Chapter 35 The Truce
The Truce
“Have a good night, my King,” I say. I turn to leave.
“Where do you think you are going?” he demands.
I stop, then turn back. “Do you honestly believe,” I say, “that I will return to that hall to be mocked publicly by my sister, ogled by courtiers, and humiliated by your brother while you sit in silence and watch?”
His mouth tightens.
“I will not become my mother,” I add, fierce now.
For a moment, he looks as though he might argue. Then he exhales, a long sound pulled from somewhere deep. “I apologize for tonight,” he begins.
“I do not want your apology,” I snap.
His head lifts. “I believed I was protecting you.”
“By saying nothing?”
“Yes,” he says. “By remaining silent. If I defend you openly, the court will choose sides. And once that happens, it stops being cruelty. It becomes politics.”
I laugh once, humorless. “You told me to come here tonight. Was it to humiliate me? You wanted me here. You insisted on it. And yet everyone from Rathmor Palace made it abundantly clear they despise me.”
The air around him changes. He steps closer, presence heavy, violence coiled beneath his skin. “I wanted to end it,” he says. “To remove you from the hall entirely. But I chose duty.”
I swallow.
“Duty says I cannot publicly shame my brother without weakening the crown. The moment the crown appears divided, our kingdom weakens. With a draft looming, that costs lives.”
He looks away, jaw clenched. “But tonight,” he says at last, “I learned I have limits. Prince Tamal was correct. The humiliation has gone far enough.”
“It will never stop,” I say softly. “I will always be the whore’s daughter, even when it is obvious I am not one. My father, my brother, my sister. They will always find a way.”
I draw in a breath, holding it tight.
“You have no idea,” I continue, voice strained now, “what they have done to me. The pain they have given me. I believed coming here would give me freedom. But this place is only another cage. And I will not stay in it.”
I pause. “I deserve more,” I say. “I want more.”
“Do not leave,” he says.
I laugh bitterly. “You are so obsessed with your political image it disgusts me.”
“This has nothing to do with that,” he snaps, anger breaking through at last. “Tell me, is this about Lord Eravic?”
I say nothing.
He watches me for a moment, then releases a quiet breath.
“Stay,” he says. “If you do, I will help you understand that power.”
“You have hidden your ability for so long that it harms you when you use it now,” he continues. “But trained properly, it could protect you. If there is a way to help you control it, I will help you find it.”
I stare at him. “You know about my powers?” I try to hide the eagerness in my voice.
“I do not know what it is,” he admits. “Only that it resembles lightcraft, with origins that trace back to Alarna.”
My fingers rub instinctively around my pendant.
“Do you know anything about your mother?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “Only this pendant.”
He studies my necklace.
“You know lightcraft?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But there are people who might understand it.”
His eyes sweep me over, appraising. Thoughtful. “Your fighting was impressive,” he adds. “You would be formidable. You are full of surprises.”
He lifts the flask and takes a drink.
“As for Colsar—”
“He can keep running,” I say.
He looks at me, confused.
“He can do as he pleases. I will not stand in his way. As for the contract, if I do not fulfill it to his liking, he can do what he must.” He draws in a breath.
“I will not involve myself in whatever agreement you made with my brother,” he says.
“But I will tell you this. He cannot harm you. And I will never send you back to the Baron.”
I study him carefully.
“Why do you not trust me?” he asks.
“Because you sleep with my enemy,” I say. “My sister.”
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “I do.”
“Then I will never trust you.”
He considers that. “So we cannot be friends?” he says.
“No.”
“A truce, then?”
I think of Nyara and Brinette, of the promise of learning my magic, of the chance to protect myself.
“Yes,” I say. “A truce.”
I will stay for now. One day Vaelor will dock again, and when it does, I will be ready.
“Now, Majesty,” I say, gesturing down at myself, at the torn silk and the blood darkening my sleeve, “we both know I cannot return to the Baron’s house like this.
” My eyes travel over the blood on his clothing. “And neither can you,” I add.
For a moment, he looks almost human. Then resigned. He studies the blood at my sleeve again, and something in his expression shifts from irritation to reluctant curiosity. “Very well,” he says. “Where are we going?”
“Not where you expect.”
I turn and start down the path again. After a moment, his footsteps fall in behind me.
Instead of turning toward the palace lights, I draw my hood forward and step into the narrower street that runs parallel to the main road. The lanterns thin quickly. The air changes, less pine and river and more smoke and men who do not sleep early.
He follows. “You are doing this intentionally,” he says after a few steps, voice low enough that it does not carry.
“Yes.”
“The normal road would be faster.”
“The normal road would be boring.”
He breathes out faintly through his nose, almost amused despite himself. Figures linger along the walls ahead, silhouettes shifting when we pass, eyes assessing but not yet deciding. A bottle shatters somewhere out of sight. Laughter answers it.
“You enjoy this,” he says.
I glance at him beneath my hood. “Human danger is so much simpler, wouldn’t you agree?”
He nods. “Simpler than Threns.”
“They do not hide what they are,” I say. “These men come with greed and pride. It is easier to predict.”
“And easier to provoke,” he replies.
I smile faintly. “Exactly.”
A pair of men look as though they might step into our path, then think better of it when he shifts half a pace closer to me. “You brought me here to test something,” he says.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“If you would come.”
He considers that, and though his posture remains composed, something in him turns newly alert. “You could have been attacked,” he says.
“I was just attacked,” I remind him lightly, gesturing to the torn silk. “This is quieter.”
Ahead, brighter light spills from a doorway, music and coin and loud voices rising and falling in rhythm.
He notices it immediately. “No.”
“If I had walked back alone,” I say, slowing as we pass, “I would have slipped in.”
“You gamble?”
“I win.”
He studies me again, this time not with suspicion, but with interest edged in disbelief. “You are proud of that.”
“Very.”
“And you intend to prove it.”
“I intend to enjoy myself.”
He looks at the gambling house once more, then back at me, and something almost boyish edges into his expression, something he likely has not worn in years.
“You are impossible,” he says.
“Then keep up, Majesty.”
And I push open the door.