Chapter Sixteen
The king lounges in a leather chair, staring at the simmering fireplace after a meal he took alone in the library.
Nearing the end of my second week of his service, I still scarcely see him beyond the occasional meal; he’s constantly been away at meetings with other Houses, sectors, industry rulers.
Lila and I clear and clean the space. Having something to focus on, even if it is a High Fae, helps distract from the grief, along with my continued nightly physical and genius routines.
I’ve now started trying to coax out the heat in my veins, but it doesn’t always respond.
Though now I know the fire is there. It’s almost as if the more I allow my genius to breathe, the stronger it becomes.
Carter hands him letter after letter. The king opens each one and tosses it onto the table. Another, and another. Finally, he sighs. “Do you have blank parchment, Carter?”
“I could retrieve it from your room, Your Magnificence.”
“Please do. I am resting my genius for some new exercises tomorrow.”
Carter nods, then heads out of the library from the servants’ entrance.
“I’ve given more thoughts to your proposal, Lila,” the king says. I glance between the two, and the king explains, “Lila writes out her thoughts on laws we are considering passing in Amyria. I’d like a faerie’s perspective on them, especially a clever one.”
“Thank you, my king,” Lila says.
“We’ll talk more about it, but first, I’d like something sweet from the kitchens.”
“Did you want to speak to Chef Fern?” she asks, and I see the out she gives me to collect myself.
“Why don’t you go ahead, Lila,” the king says, and my pulse picks up.
She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze on her way out.
In the quiet moments of shining silver and setting tables, she and I have begun to talk these past two weeks.
Small things, like how tangerine is her favorite color, how I prefer the trousers of Reign to the skirts of Illusion, and she prefers dresses to anything else.
How Hector’s grunting while eating is off-putting.
It is simple and slow, but like a small creek, friendship begins to flow.
The servants’ door clicks closed, and I am alone with the king.
He leans back in his seat. “I seek to change many things, but it is difficult knowing what to prioritize or even where to start. It feels like trudging up a muddy slope.”
I hesitate, then say, “It must be overwhelming.”
The king glowers at the fireplace. “My grandfather founded most of the laws in this land, and my father strengthened them. I understand we need accountability, but perhaps the pendulum has swung too far.”
Blood roars in my ears. I balance on the eye of a needle: One side is a backslide into the safety of invisibility; the other is a leap toward the danger of ingratiating myself. Two opposing destinies. One heartbeat to decide. Impact over effort, I think.
I take the risk.
“We do need accountability,” I say. “And it sounds as though you have a vision.”
“What does it mean when the vision for my legacy is to break down theirs? Who does that make me?”
Something in me stirs. “May I answer, Your Magnificence?”
He gestures, glancing up at me once more in earnest. “Of course.”
I take a breath. “It makes you a king posed for peace and prosperity. It makes you…an intellect,” I finish, thinking of Kassandra’s words. “That could be your legacy.”
His eyes focus on me, and my pulse skitters. He clears his throat, voice deepening.
“I suppose that may be true.” The king shifts, loosening the laces at the top of his tunic. His hands have small nicks and scrapes. They are not the smooth ceramic of Dominik’s.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs. His tousled hair rests against his thick neck, and I wonder if it’s soft the way Kassandra’s is, or coarse.
“Your hands, my king.”
He turns wide palms up. “I’ve been practicing a new technique. One for Lady Kassandra.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he says. “I will forge her a diamond dagger.”
My heart sinks, as I mull over how that will be received. But I already know; she’ll be unimpressed by the lack of creativity.
“You think this is a poor idea,” King Maxian observes.
“No,” I rush to say. “No, I was just imagining how yours may differ from hers.”
“How long have you served Lady Kassandra?”
“Two years, my king.”
“Have you spent most days at her side?”
“Every day.”
He rubs eyes bleary from hours of reading. “I’m seeing her again for another walk in the courtyards. So I have time to decide if she would like the diamond dagger.”
“That’s delightful.” I smile, and this one is real.
If they are getting closer to a betrothal, then Kassandra may be free of Dominik, and I can erase my and Benji’s debt faster.
If Maxian and Kassandra marry, I may maintain the salary of a Reign Crest, may even experience another pay raise in serving the king and queen.
I could be like Lila, with her three rings on each wrist, or even Carter, with only four on his arms altogether.
“I hope so,” the royal says, but I catch the hint of anxiety: a dry swallow, the creeping flush to his cheeks.
“The last I saw her two weeks ago, I was denying that the diamond dagger was a creation. I couldn’t understand how it wasn’t an Illusion—but now we know she must have some very distant Reign magic she drew upon because I’m forming diamond daggers as well.
Except I’m not quite sure how I should go about speaking with her again. ”
“Well, I’m sure…” I stop.
A ghost of a smile on his face. “You may say what you think.”
“If you’d like Lady Kassandra to warm up to you once more, then apologizing would be a good start.”
The king blinks up at me, shocked. Then he laughs, deep and gentle.
“I will start there,” he says. “What else do you think? What is the trick to making her happy? I remember her laughing often when we were children, but in the decades since, that has faded away.”
The cracking of her bones, her constant frown, the merciless bullying…The closest I came to seeing Kassandra happy had been in the garden, when she revealed her rot to me. It had only been to arouse herself for the king, and yet, as she’d kissed him, her eyes turned molten in the fading light.
“My lady is more intelligent than some realize,” I say.
“She was always the best during our childhood games. But how does this impact her happiness now?”
