Chapter Twenty-Four
The pounding of hoofbeats and soldiers marching echoed through the narrow city streets of Litus.
Silas and Archer rode at the front of the procession, backs straight, gazes forward, a few feet of distance between their mounts.
Pretending they hadn’t stolen precious minutes that morning entangled in each other’s arms, as close as any two people could be.
Bleary eyed citizens poked their heads out of upstairs windows.
Some watched the procession, their gazes a heavy weight on Silas’ back.
Others ducked back inside and slammed their windows shut, as if the simple barrier would protect them from whatever imagined threats the departing army conjured in their minds.
There were no announcements, no grand speeches, no warning that a third of the Arnsveldian army was leaving.
Mirinda had suggested a large production, a formal goodbye to explain the state of the alliance to the Bellacostan citizens.
Silas firmly rejected her idea. The last time he and Archer had addressed a crowd together, a brawl broke out.
Silas’ nose itched at the memory of cartilage snapping when a stray elbow caught him in the face.
He didn’t want Archer’s last impression of Veritim Palace to be more blood spilled, afraid it would give him a reason not to return.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, a small crowd had formed anyway. The mounted officers patrolled the edges of the marching soldiers, forcing the civilians to keep their distance and watch from the sidewalks.
At the very edge of Litus, Archer and Silas slowed their horses and turned to face the army and the growing crowd.
Giving a speech from horseback was a novel experience for Silas. At least no one can break my nose while I’m up here.
“Today, we say farewell to our Arnsveldian neighbors, and wish them a safe journey home,” Silas called. His voice rang clearly through the morning, stronger than he expected. “As a gesture of friendship, Arnsveld is leaving soldiers behind to protect our borders from mutual enemies.”
A few dissatisfied murmurs rose through the crowd.
Though none were loud enough for Silas to decipher the words, he’d heard enough of the rumors to understand the gist. Too many people still believed the Arnsveldians were invaders rather than allies, and Silas still struggled to dissuade those rumors.
“With this new alliance, we hope to have a prosperous future together.” Silas locked eyes with Archer. Without knowing what troubles he faced at home or along the road, they couldn’t know how long it would be before they saw each other again.
“Free of those who would abuse our people for their own gain,” Archer finished, gazing back at Silas. His dark eyes held a silent promise to make that future a reality. The stare only lasted for a moment before Archer turned away and barked an order for his people to move out.
Something pulled taut in Silas’ heart, a part that belonged to Archer, unraveling and fraying with each step of distance. Last night wasn’t enough to satisfy his need for Archer. A thousand nights wouldn’t be enough if at the end of them, Archer would still leave.
Silas wanted to snatch the reins of Archer’s horse, to hold him in place, afraid their bond would snap the second they parted.
That he would be left alone, unmoored, with nothing real to hold on to.
His hand twitched but he pressed it against his side.
They would find each other again, like they had before.
Archer spared one last look over the crowd and raised a hand in silent goodbye.
Silas waved back slowly, the words he wished to say—stay, I love you, don’t leave without me—stuck in his throat.
He lingered for as long as he could justify, eyes locked on Archer’s departing back.
His muscles tensed with the urge to guide his horse forward, to ride off into the distance at Archer’s side.
Silas remembered the long days of travel they’d spent together—the soreness from riding horseback, the warmth of the campfire and the company, sharing a tent with Archer.
At the time, Silas hadn’t appreciated the travel or the people around him.
Not until the journey’s end. If he had another chance to travel with Archer, he would savor every minute.
The trip to Arnsveld is only two weeks. It could be a diplomatic mission, solidifying our alliance. A week there, another two weeks back. I’d hardly be gone a month. Surely, they could spare me for a month.
He stopped at the very edge of the city, like he’d run straight into a wall.
But the only thing preventing him from continuing were his own responsibilities: the investigation; the palace reconstruction; Emmaline, somewhere out there, who Silas needed to protect.
Even if he wasn’t magically indebted to Adelaide, he would have stayed for Emmaline.
