1. All of these infuriating men #3
Goddess forbid anything touch his kingly skin.
I’d really never known such a bone-deep distaste as I did when he came into my life as a screaming infant barely twenty summers ago.
His murky brown eyes appraised me for too damned long before his attention shifted back into the hall.
No doubt, he’d had a passing-by moment with Theo.
When he glanced back at me, eyebrows raised, he let out the most patronizing snort and shook his head.
“You know, Enora, just when I think better of you—”
“What do you want, Calder?” I interjected, setting the bag of Frost on my vanity and pulling my robe a little tighter around my body.
Again, his attention traveled.
This time, his perpetual sneer roved my room—assessing the sin I’m sure he imagined had caused its half-disastrous state and planning how he would scourge it of me. I hoped he knew it would take a hell of a lot more than an old priest with a gilded censer to purify what these walls had witnessed.
“You haven’t packed.” Not a question, but a disappointed statement.
“No,” I scoffed. “I’ve still got all day left to—”
“You have two hours.”
My head drew back. “Excuse me?”
“You have two hours until you leave, Enora. I’d suggest you get a move on.” He rapped his fingers against the small table beside the door before sauntering into my room.
For a breath, I thought I had made a mistake, but the preposterousness of that notion shook me out of my stupor.
I marched to my desk and grabbed my small diary.
A cursory glance told me it was already opened to this week, and I held it up in the air.
“You said the arrangements were for me to depart on the eighth evening bell tonight.” For good measure, I waved my notebook at him.
“It’s barely ten in the morning, brother. ”
He shrugged, the motion stiff with his hands clasped behind his back. “My astronomers have predicted a nasty storm system tonight off the coastal side of the range. Supposed to linger here in the mountains for days. You’ll leave at high noon and be far enough west when it lands here.”
“And waiting it out isn’t an option?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
A vein made itself known in my brother’s shiny forehead.
“Because it isn’t, Enora. If we get enough rain, you may not have passage through the lowlands for weeks.”
I scoffed and muttered under my breath, “And what a travesty that would be, having a proper chance to say my goodbyes.”
My brother shook his head. He was trying to rein in his composure, but I’d ignited his fuse. His face reddened as he tried to suppress a cough that wracked his entire body and, goddess, I’d never hoped so badly for someone to be struck down by a sudden lethal illness.
“Ah, yes,” he finally got out. “That’s why you’ve been lying to everyone who will listen about when you’re leaving. Those proper goodbyes clearly mean so much.”
My back tensed, but I refused any verbal acknowledgment of that well-placed dig.
“This isn’t up for discussion. The arrangements have already been made, and your escort leaves at noon. Pack what you need for the journey and leave the rest. I’ll arrange for that woman to pack and transport the rest after.”
Gods, he was such an insufferable creature.
By saying he would arrange it, he meant one of his myriad of boot-licking, acknowledgement-seeking whores would scramble to do it for him. And that woman would be Joyce, my only lady-in-waiting, who’d been around since I was a child.
But, of course, his scant few brain cells were too preoccupied with basic functions like breathing and pumping blood to dare remember a name.
“Oh, this arrived for you yesterday.” From the inner pocket of his doublet, he retrieved a folded piece of parchment, jutting it towards me. “I’m sure it’s full of well-wishes for your journey and his enthusiasm for your imminent arrival.”
I sighed and took the missive. It bore a seal I recognized well after these last few months—black wax with a simple X stamped into it.
The Blackspire seal.
I was already so tired of it.
Ever since my brother had waved that blasted betrothal agreement in my face three months ago, signed by both him and the King of Grimmoria, I’d seen the seal weekly.
The notes my soon-to-be husband sent me were probably well-intended, but they were utterly meaningless, just a few sentences scrawled in penmanship sloppy for a king.
How eager he was to show me Grimmoria’s sprawling lands.
(I’d heard they were almost as barren as the Wastes)
His plans for arranging a tailor to see to my every wardrobe need.
(As if I didn’t have any clothes of my own)
Goddess forbid he exchange anything more than surface pleasantries with his future wife, or bother to create some feigned air that our forced union might be one that stood a chance of being interesting.
When the sound of the door clicking shut behind my brother finally reached my ears, I cracked that aggravating seal and sighed again at the message that greeted me.
The day grows ever nearer,
and I eagerly await your arrival.
- HM. Callum Blackspire.