21. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
W e rode with purpose, our horses moving at a fast trot. Ten soldiers clad in the distinctive black armor of Wynterborne flanked me, with Sainte on my right and a sturdy, compact man on my left.
Kaen accompanied us on the recommendation of Anderz. He was not only the sole volunteer to venture into Galadier but also versed in their customs—enough so to help me teach King Reid a lesson on respecting Wynterian ambassadors.
He was of modest stature, and his wispy brown hair formed a halo around his balding scalp. As he rode, the wind tugged at the strands, creating a tattered banner trailing behind him. His nose bore the marks of multiple breaks, now healed at a slight angle, while his bouncing cheeks displayed several scars. Despite his unconventional appearance, his brown eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence. He defied the typical noble image, yet he was worth his weight in gold for the wisdom and insight he provided thus far.
We had a plan. As long as King Reid didn’t strike before we reached the city and Sainte’s soldiers refrained from stabbing me in the back, I had a chance. Kaen stressed the importance of my status, insisting I embody my royal demeanor. I had to command respect. The Glades were like sharks sensing blood, they would attack without hesitation.
This was why Sainte brought so many soldiers when he first retrieved me from Landing’s End. He assumed there would be complications sneaking me across the border. Thanks to my detour, we avoided the main cities, allowing us to travel faster than gossip could spread.
When we reached the gates, four guards formed an escort toward the palace. Castle Gladier towered above, its white walls reflecting the midday light onto the city. Larger than Wynterborne, it sat exposed on flat land, far more vulnerable than our fortress. Hooves pounded against cobblestones, melding with the clink of armor, each sound echoing my frantic heartbeat.
“Open! At the request of Princess Elspeth of Wynterborne!” Kaen bellowed.
We rode into a clearing before the palace, and guards scrambled to obey the order. For such a small man, his voice was large and commanding. The courtyard gates swung open amidst the commotion. Our horses stormed through without slowing. We bypassed the stableboys running to retrieve the reins and pivoted toward the white marble steps.
I slid off my horse, bringing it to a halt with a movement that looked braver than I felt. Sainte’s boots hit the ground right after mine. The sound of his following footsteps bolstered my resolve as I hiked up my dress and stormed up the stairs.
The scribe near the entrance wrung his hands, dark eyes flitting over our group. “Your Highness, Princess, if we only knew–”
“If I wanted to inform you of my arrival, I would have,” I snapped, then lifted my chin high to stare him down, or at least try to, given he was the same height. “I demand an audience with King Reid.”
“I shall inform him you would like to–”
“He grants audiences now, does he not?” I replied, striding toward the castle doors. “Had an ambassador from Wynterborne made a request, your king would have seen him at this time. I will take his place.”
Bluffing with Kaen’s advised words, I relaxed a fraction when the scribe jogged to catch up, waving at the guards. They hesitated, but opened the way for me and my party at his insistent signal.
The heavy door creaked, echoing through the vast room. The musty scent of old stone mingled with the aroma of polished wood as we entered. Boots clinked against the marble floor as our Wynterian soldiers took their positions along the corridor as ordered. I prayed they would stay at their stations in case things went poorly and we needed to make a quick escape.
The scribe scurried to keep pace with my purposeful strides, struggling to lead the way. Sure, I risked going the wrong direction, but if I slowed, it would give them the opportunity for someone to send guards to prevent my audience with the king.
We approached an open doorway, and my nerves wavered as I glimpsed a dark figure on the throne in the distance.
I could do this. As a princess, I bore a responsibility to my people. They depended on me, and I couldn’t let them live in fear.
I had to be brave for them.
I stormed into the hall, striding through aisles of gathered nobles with my head held high. Silence fell, broken only by the rhythm of our boots on the polished floor, the jangle of Sainte’s armor, and the soft swish of the folds of my dress.
The noble before the dais edged aside with a horrified expression. My eyes locked on the king’s dark gaze. As I approached, guards shifted around him, more rushing in from the doorway to join the ranks.
