8. Eight
eight
Clutching her borrowed cloak tightly around her naked body, Neira walked the two men to the royal family’s wing – there was nothing to protect back there anymore. She didn't care if they decided to rob the palace of all its riches, strip the silk from the cushions, steal everything down to the smallest ear ring.
Ramin was long gone, at least. The Grey King wouldn't get the chance to lay a hand on the boy.
There had been no threats made to her – yet – and aside from making her sit on his lap, which had been wholly undignified, the Grey King had not acted in any untoward way towards her so far. It was highly suspicious, but Neira was willing to accept it for now.
It was the betrayal that currently stung most of all. Each gate they passed through, thrown open instead of sealed, each step her bare feet took on the cold, marble floor, reminded her of it anew. Instead of helping her rule this place in her father’s absence, the regiars had usurped her. Instead of keeping her safe, the guards had thrown her to the wolves.
"You can use these for the duration of your stay," she said flatly, indicating the doors to a sprawling set of suites reserved for close guests – not that anyone had ever stayed here, that she was aware of anyway. She was almost thirty years old, and never had her father had one guest that she had seen.
"The duration?" Erqis grinned.
Neira stared him down. "Unless you wish to make Brightmere your new capital, I imagine you'll leave eventually. Hopefully soon. Now, I can send you some of our servants." She wrinkled her nose. "You'll want a bath, I'm sure."
The Grey King was watching her closely, something almost predatory gleaming in his bright eyes. They were a curious golden green, the colour she imagined summer grass at sunset to be. His hair, from what she could see under the filth that matted it, was a shade of light brown. Loath as she was to admit it he was handsome, with a dazzling grin and a warrior's frame.
The taller man, his huntsman, had blue eyes that pierced sharply from his honey-brown skin, and long black hair tied into a high knot. He had kept himself cleaner than his king on the way here, but not by much. Two dark horns twisted back over his head in elegant curves, ending in sharp, upturned points.
Farn. Like Safir was, although the two of them couldn't have been more different in looks. Even the shape of their horns differed a lot, but Neira was struck with sharp longing for her friend.
"Will you come help me wash? I'm sure it would be a riveting… conversation ." The king's beautiful grin broadened, and Neira was drawing herself up to spit her refusal at him as viciously as she could when the Farn reached out – and slapped the back of his king's head.
"Enough already." The Farn’s expression was apologetic when he bowed to Neira, quite gallantly for an invading brute. "Thank you, your Highness. We would love a bath." Qavor opened the door and shoved his king through, ignoring the man’s protests. "Will you meet with us when we are all washed and dressed?"
Neira didn't know what to make of the two of them. The Grey King… she couldn't get a read on him, his mood changing like spring weather, from jovial to murderous to flirty in the span of minutes. Meanwhile the muscle he had brought, who had no doubt committed countless atrocities in his life, was treating her as politely as a courtier. She pulled his cloak tighter around herself.
"Do I have a choice?"
"I'm afraid not, Highness."
The king's hair turned quite brassy as it dried, Neira found. He had raked it back from his forehead when it was wet, and now it was curling in dramatic waves below his ears and against the nape of his neck.
Washed and dressed in simple, but finely made borrowed clothes, the two men seemed quite a bit less intimidating than they had been in the throne hall.
They had found her in her sitting room an hour after she had left them, relieving the soldier they had quietly posted at her door, and were now working their way through four trays of food and drink as if it was a banquet.
Neira sat stiffly, watching. They seemed very relaxed, considering they were in unfamiliar, enemy territory, and that… frankly, could work to her advantage. Any advantage she got, she had to grasp. There was no one left to defend her, so this task now fell to her, and she was no use to anyone dead or imprisoned. She'd had quite enough of imprisonment after the last few days, anyway.
"So," Erqis began, still chewing on the last bite he'd taken. "Your people hate you, huh?"
The fucking nerve … Neira forced her mouth into a bland smile instead of spitting at him. "A strong word. I assume they were hoping for your mercy, seeing as you took out my father's armies in a single afternoon."
"You weren't, then? Hoping for mercy?"
"No." She sipped at her tea, bitter on her tongue, then set the cup down. "I expected nothing but brutality, and it seems my guess was right."
Erqis picked up another piece of bread, tore it in half, and dipped one half into the sauce still on his plate. "And when did I treat you brutally, Princess?"
