Chapter Six #2
And, to a fault, very curious. Too curious to not open the set of doors in front of her and find out what, exactly, the king wanted with her.
Sami would have scolded her, as he always did, for her terrible ideas.
The thought of him sent a pang through her chest. She had forgotten to ask about him in the dungeons.
No, not forgotten. The words had floated in her head along with her nightmares, but she hadn’t been able to discern what, or who, was real or not.
Guards had brought food and water, but their faces had been obscured, their words muffled, their hands rough as they propped her against the wall and poured water into her mouth. Only now was she remembering just how close to death she truly had been.
The next opportunity she got, she would demand to see Sami, no matter what came next or after.
With a deep breath, she smoothed her hands over the shift of her dress and straightened her shoulders.
The silver handles were cold against her palm, the doors lighter than expected.
They shifted inward without so much as a whisper, and the room before her revealed itself one sliver at a time.
The noise was soft at first, the clinking of glasses, the quiet undercurrent of a quartet of cuatros, and above that, the low murmur of conversation.
Nobody noticed her, and then, one at a time, they did, until the room slowly fell silent.
It was heavy, their judgment and their questions. They inspected the features of her face. They trailed their eyes along her body and the dress that left little of her shape to the imagination. They turned to each other, and they whispered as soon as she walked by.
But her attention was entirely focused on the man in front of her.
King Killian lounged on his throne, the floor-to-ceiling panes of windows behind him letting in glorious sunlight and a picturesque view of the roaring sea.
The king was resplendent in shades of blue, the silver on his clothing and fingers matching the silver gilding in the corners of the room.
Deep blue drapes hung in waves of velvet that framed the windows and gave the illusion that the sea continued inside.
Solana got the impression that the king was like that sea. Endless. Ravenous. Lying in wait.
When she reached the edge of the dais, she bent into a mild curtsy. It had been twenty years since she had bowed to anyone, but apparently old habits were hard to break. The king’s icy blue gaze watched her with surprise.
“Such manners,” he said, amusement tinging his words.
“Only in the presence of such company.” Solana’s voice was a mere murmur but still it echoed in the chamber of a room.
Nobody spoke while the king eyed her, while Solana wondered if he recognized her.
If he would tell everyone gathered that the daughter of the traitor of Supay was in their presence.
But he only smiled and said, “Thank you for answering my beckons,” as if she’d had any choice in the matter. The gleam in his eye told her he knew she hadn’t.
Everything about him was just as she remembered.
His hair had gone entirely white, except for his short beard that seemed to be holding on to the last dregs of a golden blond for dear life.
His severe features made her think of the statues in the garden that had been chiseled with care.
The depiction of the late king and queen was made of stone, but King Killian’s cheekbones could rival theirs.
And his eyes. They assessed and calculated with such precision that it made her want to squirm. It was unclear whether he recognized her, but she could have sworn she saw a hint of appreciation there as well. A stark contrast to the whispers at her back.
A mistress?
The king wouldn’t bother with her.
Qhilli scum is what she is.
Solana swallowed down her disgust and straightened further. Whatever her purpose there, the people were unhappy and just as in the dark as she was. She plastered on a wide smile. “It was an honor to come running,” she said, and then she added, with a pause just long enough, “Your Majesty.”
King Killian smiled back, a predatory thing that made the blood in her veins pound with foreboding. He knows who you are. “You are a very anticipated guest.”
“Am I?” Solana cocked her head innocently. “Do all of your guests receive this treatment?”
“If they are so lucky, and none other than you have been so far.”
Because Solana had been imprisoned and tortured and lived to tell the tale. How many of her people had rotted in those dungeons, had lost their lives because of the king’s ridiculous rules? They couldn’t kill, they couldn’t learn, they couldn’t leave. They were prisoners to both curse and kingdom.
The king leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests, his eyes trained on her.
“It was difficult, at first, to find your trail. Do you know that everyone we questioned wouldn’t give your name?
They even went so far as to take the blame for your killings and lead us down false paths. Your people are very loyal to you.”