Clearly, they weren’t taking any chances of an attack.
“Your Majesty,” I said, tone dripping with disdain. I halted and dropped into a deep bow, keeping my stare fixed on him.
King Reid bore a robust figure, one that commanded respect and distance. His dark eyes remained unreadable, and his mouth formed a hard line, shadowed beneath a thick mustache. His tanned skin spoke of sun and heritage, while his black hair, slicked back with oil, added to his imposing presence. Clad in gold and crimson, his attire caught the light from stained glass windows that framed the room.
“You must be–”
“Princess Elspeth, Second Born of Veiled King Vardis of Wynterborne.”
He studied me with a glint in his eye as he leaned on the arm of his throne, tapping a finger against his lips. “So it’s true, then. You live.”
“Unlike our ambassador, Piers of Gortyte,” I shot back, hoping my gaze reflected my anger and not the insecurity of my station.
“Ah.” He shifted, straightening his posture.
I followed his gaze toward the front of the crowd. There sat a woman with sharp cheekbones and perfect lips pursed tight. The only thing soft about her was the swell of her belly. Her kohl-lined eyes, an alarming blue, contrasted sharply with her dark complexion. A thin golden tiara marked her as royalty.
Bastard royalty.
There lay the reason for Piers’ death.
“Have you come to apologize for his treasonous actions?” King Reid glanced over the crowd before his steady gaze settled on me again.
I recognized cold cruelty well enough from Adastrus to read the nervous edge to this king’s actions.
“Rather, I would beg your apology.”
Murmurs drifted through the mass as I continued, my voice carrying through the chamber, “Our ambassador was promised protection, shelter, and provisions in exchange for an alliance between our nations. Piers of Gortyte was a citizen of Wynterborne, not Gladier. He was ours, and you sent his head back to his mourning mother. You’ve committed an act of war against our people.”
Shocked gasps reverberated through the room, tension spiking so high it was palpable in the air.
“You believe attacking my daughter—raping her and filling her belly with cursed Wynterborne seed was not an act of war against my people?!” His baritone voice roared over the crowd’s rippling distress.
“I think you needed a scapegoat, dear king, and I believe you chose poorly.”
“You call me a liar?” he seethed.
Beside me stood Sainte, a pillar of steadiness amidst my nervous trembles. My hands quivered, refusing to be stilled, yet I clenched them against the urge to adjust my dress.
“I call you a fool.”
“Take them away!”
Guards sprang into action, and the room erupted into chaos as they scrambled toward us. Nobles shouted over one another while two of my soldiers drew their weapons.
Calmly, I extended my left palm.
Sainte placed a weighty gauntlet in it, the metal cool against my skin.
King Reid observed the exchange with suspicion, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation.
“ Ach neight duan tiel! ” I called above the din, then tossed the gauntlet at the king’s feet.
Everyone froze at my words, and the cacophony fell into immediate and absolute silence. The guards’ gazes shifted between the king and me. Kaen’s warning flitted through my thoughts—this was the tricky part. I had to goad King Reid into action, rise to the bait. He was no fool, no matter how I accused him.
He scoffed, the sound dripping with disbelief. “You dare challenge me? Risk all-out war?”
“You’ve ventured into that realm already, Your Majesty. I’m simply offering you a scapegoat.”
His eyes darkened, a dangerous glint flickering within as he leaned forward, holding my gaze. Kaen advised this plan for the same reason Anderz had me request a Valahant in the Hall of Receiving. With the crowd, the king would find himself cornered, compelled to respond to my challenge.
“My daughter’s honor has been tarnished.”
I highly doubted that. Based on her swollen belly, this was a misstep from months past, and Piers likely spoke out of turn, then suffered for her sake.
“Wynterborne’s honor was tarnished by the untimely death of our ambassador, without negotiations for his return.”
“And what happens when your challenge puts you in a grave? What will your brother say? ”
I had to proceed with caution. Any hint of Adastrus’ disregard for me could prove fatal, yet suggesting my death would trigger open conflict would land me in the dungeons.
