutes between groups so as to hopefully not draw unwanted attention.
The tunnels spill out at a hidden exit in the southern end of the castle, into an overgrown garden where a small wooden gate that might have once served as an emergency exit from the castle now sits covered with ivy.
From there, a dirt road leads into the surrounding forest. Vitour is a twenty minute walk to the east.
Once the room is cleared out, Tienne leans a hip against the table’s edge as she faces me. “What is it?”
“The prisoner I mentioned earlier, I need you to check on her. Bring some medical supplies and perhaps a change of clothes.” My gaze averts to the other end of the room. “I think you are of a similar build.”
“Who is she?” she asks, drawing my attention back.
“When you were in the princess’s tower, after Alexi’s death, did you notice anyone else living there?”
Confusion contorts her face, her rich brown eyes looking at me like I’ve bumped my head.
“No. Erica and I cleaned her up and got her into bed after his body was taken from the room.” This time, she’s the one to look away.
My next swallow is difficult. “But I am sure she was alone.” She cocks her head to the side at the expression I make. “Was she not?”
“No. Somewhere in that tower, a shifter female named Bella was hidden. Not as a mortal, but as a fox.”
“I— What? I don’t know how we could have missed her.”
“I think Rhea designed it that way,” I say, gripping the back of the chair in front of me as exhaustion weighs on my shoulders.
“I’m unsure of when or how the shifter got into the tower to begin with, but the princess must have known that the king would remove her if he had any idea she was no longer alone.
Isolation was essential in his ability to control her.
” Which again begs the question, if she possesses magic, why hadn’t she ever used it?
Clearly, the king knew she was, at least in part, mage—her escape to the Mage Kingdom one that he doesn’t seem all that surprised over.
Despite his outward hatred for the mages—and the fact that she is his niece by blood—he still covets her as his bride.
“In any case, she has information about the princess that I need.”
Understanding dances in Tienne’s eyes. “No one better to tell you if the princess is a threat than someone who was forced to live with her.” I nod. “Would you like me to talk to the shifter? She might be more comfortable—”
“No. It’s too dangerous.” Her hands land on her hips, a dark brow arching up. But I hold firm. The less people involved in this part, the safer it will be. “If another guard overhears you, or even a prisoner, it could make its way back to the king, and everything will be at risk.”
“I would never speak of the resistance’s secrets,” she swears adamantly.
I soften my voice as I look at her. “I know. I trust you, Tienne. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.
For now, help me ensure that Bella lives long enough to answer our questions.
” Tienne sighs but agrees, bidding me goodbye as I leave the chamber and make my way back to the barracks.
But despite the late hour and how tired I am, sleep eludes me.
Instead, my mind replays my time in that dungeon.
It clings to every second I could have stepped in, even as I remind myself that doing so would have only made the king distrustful of me.
This is the price of my existence. I need to be close to the king in order to understand how best to take him down, and I need the resistance because I alone am not enough.
Between those two truths, I have to live with the fact that I let people get hurt in the king’s name.
That I hurt them too. It makes me wonder if, when my plans come to fruition and the dust from the toppling of my father’s reign has settled, I will know who the man reflected back in the mirror is anymore.
If I am not bound to a king or a rebellion, where do I actually belong?
The scent of the extravagant meal laid out on the extended dining table on the evening of the next day is enough to make my stomach rumble, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since early this morning.
King Dolian sits at the table’s head, his richest and most supportive nobles and councilmen surrounding him.
Standing behind him, I take in the massive amounts of food that glisten beneath the glittering chandeliers above.
The nobles pick at their meals with their forks, engaging in meaningless chatter.
None of them are concerned about where their food came from, about what it cost the farmers and merchants to bring it to their plates.
They don’t think about the castle workers, the very people who clean their clothes and quarters.
They move about this world with their feet light and their minds empty of worry because of money that comes from their names.
From ancestors who pillaged and stole, who befriended kings and abandoned decency if it meant gold lined their pockets.
“It has been an eventful few weeks, Your Majesty,” Sir Merriwick says from where he sits a few seats down on the king’s right, one hand gripping his fork, the other playing with the end of his mustache.
“Indeed.” King Dolian swirls the red wine in his chalice, gaze lost down the center of the table. “With the Cruel Death taking so many guards, I am considering implementing a short-term draft.” Surprise stabs me between my ribs, but no one else reacts. Why would they? A draft would not affect them.