"You haven’t,” she conceded. “But you don't have to. Your soldiers are all over my castle, my guards dead, my regiars in the dungeon, and I am responsible for what happens to my people. I hate to imagine what you have done to them . I know it is in my best interest to cooperate."
He snorted. "Your realm is a graveyard, darling."
Shock softened the tense line of her shoulders. She hadn't seen any smoke from the village, nor had she heard screams, but perhaps she truly was all alone. "I see. You truly are a brute."
"The way I see it," he continued brightly, as if her dismay wasn't obvious, "you and I can co-exist for as long as we stay. I am looking for something. The sooner I find it, the faster we can leave." Something in his eyes softened, just a little. "I don't mean you any harm. Of course, if you decide to stab me in the back, I'll have to punish you."
"If I manage to stab you in the back, I'd say you had it coming."
The huntsman, Qavor, had a mouthful of tea go down the wrong pipe when he snorted to that, and bent to the side to hide his frantic coughing. Erqis patted him on the back, his expression overly thoughtful.
"That is a fair point. But trust me when I say, some of my punishments are very satisfying. For both parties. Perhaps you should try to stab me in the back."
Neira reached for a slice of apple just to have something to do with her hands, her cheeks warming. "What are you looking for?"
"A bride."
She stared at him, the apple halfway to her mouth, but no… he wasn't serious. There was that boyish grin again.
"Very funny." He was flipping between threatening, joking and flirting with her so quickly that Neira found herself struggling to keep up. "You won't find one here, I'm afraid."
"Oh, are you promised to someone already? Tell me who, Highness, and I'll take his lands, too. His head as well, for good measure."
Neira stared at him with mild concern. What would happen if the Grey King perished here? Would anyone take his place – did he have an heir? Was there a plan in place for things after his death, or was he a stereotypical man, charging ahead with no thought for anything beyond the next conquest?
Even if he returned to whatever hole he had crawled out of and left her here in peace, could she even go back to how life had been, now that the regiars and her own guards had betrayed her so openly? Now that Ramin was gone? He had called Brightmere a graveyard – how many of her people had been trampled underfoot as the Grey King rampaged through her kingdom?
Would she be left alone in this massive, empty place, like a ghost tethered to their home?
Gods below, her father was dead . She had barely had time to process that, even though she had suspected it to be the case. And now her brother was gone. Safir was gone. She had not one friend, not one ally.
Neira felt ill.
She'd be queen over nothing but emptiness. "What makes you think I am not married already?"
"No ring, no husband in sight. A king’s son-in-law would have fallen with him on the battlefield, or remained here to protect the castle."
Well, she had to give him that.
"Your father's magic," Erqis continued, refilling his huntsman's cup. "Do you know where it is?"
"What?"
"The magic he did wasn’t natural. See, I have my flames, and Qavor has mastery over a handful of elemental spells as a Farn – those things are very natural, all of it things found in nature. What your father did…" Something dark passed over his face, at odds with the easy-going persona he had displayed so far. "That was unnatural. I need to know how he did it."
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
Her father was – had been – an ageing king obsessed with raising a suitable heir, and whatever experiments he did in that secret study of his. Whatever magic he had mastered hadn't been unnatural, Neira was sure of it.
But had ridden out to meet the aggressor in the field… why, exactly? Why had he ridden out himself? Her father had been a sorcerer, not a warrior.
And the army… why didn’t she know anything about the army? She remembered her father leaving, but she couldn’t remember him leaving with an army, or with anyone at all.
The longer she thought about it, the less sense it made... Safir used to say that once Neira started over-thinking, each of her emotions played out on her face. And Erqis was watching her closely, baiting her, probably waiting for her to slip up. The last thing she wanted was for him to notice her inner conflict.
"You should seek his study," she said finally. There was nothing left for her to protect, and she didn’t care about her father’s experiments, whatever they were. And it would get this infuriating man out of her hair for a while. "Unfortunately, I don't know where it is. He was… secretive about it. But he spent a lot of time there."
"Fine by me." Erqis slapped his thighs and rose from his seat, smirking at his huntsman. "Up for a treasure hunt through a creepy old castle?"
Qavor followed suit, inclining his head to Neira before following his king out. The door slowly closed behind them, and she could hear the shifting of a new soldier taking his place outside of her door.
The only thing left for her to protect was herself.