“I came to discuss this breach of trust.” My chin lifted, steadying myself. “I’ve spoken from my own convictions, and stand by them.”
“Your life is in your hands, then.”
“So be it.”
He stared at me long and hard for a moment, before his fingers curled, tightening along the armchair. “Send for the Obelisk.”
His champion.
“As for the duel, I choose to use my Valahant.”
King Reid’s gaze darted to Sainte, narrowing with scrutiny, as he looked him over. His lips pressed into a tight frown. “The velebond is an ancient custom among your kin,” he remarked with caution.
“As is hiding behind a champion.”
He recoiled as if struck, unable to conceal his offense.
In tense silence, our gazes clashed until a colossal figure entered. I observed the towering bronzed giant with interest, noting his long, dark, braided hair as he strode from a distant doorway. Clad in steel armor, he wielded two swords that, while hand-and-a-half for most, appeared as mere shortswords in his grip. His countenance was rugged and formidable, his eyes menacing.
He aptly bore the name Obelisk.
Sainte stepped forward, tightening a strap on his remaining gauntlet.
“You would battle here?” I asked, clenching my jaw as I noted the limited space and the civilians around us. “You would have bloodshed in your hall among your nobles?”
“All the more witnesses to your folly.”
And all the more obstacles for Sainte to work around.
With a hard swallow, my gaze shifted between my Valahant and the giant. My role was fulfilled—I had done my part. He trusted me to get him this far. Now, I had to rely on his trust. I was asking a lot of him. The weight of my request mirrored the demands placed on me by the high court.
Bystanders shuffled aside without a word. The king’s daughter approached the throne, a protective hand draped over her belly, fixing me with a spiteful glare.
Sainte stepped ahead, and for the first time, I sensed the unease he must have felt escorting me to Wynterborne. This was his job, his expertise—he was a warrior. As a princess, born for this, yet as I watched him draw his battle ax from its sheath on his back, fleeting doubt crept in.
Would he survive ?
The Obelisk smirked as he cracked his neck from side to side, then rolled his shoulders. Sainte drew in a deep breath, settling into a wide stance that emphasized his strength, his fingers tightening around the ax’s hilt.
I had to trust him.
He was my Valahant.
He was my champion.
The room fell into an eerie silence as the combatants assessed each other. When I turned, I found the king observing me with one dark brow arched in silent challenge.
A thunderous bellow erupted from the Obelisk, making me flinch. Kaen steadied me with a hand on my back before positioning himself beside me. As they sprang into action, there was little reassurance the advisor could offer. The giant advanced, swinging both swords in a sweeping arc that forced Sainte to duck and twist away.
The two spun as Sainte tried to get behind his adversary, deflecting blows with calculated precision. A moment of imbalance caused him to stumble, and I clutched my dress as the giant closed in. With a swift kick, the Obelisk raised his swords over his head.
“Poor choice,” Kaen murmured.
His words drew my frown, and Sainte lunged forward like a striking viper, crouched low, slamming the butt of his ax onto the giant’s foot just as the blades descended. With nimble agility, he rolled out of harm’s way, evading the furious swing.
The Obelisk’s relentless pursuit didn’t falter as Sainte darted around. The clash of their weapons filled my throat with a foul, bitter taste. Locked in battle, I wished I could avert my eyes. My Valahant was deliberately trying to tire him out, and I knew that, but I couldn’t help but cringe at each near miss.
I matched the king’s stare, lifting my chin to level my glare his way. He offered me a sneer that told me he saw my reactions to the fight.
Have faith.
I ground my teeth, refusing to look at the men despite the grunts and growls. A sword clattered near me, making me flinch, but I kept my head high and my gaze steady. My Valahant had a job to do, and so did I.
A mighty scream shook me to my core. I broke contact with the king, bracing myself. The giant fell back, grimacing as his blood gushed onto the floor from where the ax had embedded his stomach.