“A draft is unfortunate, as is the Cruel Death,” Sir Merriwick responds, dropping his mustache-twirling fingers to the table. “But I was talking more about the incident that took place outside of the tower.”
King Dolian’s shoulders stiffen, the movement only noticeable because I’ve spent so much time gauging his moods based on the smallest shift of his body.
“What you speak of is being handled internally,” Simon cuts in, the king’s advisor sending an icy glare towards the nobleman.
As the owner of multiple masonry businesses spread throughout the kingdom, the nobleman’s opinion holds more value than most for the king.
A fact Sir Merriwick is aware of and, apparently, too stupid to properly use to his advantage.
“Internally,” he muses, sitting back in his chair. “Come now, I know I am not the only one with questions.” At the silence that follows, and nervous glances cast the king’s way, Sir Merriwick laughs.
King Dolian sets his chalice down, interlacing his fingers in front of him. “By all means, Merriwick. Ask away. I am nothing if not an open king.” I resist the urge to fucking snort.
“I know the princess is a hush-hush matter around here, but I can’t help but notice that there are no longer guards stationed at the tower’s base.
” His words are said jovially, but there is an undercurrent of suspicion laced within them.
One I’m sure the king doesn’t miss. He also doesn’t respond, letting the silence grow thick and uncomfortable until Sir Merriwick breaks it.
“Alright, I will ask it bluntly. Does the princess still mourn in her tower? Or has she freed herself from her grief?” The unasked and if so, what does that mean for you is implied.
“Princess Rhea is not of concern to any in this room save for the king himself,” Simon answers smoothly. “Now that is—”
“It is true.” At the king’s interruption, Simon shows a rare break in his calculated facade before he blinks and lowers his head in supplication.
King Dolian stands, swiping his chalice from the table and taking a large gulp of the wine within it.
“Princess Rhea has left the walls of the tower.” Murmurs rise as the nobles lean closer to speak with each other, the king beginning to pace the length of the table opposite Sir Merriwick.
“But she did not leave of her own volition. No, she was kidnapped. Stolen. Lured out into the world.”
“Stolen?” Lady Almeena murmurs, her voice barely audible over the others.
She presses a trembling hand to her chest, her distraught act one easily seen through.
But as he passes her, he lets his fingers trail across her shoulders, brushing her deep brown locks to the side.
He’s always favored her, particularly for the amount of coin she brings in.
As the curator of the most visited brothels throughout Vitour, Lady Almeena is nothing if not tenacious.
Though she wears her shock well, the corners of her red-painted mouth flicker beneath his touch. “Stolen by whom?”
“One of our own. A guard. A man sworn to serve me and protect her, yet he managed to break both vows.” I hold my breath, keeping still as eyes look suspiciously in my direction.
“Can we not trust these men?” Someone stationed near the end of the table shouts, their face too far away for me to identify.
King Dolian pauses as he rounds the table’s edge, looking back over his shoulder.
“That is what I will be determining in these coming weeks. While I can guarantee most of my men are loyal to our kingdom, I don’t believe this guard acted alone.
He must have received help from within in order to coordinate such an escape.
I will find everyone who has betrayed our trust and ensure they pay for the crime.
” King Dolian resumes his walking, his eyes meeting mine briefly.
He doesn’t know what I’ve been planning.
I’ve been too careful, too meticulous to arouse suspicion of any kind.
I’ve followed my rules, and I’ve paid the price tenfold for it.
He can’t know, and still, unease slithers down my spine.
“The draft will not just serve to replace the men sick with the Cruel Death. They will replace the traitors. We will encourage all who are able bodied to join. To fight. To serve their kingdom with honor. And, to report those they suspect to be dissenters.”
The nobles nod just as King Dolian comes to a stop behind Sir Merriwick’s chair, his fingers reaching out for the back of it.
“And what of the princess?” the nobleman asks, his earlier amusement replaced with a shaky voice.
“I have men searching for her. We will find her and bring her home. We will ensure that she returns to the space that has become her haven.”
“And the traitorous guard?”
King Dolian smirks, lifting his chin. “We will hunt him down, and when we find him—and all who helped him—they will die for their crimes.”