The sweet girl had done everything she could to help Silas, not only to treat the symptoms of his curse but to welcome him into the party, to be the first new friend he’d made in a long time.
After several long minutes stuck in his own head, Silas finally turned his horse around, then startled when he saw another rider lingering a few steps away.
Somehow, he’d missed the straggler staying behind, though the Bellacostan blue uniform explained why he hadn’t left with the army.
Despite the familiar uniform, the man was a stranger to Silas. “Did you need something?”
A bemused expression settled on the man’s face. “No, Your Majesty.”
Silas’ brow furrowed as he stared at the man. Then why are you here? He didn’t want to make his own people feel unwelcome, but the Bellacostan soldiers had only recently been released from house arrest, and Silas didn’t quite trust them yet.
As if reading Silas’ mind, the soldier explained, “My name is Langley. Captain Emera assigned me as one of your personal guards, sir.”
“I don’t need a—” Silas stopped, snapping his mouth shut over the stupid statement.
After everything he’d experienced over the past few months, of course he needed a personal guard.
He just had unintentionally assigned the role to Archer, always feeling the safest in his presence.
I’d be his assistant and he’d be my guard and we’d both be happily demoted together.
Now Archer was gone, a stranger taking his place.
Taking a deep breath, Silas forced a smile and said, “Why don’t I make your job easier, and we’ll head back to the palace?” He still had a long day of meetings and upkeep ahead of him, he didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in melancholy.
They’d just returned to the stables and Silas’ feet had barely touched solid ground when Mirinda appeared at his shoulder. “Your Majesty? May I have a word with you in private?”
Not even gone a full hour, he mused. “Yes, of course.” He left his horse to the groom and led the way back to the tavern.
While they walked, they chatted lightly about the progress on the cleanup and the reconstruction, and when they could expect to have access to their own offices again.
Mirinda and Langley did an excellent job of pretending to ignore each other’s presence.
When they reached Silas’ temporary office, Langley took up his post outside without a word.
Silas closed the door and offered Mirinda a seat. “What did you need?”
“First, I would like to reestablish regular council meetings.”
“With what council?” Silas asked, more flippantly than the question deserved.
He moderated his tone and continued, “Adviser Cal is still unaccounted for and the Merchant’s Guild, as helpful as they’ve been with the investigation and the palace reconstruction, refuse to appoint someone to replace him.
I can’t appoint a new Treasurer until we fully understand the mess Jacoby left behind.
Our army is currently without a leader, and I don’t think anyone would be happy to have General Griselda sitting on the official council.
” Especially Griselda herself. “And we’ve barely scratched the surface untangling the threads of the old council’s mess.
To be frank, I’m not eager to put myself in the hands of another so soon. ”
Mirinda’s lips pursed in displeasure and she stared down at her hands folded tightly in her lap. She took a deep breath and raised her head to look Silas in the eye. “You’ve kept me on as an adviser, and my advice is to form a new council. Allow us to take some of the burden of your work.”
Silas knew he needed people to rely on—those who would truly be loyal to him and support Bellacosta’s reformation—but he didn’t want to rush the process. The only people he currently trusted could be counted on both hands with fingers to spare.
“The council meetings will have to wait.” Before Mirinda could argue, Silas added, “At least until we have a few more members. Until then, you and Felicity can always meet with me regularly to discuss any kingdom business. I’ll also work with Juniper and Quentin to clean up this Treasury business and find someone new to lead it.
” Is that good enough? He didn’t ask the question out loud, but he hoped she’d answer it anyway.
Her pinched expression implied her dissatisfaction. “Some kingdom decisions should be discussed with as many viewpoints as possible.”
“Like what?” Silas asked, exasperation leaking into his voice.
“Like marriage. We would need to find a suitable bride for King Archer among the available noble candidates—”
“A suitable what?” Silas’ head jerked up and he gaped at her.