Sainte placed a foot on the Obelisk’s chest and heaved his weapon free. Something wild and dangerous flickered in his eyes, sending shivers down my spine—shivers not born of fear.
“A life for a life,” I called, my voice ringing clear as I held Sainte’s gaze .
He prowled my way, like a lion after a kill. Red seeped from a gash on his temple, mingling with the Obelisk’s blood splattered along his jaw, but the corner of his lip twitched up the tiniest bit.
He was ready.
He stood at my side and I turned a cruel smile on King Reid.
I held out my hand.
A gauntlet fell into it, and I hurled it at the foot of the throne. It skidded across the floor, colliding with its match.
I raised a brow. “Now, do you understand why you don’t take things from Wynterborne?”
“Retract your challenge!”
I tipped my head in a show of innocence at his demand.
Kaen explained during a formal challenge, one could only offer a single champion in their stead. Sainte defeated the Obelisk, an imposing figure chosen to intimidate, and now the king stood vulnerable, forced to fight any subsequent challenges himself.
“No negotiation was given for Piers. And I have no desire to negotiate with you,” I said.
Silence gripped the room as he stared me down.
“You kill me, and my heir will take the throne. Do you believe your life will be spared in his vengeance?”
“Do you have so little faith in yourself?” I gestured toward Sainte. “My Valahant is tired, weak. You are fresh and well-armed. I expected a king to stand tall and fight for his subjects.”
“Hold your tongue–”
“Piers belonged to Wynterborne. He belonged to me , and you took his life.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he scoffed. “You’re nothing more than a little girl who–”
“That knows the importance of her people!” I shouted, standing as tall as I could. “My ambassadors wear their nationality as a badge of honor, a shield of protection while abroad. They should never enter a nation that claims friendship, only to be murdered behind closed doors!”
I took a deep breath, hoping Kaen’s guidance would hold true as I made my move. With slow, deliberate steps, I advanced towards the giant’s cooling corpse. As I held the king’s gaze, I set my palm in the sticky pool of crimson staining the polished floor. Blood dripped from my fingers as I approached the throne. His soldiers braced their weapons, but he lifted his fist, staying their defense. When I knelt at his feet, I dipped into a bow while holding his glare.
“I retract my challenge,” I said, then extended my hand. Crimson splattered onto his golden boot .
His upper lip twitched in a silent snarl, but he placed his palm in mine, the blood slimy between our grip. I lifted his fingers to my lips and kissed his signet ring, seeking forgiveness.
“I warn you,” I said, tightening my grip, “if ever a Wynterian comes to harm on Gladier soil, there will be far more blood on your hands.”
He recoiled, releasing my hold. He tried to play off his disgust by leaning casually on his throne. With a smirk, I retrieved the gauntlets and faced the crowd, holding my head high.
Let them see a true Wynterian ruler, one who wasn’t afraid to avenge her people.
I moved past the giant’s corpse and between Sainte and Kaen. As I passed my soldiers, they sheathed their swords and fell in step with me. I strode with purpose, navigating the corridors with brisk strides. Placing guards at strategic points served two purposes: clearing our path for a swift escape and to guide me on the way out.
I resisted the urge to run as my soldiers hummed the Wynterian anthem, falling in line behind me. Shouts erupted from the hall, but the men’s humming drowned out the chaos in our wake.
Clearly I had made an impression on King Reid, if his shouting was any indication.
We rode hard and fast. Kaen warned that lingering would risk King Reid’s wrath—and our lives. He needed time to stew, and he assured me there would be plans to smooth over the incident.
Politics involve give and take. We needed to cause a scene to make them think twice about harming one of our people, especially our ambassadors. Yet, I insulted the king himself. If left unaddressed, his bitterness would strain relations between our nations.
Kaen hinted that an invitation to the coronation would be in order. He proved invaluable, and I realized I wouldn’t be alone if I took the crown. People familiar with this political world were ready to help and guide me. I wouldn’t have to rule alone or without advice.