Solana swallowed thickly. “I think you confuse loyalty with survival instincts.”
“The Demon Slayer of Supay, they call you. A savior in the callejon.”
Though his words were praising her, she had the strangest feeling it was meant to be anything but.
She became acutely aware of her lack of weapons.
Her palms tingled, yearning for a dagger she hadn’t seen since its blade had been used against her.
Did Reyes still have it like a trophy for his good deeds?
Bastard. She couldn’t wait to shove a pin through his eye.
Behind her, whispers began anew, but she couldn’t decipher them. Not when the rest of the room was fading away until it was only her and the king and the truth of why she was there on the tip of his tongue.
Death, or deliverance, neither of which she wanted from him.
“There has been a—”
The doors behind her slammed open. Solana whirled around with her heart in her throat, expecting to see guards in arms ready to drag her out of the room kicking and screaming. The pin in her sleeve could do nothing in the face of swords and daggers, but she dropped it into her palm all the same.
It wasn’t a retinue of guards or even Masters that entered the room. Just one man, with silver hair and stormy eyes that roiled with menace when they met hers.
Arguably worse.
“There he is,” the king said, his voice rising over the commotion of the crowd and demanding their attention. Solana kept her body turned, with Reyes on her left as he strode forward and the king on her right standing atop his dais. “Master Reyes, you’re just in time. You remember Miss Grey, yes?”
The king flourished a hand toward Solana, who stood perfectly still as Reyes swept by her and up the dais. At the king’s feet, he kneeled and bowed his head before turning and taking up the spot to the king’s right.
Solana’s jaw dropped. Master, healer, and right-hand man?
Just when she thought she couldn’t hate him more.
“Oh, we are intimately acquainted,” Solana said, wresting back control of the moment as best as she could.
Murmurs from the crowd increased at her words, but she only had eyes for the stain of embarrassment that colored Reyes’s cheeks.
“Reyes just returned from a trip to Iques, quelling a particularly vicious pack of demons that have been terrorizing the impoverished parts of the city for quite some time. Your mission was successful, I assume?” The king didn’t look away from her as he spoke.
“Yes, Your Majesty. All demons have been apprehended.”
The crowd clapped and cheered as King Killian smiled benevolently. It seemed, to Solana, that she was the only one who had heard the hesitation in Reyes’s voice, as if they had all lost their fucking minds, but she stabbed the tip of the pin into her fingertip to ground herself and held her tongue.
“Your contribution to this kingdom is very much appreciated. Now”—the king clapped his hands and swung his eyes back to Solana—“I’m sure you’re both wondering why you are here.”
She watched Reyes clench his jaw, his hands behind his back and his face devoid of any emotion as the king spoke.
Interesting. It seemed the king’s dog wasn’t quite so connected as Solana had thought.
“It is time that the matter of Supay’s fate is addressed.”
The whole of the room seemed to lean in with anticipation, and King Killian knew he had them all in the palm of his hand.
Solana was entirely unaware that the fate of Supay was up for debate and waited as patiently as possible as the king stood from his throne and strolled across the dais and down the steps, coming to a stop only a foot away from her.
The pin dug in deeper, keeping her impulses in check. A single drop of blood dripped from her fingertip and fell to the floor.
King Killian was not her enemy, not in the simplest of terms. But it was possible she was his. By blood, if not by actions.
Far in the back of her mind was a memory of her father, his hands clenched around her mother’s face, their words harsh and desperate. Do not trust him, he had whispered against her mother’s cheek, as if he could press them into her soul. Do not let her near him, as if Solana was the threat.
Perhaps she was, and the king knew that, knew her. Solana searched his face for her fate but found only cool calculation and unerring patience.
“I would like to extend an offer,” the king finally spoke into the silence.
Ususi, the darkness in her mind beckoned. She shook it away. “And what kind of offer would that be?”
King Killian shifted back and extended his hands out to the side, gesturing at the room, the castle, the kingdom. A trickle of sweat slid down Solana’s back.
“A position here, in my court, as the Royal Demon Hunter.”