“Bride, Your Majesty,” she said slowly, spelling it out for him. “After you stripped Lord Garan of his title, some of the nobles are eager to placate you, which works in our favor—”
“Stop.” Silas held up a hand and waited until Mirinda obligingly closed her mouth.
Silas thought back on his botched marriage proposal.
The way blood had drained from Archer’s face and the shock in his dark eyes—like Silas had suggested they conduct a blood sacrifice rather than a wedding.
The reaction made much more sense if Archer thought Silas was sacrificing him in marriage to some noblewoman.
“You’ve spoken to Archer about this before. ”
“I have, Your Majesty. He was not as … receptive to the idea at the time, so I hoped you had convinced him—”
“To marry a woman? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
The outburst shocked her, and she reared back in her chair so hard the wooden legs clattered against the stone floor. “Sir?”
Silas should have calmed himself and spoken to her in a reasonable manner, but all he could think of was Archer’s rage at the idea of marriage, the awkwardness between them since that meeting.
They’d managed to set it aside to say goodbye, but the rift between them would only deepen with distance.
“You’ve either gone mad or blind if your conclusion after seeing Archer and I together was ‘ah, those are two men who need wives’. ”
“Your Majesty—”
“When I talked about a marriage alliance, I meant between Archer and I, not some random woman chosen by a council.”
“You cannot marry him.” Mirinda’s voice echoed through the dining room, harsher than she’d ever spoken to him before.
The change in her demeanor shocked Silas into silence and it took him several seconds to recover. “It would solidify the alliance—”
“It could lead to the downfall of both of our kingdoms.”
Silas leaned back in his chair and surveyed Mirinda—the tension in her shoulders, the fists twisting her skirts into a wrinkled mess, and the determination in her eyes. “How could one marriage ruin our kingdoms?”
“To marry another king, you would either need to merge kingdoms or split your time between the two. Trying to merge the kingdoms would only strengthen the belief that Arnsveld invaded Bellacosta and we surrendered to them. Our citizens will never accept an Arnsveldian king, and Alistair’s remaining allies will gain more support as people rally around the idea of freeing Bellacosta from Arnsveld’s tyranny.
“If you choose to split your time between the two kingdoms, how much time will you waste traveling? What will we do if trouble arises, and you are a two-week journey away? Any time you leave, you will be opening yourself up to the traitors returning and stirring a revolt. You don’t even have an heir to operate the kingdom in your absence!
You are a king, Silas. You must put your kingdom first and your love last.”
Silas wanted to rage against her claims, but every argument died on his tongue, leaving his mouth parched. He swallowed roughly and said, “I suppose you understand that concept well, don’t you, Miri?”
Shock drained the blood from Mirinda’s face. “What did you …”
Silas slipped his hand into his jacket pocket where he’d tucked the gem he’d found among the ruins.
He’d meant to find somewhere logical to stash it, but he’d never quite gotten around to it, and instead had been carrying it with him for the past few days.
He tossed it at Mirinda, and she fumbled with it, almost dropping it before she carefully cradled it in her hands.
“A political marriage worked out so well for my parents,” Silas deadpanned, thinking of his absent father.
His mother’s cold words as she described her husband, only wishing for him to be out of her life.
Well, she’d gotten her wish—Braden had left one day over a decade ago and never returned.
“Forgive me if I’m not eager to arrange one for myself or anyone else. ”
“Sir, I—your mother and I—”
“You’re dismissed,” Silas said, even though she’d called the meeting.
She stood and curtsied shortly, then stared down at the stone in her hand. She carefully placed it on the table and hurried out of the room without a backward glance.
The moment the door closed behind her, Silas slumped over the table and supported his head in his hand. No wonder Archer rejected my ‘proposal’ if Mirinda spoke to him first. Or does he think the same way she does? That our marriage would potentially harm both of our kingdoms?
If it weren’t for the traitors hiding in the shadows …
Even from the grave, Alistair found a way to interfere with Silas’ life.
But if all the traitors were taken care of …
Once Silas uprooted the problem, there would be one less obstacle between him and a happy life with Archer.