44
After a long bath spent ruminating over what Celestine had said, Theela arrived with lunch and told me the king expected me downstairs for dinner.
She promptly left, and I sat in a towel on the bed as the stew grew cold atop the fireplace mantel. Dusk ceased her attempts to fly to it and fell asleep before the fire. When she woke, I took her to Celestine, who gladly agreed to mind her to further fluster the commander.
Theela returned to escort me downstairs just as I finished dressing, the long-sleeved gown falling over my velvet boots. As we entered the hall, I draped my black cloak over the dark blue cotton, ensuring it covered my cleavage.
Perhaps I should have left my chest on display to entice the king. The mere thought curdled my stomach. Besides, seducing a creature whose only interests were power and carnage was futile. Raxon had promised his people a spectacle.
All I could do was find out what this trial entailed and how I might survive it.
Only when we reached the ground floor did Theela whisper, “I trust you found your friend.”
“I did, thank you.” Smiling, I said, “She is well.”
Theela hummed.
“Do you know why the king might have given her to the commander?”
“I cannot be certain, but…” Slowing, she peered around the darkening fortress. “Ruvus has always had a hard time fitting in among the wolves.” Her pert nose scrunched, as if she were remembering something. “Fitting in anywhere, really.”
“Because he’s been treated differently?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Perhaps. His father tried to kill him after his premature birth. A kindness, as no one believed he would survive, much less the shift when it came. To give him a chance, his mother killed his father,” she whispered. “And when Raxon became king, he killed her for it.”
“Why?”
“Because Ruvus’s father was a wolf, of course,” she explained. “And Raxon believes wasting the wolf gene in such a way is a crime that ought to be punished by death.”
That piqued my curiosity. It also confused, as my father had long thought Raxon had killed the late king—his direwolf brother. Then again, my father had proven to be just as dishonest as King Raxon.
Perhaps he had created such talk.
But I only said, “Ruvus had to prove himself.”
“And prove himself he has, so I suspect the king likes to keep the wolves content by poking at the Truth Master now and then.”
The way she said content made me wonder if she’d wished to say loyal.
“The prince is one of few who respect Ruvus and his abilities, but being that he’s often here, that respect is rarely noticed by other wolves.
Those who seek to belittle him.” Theela lowered her voice.
“I think many of them are merely jealous. No one expects a runt to survive, and certainly not to climb to a position so high.”
To live in a palace with the king they all served.
Safety, I thought. Perhaps here, Ruvus felt untouchable.
I wanted to talk about Voran. I couldn’t, so I assuaged my worries about Celestine. “Has the commander had much experience with females?”
“None, I’d wager.” A hint of pink entered Theela’s cheeks. “Though I once heard that some warriors paid females to attempt to seduce him.”
We’d reached the hall that led to the dining room, and though I wished to keep her talking, I didn’t say anything more. The king kept a wolf with him. One that had sensed Voran’s approach before he’d even reached the doors when I’d dined with Raxon.
Theela entered first and curtsied.
I walked past her and promptly froze.
Bryken was absent. Strenard stood beside the hutch. His hand rested atop the hilt of a blade at his hip, his gaze fixed on the male seated on the king’s left.
Voran.
The prince stared straight back at the shifter. His features might have been void, but his body was stiff. Braced.
At the head of the table, Raxon relaxed in his chair. “Princess.” His grin wilted as he looked behind me. “Where is the pink hatchling?”
“Dusk is sleeping,” I said. “But if you wish, I can bring her next time.”
“Please do.” Gesturing to the chair beside him, Raxon said, “And please join us.”
The doors closed behind me.
I knew without looking that Theela had gone. Food and drink adorned half the table. Plates and goblets waited to be filled. Though a fire danced in the hearth I passed, trepidation chilled as I pondered the prince’s presence.
I’d only been here a short while, yet it was already clear that Voran seldom spent time with his uncle.
Before I could reach the chair, the king tutted. “Voran.”
The prince rose and rounded the table. He didn’t acknowledge me. He stayed focused on untucking my chair, then waited for me to sit before lifting it with ease.
Shocked, I gripped the sides.
But he lowered the chair as quickly as he’d lifted it, leaving me close to the table. A few inches farther from the king, I noticed when Voran retook his seat.
Once he was still and staring at Strenard again, the king eyed him with an amused curl to his lips. “Although it’s unnecessary, allow me to formally introduce you to my nephew.” He waved his hand at him. “Voran Valadorn.”
