40 #2
Inked patterns wreathed his head, vine-like and dark. Unlike the king and Strenard, Bryken didn’t wear a furred cloak. It was a tradition among wolves, done to honor their ancestors. A crimson coat draped neatly from his thin shoulders. His pointed chin rose, and a smirk brightened his hazel eyes.
His loyal weasels, Voran had once said.
These were some of those weasels—who didn’t like the king’s nephew.
Quiet steps broke the tension, and I discovered Theela hadn’t gone. She collected silver dishes from a hutch on the table’s left, also made from oak. I scented roast beef before she placed it on the table. In one bowl, the meat appeared rarer. Barely cooked.
The king had assumed I would bring Dusk.
“For the hatchling,” Theela confirmed when she returned with a steaming bowl of vegetables, a goblet, and a carafe of water.
I thanked her and, to avoid the staring king, sent my gaze around the room.
To my right were oddly shaped windows in the stone, snow falling softly onto the barren grounds beyond. Between two candles atop the long hutch were covered dishes on golden trays, as well as silver tankards and goblets with rubies encircling the rims.
There was nothing wrong with Dusk’s appetite.
Sensing my distraction, she darted from my lap, wings aflutter as she hobbled over the table to snatch a slab of dripping meat. Eyes wide, I murmured an apology and rose to get her.
Raxon set his cutlery down, then waved a hand. “Let beasts be beasts, Princess.” He dabbed at his plump mouth with a cream cloth. “Have you named it?”
Sitting again, I nodded. “Her name is Dusk.”
Bryken’s gaze jumped to the king as he failed to contain another smirk.
But Raxon ignored him. He stared only at the wyvern who tossed beef into the air before catching it and shaking her head about. He wasn’t a wolf, yet the way he smiled had me thinking otherwise.
“Magnificent.” Giving me his emerald gaze, Raxon blinked as if leaving a trance. “Tell me how you came across her egg.”
I’d known this moment would come since being captured last evening. Though no amount of preparing made it easy to say, “I haven’t told anyone the whole story.” Pulling the bowl of vegetables closer, I selected a potato merely for something to do with my trembling hands. “Not even my father.”
For a minute, there was only the snap of the flames behind me and grunts and huffs from Dusk.
Fighting the temptation to fill the quiet with nonsense, with my lies about his stolen wyvern egg, I added a piece of meat to my plate. Lying would do me no good when Raxon knew how I’d gotten Dusk. But until I found my footing, I could certainly evade telling the truth.
I was here—dining with this monster even after attempting to escape him—for a reason.
King Raxon needed me. He needed me to better keep my father from taking back those many miles of land guarded by his wolves. He needed me to give weight to his stolen title of high king and to hold the Scale Crown.
I was sure everyone had now heard about my father’s secret mate and son. Though it had squashed my dream of ruling my own kingdom, it didn’t lessen my importance to the king seated down the table.
I might not be powerful, but I had power.
So I gripped my knife and fork tight and peered at the three males as if puzzled by their silence.
It was broken by a hoarse bout of laughter from the king.
Calming, he sighed. “Then I shall consider it a great honor when you decide to tell me the tale.” Rings adorned his hands. Within each silver and gold band lay a different colored jewel. They clinked against his tankard as he seized and raised it. “To my betrothed.”
Concurring murmurs rose with other beverages.
I gave them my best attempt at a genuine smile, all the while wondering how long it might be until Raxon ceased dancing around my botched betrayal.
As I cut into my food, Theela came forward to offer wine. I declined, and she collected the other dishes before Dusk could help herself to them, too.
Strenard muttered, “He comes.”
Not three heartbeats later, the doors opened.
I sensed him before catching a whiff of his crisp amber scent, and ceased chewing as he strode into the dining room. My eyes, cast to my food, burned. I wasn’t sure if it was the threat of tears or merely the desire to look at him and knowing I couldn’t.
If I did, perhaps the king would see too much.
Perhaps Voran would see too much.
My hands shook. To keep it from showing, I squeezed the cutlery. Dusk stopped eating to hiss at the intruder. When Voran halted behind the king, she resumed but kept her eyes trained on all four males.
An odd thud pulled my attention to the end of the table, where a large sack now sat on the floor. Blood had seeped through the hessian fabric. The sack appeared to be half full, judging by the stains and how the opening draped over the lumpy contents.
My stomach turned.
It contained more than a severed head.
“Voran, really?” King Raxon leaned away from the sack. “In front of my soon-to-be wife?” Rolling his eyes, he drawled, “And while we’re eating?” He then looked at me and jabbed his ring-bedecked thumb over his shoulder. “Not an ounce of decency, this one.”
I felt inclined to agree, yet for reasons Raxon could never know about.
Forcing a winced smile, I feigned disgust by pushing my plate of barely touched food over the table.
Dusk took that as permission to eat it.
Voran didn’t apologize. He remained behind the king with his hands folded before him. Low, he simply said, “The last of them.”
Raxon’s brows jumped. He turned to him. “You’re sure?”
“Certain.”
Gazing down at the sack, Raxon stroked his clean-shaven chin. “Let us hope so.”
Without being dismissed or saying another word, Voran took his leave.
Only then did I dare let my eyes lift to his face, and I wished I hadn’t.
He didn’t look at me. His dark blue eyes were fastened to the doors. Loosely braided, his hair curtained his cheeks. Apathy oozed from those harsh features, but the clenched state of his jaw betrayed it.