By the time the sun kissed the horizon at dawn, we crossed Wynterborne’s borders. Confident the God Stones hadn’t arrived during our absence, we opted to rest in the relative safety of our own land before pressing on to the castle.
Entering my room at the inn, I glanced out the window. The bubbles along the glass surface distorted the view, but allowed the sun’s first rays to filter in. After the door shut behind me, I spun around, biting my lip as I awaited Sainte’s reaction.
He turned toward me and halted. His expression shifted from relaxed and tired to confused and wary. Flecks of dried blood splattered his cheeks, and the crusted-over gash near his temple gave him a rugged appearance. The tear at the neck of his tunic revealed strong muscles beneath. Guarded blue eyes locked on me as he sidestepped, keeping his chest to me.
“Why are you walking like that?” I asked, a haughty smirk plastered on my cheeks.
“You look…” He trailed off, a frown pulling his brows together. He fumbled with the strap to his sheath crossed over his back.
My chin dipped with a playful tilt of my head. “I look like what?”
I wanted his approval—his validation. Despite winning two rites, this felt like a success. The prospect of claiming the crown seemed within reach. If the gods continued their elusive ways and offered their insight during the final rite, I just might handle the complexities of the political world.
His stare narrowed as he lowered his sheathed ax to the floor. “Different.”
“What kind of different?” I swished my skirts and headed to the washbasin atop the end table. After I dunked the rag into the frigid water, I pivoted on my heel when he offered no response.
The expression on that man’s face had me choking back my laughter. He took on giants, endured floggings and beatings, yet when faced with a woman’s emotions, he appeared as bewildered as a newborn calf.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, eyes darting to the rag, then to me.
I started toward him, adding a little extra sway to my strides. “What’s the fun in that?”
He fell silent, his form immobile as he collected his thoughts. I stopped close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, then patted the damp rag along his wound, cleaning the dried blood. The gash, while not deep, had bled profusely, as head wounds do.
“Did I do well?” I finally asked, backing away.
Recognition and relief flashed across his features, and my heart swelled with warmth. Sainte embodied loyalty and resilience. His demeanor was unyielding and sharp, his physique robust and unwavering—yet even he had moments when he needed guidance.
He cleared his throat, unbuckling his belt. “You did. Kaen already told you. You were perfect.”
“I wanted to hear it from you,” I muttered, a satisfied grin spreading across my lips .
I rode a wave of confidence, exhilaration coursing through my veins. We hadn’t died, and we evaded imprisonment. While the gravity of a man’s demise should have been taken more seriously, I was far too elated to focus on that now.
He pulled his belt loose from his trousers, setting his daggers beside the bed. With slow strides, he closed in, pressing into my space. For a long moment, he peered into my eyes, then traced his fingers along my jaw while a faint smile played at the corner of his lips.
“You did well, Ellie.”
My grin widened until my cheeks ached. Pride swelled within me. It was a simple statement, just a few words—yet, coming from him, they meant everything.
“You did pretty good yourself,” I said, brushing my thumb near the gash on his temple. “Though, next time, do try not to damage my Valahant.”
“I’ll do my utmost,” he pledged, his eyes tracing down my face until they settled on my lips.
Suddenly, the room felt stifling and cramped.
“Sainte?”
“Hmm?”
My hands grew clammy and butterflies fluttered through my belly with frenzied abandon. “Have you… ever kissed a woman?”
“Can’t say I have.”
Hunger swirled in those blue depths as he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion.
I licked my lips and mustered my courage. “Do you want to?”
What a stupid question, Elspeth.
“I would.”
My heart stuttered before it took off like a rabbit, and my breathing drew shallow.
He met my gaze. “Yet, I would save that for my wife.”
A rush of coldness swept over me, as if I had fallen into a pit of icy water, leaving me breathless. When he smirked and pulled away to kick off his boots, I choked on my gasp.
I froze, lips parted, grappling with what just transpired. Had I imagined the spell? Did he even want to kiss me—or was that a creation of my sleep-deprived mind?
He glanced my way with a low chuckle.
Curse men. The whole lot of them.