I smiled at the prince who’d kissed me in a cupboard, within dusty aisles of books, and within tiny dormitories. I smiled because I had to—but also because I couldn’t help wanting to.
“Voran, you certainly must remember Princess Ayla,” said the king. “My lovely betrothed.”
Voran dragged his attention from the wolf behind me, and as our eyes met, the subtle slackening of his mouth before his jaw clenched rid my smile. His gaze became a glare that made my cheeks and eyes burn—and the king chuckle.
Raxon clapped his hands once, then slapped them against the table. “Forgive me, but I just cannot take it anymore.”
Confused, I looked at the grinning king.
“Voran was sent to that ancient isle with two missions, Ayla. One was to seduce and eventually bring you to me.”
A snap came from the hearth.
And perhaps within my chest.
“He failed.” Raxon slurped some wine. Swallowing, he said, “Partly my fault. After all, I raised my nephew to be something of a monster. Unfeeling. Utterly merciless. Isolated.” He set his goblet down. “I shouldn’t have been surprised that you were the first mission he’s failed.”
It took everything in me to keep from looking at Voran. To keep from glowering at the prince who’d deceived me so thoroughly.
“Why?” I couldn’t manage anything else, and really, nothing else was necessary.
“To secure Valadorn’s victory either way, of course,” Raxon said, as if it were perfectly reasonable.
“Aside from your father, you’re the only one who can feed the Scale Crown.
Use it.” With a chuckle, he added, “Well, that was before we all discovered just how distasteful your father truly is, but no matter. I need a bride, not a bastard.”
He didn’t stop there.
Lifting a finger, the king said, “Because Voran here has been kept and reared for much more than fulfilling my darker deeds.” A heavy pause, intentional, before his eyes flashed. “He is going to give me an heir.”
Sickened and genuinely perplexed, I shook my head. “Forgive me, Majesty, but isn’t the prince already your heir?”
“Ah.” He raised his goblet toward me. “But everyone knows he is not mine.”
“Everyone will also know that the heir he provides won’t be yours.” Regretting the words, I hesitated—but it was too late to care about my outburst now. “His firstborn will carry the wolf gene.” Which you evidently don’t have, I didn’t say.
Silence fell like a swift breeze.
Voran picked up his cutlery, though there was no food on his plate.
But the king hummed. Staring down the table to the fire, he murmured, “You are quite right, Princess. Quite right indeed. Except, I do not care if people know the babe isn’t mine.” His gaze pressed hard upon me. “It will be enough that all will know it’s yours, and that you are mine.”
I felt blood drain from my face.
The room seemed to warp. Wobble. A glance at Voran worsened the sensation of falling through the floor, his expressionless features unable to contend with the storm in his dark eyes. He didn’t want this. Of course he didn’t.
But he’d proven he would do it.
He’d proven it repeatedly at the archives.
“Princess,” the king said, almost tentatively. He placed his hand over mine. “You needn’t fret. My nephew will treat you well. I’ll make sure of it.”
That was the last thing I was worried about.
This king’s plan for me had been unraveled slowly, yet I still couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t comprehend it. I grabbed the wine. I filled my goblet to the brim, put the carafe down with a shaking hand, then drank the lot.
Raxon set his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded hands. Smirking, he watched me fray with evident enjoyment.
Exhaling heavily, I lowered the goblet and said, “I’m not ready to be a mother, King Raxon. I’ve only just reached twenty-five years.”
“Then a nursemaid can assist me in raising the babe.”
I would never allow him near any babe of mine, let alone allow him to raise it without me.
Reaching for something—anything—to say, I blurted, “But this trial. What if I don’t survive it?”
The king laughed. “The bride trial is merely a way to further humble your father before we make you our queen.” Easing back in his chair, he said, “Mainly for those who have heard of his attempt to dupe me.”
I’d been right. Not that it mattered.
And there was no excusing my role in my father’s plans. Even if I’d had any say in them, I couldn’t tell Raxon that I wouldn’t have preferred to marry Meront. He knew I would have.
So I stayed quiet and reeling.
Raxon tacked on, “It also gives our fearsome warriors something to titter and wager about after so much hard work.”
Though I was far from hungry, I selected some pork and roasted vegetables to battle my increasing dizziness. “Am I allowed to know what is expected of me?”