I weigh my words carefully. “I believe she longs for the respect that comes with being considered a worthy opponent.”
“You understand more than you let on.” He looks up at me again, and my breath seizes in my chest at those violet eyes, so striking even among the fae.
“A-apologies, my king,” I stammer, my face warming.
“Don’t apologize. I asked for your thoughts,” he says. “If we’re going to spend this much time together, now and in the future, I want to be surrounded by clever creatures. Something my mother taught me: The king should never be the smartest in the room. Do you have any questions for me?”
It’s the way he looks at me, grinning and expectant, as if he wishes to explain himself to me, bestow wisdom.
“Any question?” I ask.
“Yes, anything.”
“When we lace, do we die?”
“No,” he exclaims, barking a laugh. “No, we do not. We are simply remade.”
“Is that not a death of some kind?”
Maxian cocks his head. “You’re a peculiar faerie.”
“It’s not the first time I have been accused as such,” I say, and he chuckles. “I have another question, my king.”
“Go on.”
“One day, when I have earned your trust, may I…submit a proposal like Lila does?”
He leans forward in his chair, weaving fingers together. “Do you have a proposal in mind?”
My heart begins to hammer.
“The food the palace throws out at the end of each feast, ball, or even dinner,” I blurt. “There is so much of it. What if it were given to the Unluckies?”
“What are Unluckies?” he asks.
There’s an uptick in vibration in the plane, but whose magic it is, I am unsure. I swallow, aghast that he doesn’t know. “Faeries with four limbs of debt.”
“Ah. We call them the Unskilled.”
Unskilled? All labor is skilled. I smother the retort.
The plane rumbles, and he looks to me. “Giving out free food to the Unskilled is illegal.”
“Apologies, my king.” I blush for effect, and in the heat of the room, the pump of blood in my ears, it is not hard. “I suppose I do not know much about ruling. I do not understand what the High Fae do.”
Yet he continues to frown. “Well, it’s because the Unskilled cannot become skilled like you if we gift them everything. Besides, those faeries need…gentler food than fae food. Easier on their bodies.”
My heart pounds in my ears, the strange logic applied to justify inequality so at odds with what is practical.
The High Fae do this in almost everything—value silly ceremony over common sense.
Females can only wear skirts, High Fae must rest yet by nature need less sleep, some faeries can’t process fae food.
Deprivation untangles these rules—faeries clothe a baby in whatever garment they have on hand and take shifts sleeping because all must work, and the king’s own kitchen staff eat the leftovers of what they’ve prepared because that is what’s there.
“There’s more on your mind,” the king observes.
I fix my face. “Apologies, my—”
He waves his hand. “Tell me your thoughts. Please.”
“What is ‘gentler food’?”
“Well, it’s…it’s easier to…” The king stops, giving a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea. It’s what I’ve always been told.”
“Like a legacy.”
He watches me. “Careful. We are getting into radical territory.”
Recklessness grips me. If Lila offers proposals in writing, then perhaps he can handle a small dose of truth. “Because…the Unskilled do not deserve food?”
“Now…” He shifts, uncomfortable. “When you put it like that, it sounds cruel.”
“Are not all legacies radical during their time? Otherwise, why else would they be remembered?”
A brief pause, and I wonder if his violet eyes will be the last thing I see.
Finally, he declares, “I like you.” Then he’s picking his quill up once more, twirling it. “Reign governs the harvesting of the crops. I don’t even think I would need council approval, if there’s as much waste as you say.”
I curtsy. “The kitchens keep track of the inventory and food waste, so you could always gather a report from them. Like I said, I know very little about ruling, so I do not know if I could think up the right solution.”
An intellectual needs a puzzle.
“Ah, but you do know much,” he answers. “You know about Lady Kassandra.”
“She likes the color lavender on a male,” I say. “And it will bring out your eyes, my king.”
A lopsided smile grows on his face. “Thank you, Avery.”
The plane hums around us and I am unsure what he is feeling. I only know that it is not bad, that it keeps me alive, and relief washes through me. The servants’ door opens behind us. Carter waltzes in with a satchel of parchment and a plate of something that smells of cinnamon.
“Apple pie, my king,” he says. “Apologies for the delay, we ran out of custard and Lila needed an extra hand.” Carter gives me a look. A laugh bubbles in my chest, but I push it away.
“I suppose that will do,” the king says. “Oh, and, Carter? Be sure that my lavender tunic is cleaned and pressed for tomorrow.”
“Yes, Your Magnificence.”
I suppress a smile.
The king reaches for his fork. “Carter, if I ask you a question, would you answer it honestly?”
The valet straightens. “Of course.”
“Is there much fae food waste in the kitchens?”
The valet cuts his eyes to me, then back to the king. “Well…some, yes.”
“Why not prepare less food if so much is being thrown out?” Maxian asks as Lila reenters the room with a carafe of sweet wine.
“If the cooks prepared less food, then there would be fewer options to choose from,” Carter says.
“Mm,” the king muses, digging into the apple pie, dismissing the conversation. Carter and Lila steal glances my way, and I keep my expression blank. A new feeling pumps through me, deep and delicious, breaking up the mucky waters of my grieving mind.
Influence. A no-name faerie servant. An unassuming moth flitting about, blending in with the dust and the night, small enough to slip under the crown and whisper in pointed ears.
Why offer up a sack of food to one faerie when I can garner new laws for all? One is navigating the current, the other is redirecting the flow of the river. Why not start at the source? A beautiful monarch whose fancy is as flighty as a butterfly.