Chapter 9 #2
“But we can at the very least use the time to our advantage.” Leila spoke with bold assurance, a queen in both stature and voice. “Navé isn’t a guarantee. We could devise a fallback and search for Brontes’s sellswords.”
“As I said in our last meeting, this is the only way.”
“Her Holiness is right,” Flynn said.
The room fell silent. Confused, Tobias glanced between Leila and Raphael, then to Flynn, who stood poised and pontifical, unbothered by the shift in attention—relishing it, perhaps.
Keene’s expression turned severe. “Son?”
“Navé is clear across the continent,” Flynn said.
“I’m aware of geography.”
“Then you know the wait will be long, and our Savior hasn’t the time to spend it idly.”
Raphael nodded along while Tobias swallowed a growl. A valid point—one Tobias had spoken the day prior.
“You did not hold such an opinion during our last meeting.”
“I’ve had the night to think long and hard on Her Holiness’s words.” Flynn looked to Leila. “I say we hedge our bets. Send word to our contacts in Ethyua. All three of them.”
A flicker of a frown crossed Keene’s face. “They’re a contingency.”
“Well then, if Navé offers their defenses, we’ll simply send the Ethyuans on their way.”
“Ethyuans do not care for—”
“Ethyuans don’t care for many things, yet they remain in our pocket all the same.”
“You speak over me?”
Quiet sliced through the space like a knife, Keene on one side, his son on the other. An unspoken duel waged between them, their unblinking stares their only weapons, but it was Flynn who conceded with a bow of his head.
“Apologies. You are my father, and my respect for you is unwavering.” He turned to Leila, offering another, deeper bow. “But my respect for The One True Savior is greater. She is in dire need of an army, and time is of the essence. Wouldn’t you agree four prospects are better than one?”
“The south plays no games,” Keene said.
“You have taught me there is no risk too great when serving our queen.”
The quiet lingered, a slow-moving predator stalking its prey. Tobias reached for the blade on his thigh, preparing for blood as father and son glared daggers through one another.
Before he could unsheathe his weapon, Keene gestured at a servant waiting in the shadows. “Summon the heralds. We’ll send word to Ethyua.”
Leila remained composed, though the loosening of Her shoulders revealed Her relief. “Thank you, Keene.” She hesitated, then nodded at his son. “To you as well, Flynn.”
“I live to serve,” Flynn said, and Tobias’s muscles were yet again flexed, prepared for a battle nowhere in sight.
The meeting trudged on with much posturing and false respect, but Tobias did little to contribute.
What good was it when his words carried no weight—when a nobleman could steal his voice and change the tide?
Perhaps his anger was misplaced. Moves were being made, and wasn’t that the goal?
The Joseons listened to Leila and regarded Her dutifully as She stood at the head of the table, analyzing maps and giving orders to servants.
For the first time, they saw Her rightful title as Queen.
Then Flynn paced at the opposite side of the table, brow furrowed with concentration, and Tobias’s sight was awash in red.
Servants shuffled scrolls into satchels and retreated to complete their errands.
The meeting was over. Flynn was the first to leave, gracing Leila and his father with another bow and ignoring Tobias and Raphael entirely.
Leila left soon after on Keene’s arm, nodding as he droned on, casting Tobias a bored glance as they disappeared together.
Tobias, on the other hand, was rooted to the floor.
Everything within him had turned rigid and still—save for his heart, which pounded against his rib cage, threatening to burst free.
“That was an unexpected improvement,” Raphael said, standing beside Tobias as he scanned over the remaining slips of parchment.
“Leila’s point about the sovereign’s sellswords—that’s our next mark.
Keene can be swayed. We’ve seen this today.
In our next meeting, we bring up the mercenary army, and we—”
“There is no we,” Tobias spat. “Just because we’ve allowed you on this journey doesn’t mean anything has changed.”
He threw open the door and charged from the room before Raphael could rebut. His heartbeat had broken past the confines of his chest, and he sucked in long, deep breaths, willing the stony composure to take hold of him once again. God, what is wrong with me?
The dining room opened around him, its eerie blackness unsettling despite the sparse candlelight.
Servants were clearing breakfast dishes and trays of uneaten fruit.
Naomi sat in what had become her usual chair, wearing a fresh white dress fastened with a leather belt.
He made his way to her side, running his hand through his hair as if he could tousle aside his burdened thoughts. “Where’s Mother?”
“At the stables again. You know how much she adores horses.” Naomi cocked her head toward the meeting room. “How’d it go in there?”
Tobias flopped into a seat with an oof. “Fine.”
“Sounds like it.”
“They’re sending heralds to their contacts in Ethyua, exhausting all their resources to get Leila an army as soon as possible.”
“That’s good news.” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”
“Fucking splendid.”
“You sound so pleased.”
He surveyed her with an inspecting gaze. “How’s your back?”
“Broken.” She mustered a slight smile. “Servants are keeping me comfortable.”
Footsteps echoed off the walls, and Tobias cursed when Flynn sauntered in. He met Tobias’s gaze, then smacked a passing servant on the bum, that hideous smirk playing at his wretched mouth once again.
“How do you imagine him dying?” Naomi leaned toward Tobias, whispering out of the corner of her mouth. “I was thinking we’d hang him upside down by the balls and let the blood rush to his brain until it explodes.”
Tobias grumbled, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works.”
“He brought a courtesan to the villa.”
Naomi sat up straight. “Did they see you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will they tell?”
“I said I don’t know.”
He dug his nails into his armrests, channeling his frustration into his grip. Control yourself. But every nerve within him stood at attention, and he could’ve sworn he felt the nick of Flynn’s sword pointed at his throat, could hear the audience cheering.
The arena collapsed around him at the sound of Naomi’s long, irritated sigh. Humming to herself, she dug through her pocket and pulled out its contents—a ruby red ribbon, shiny with newness.
Tobias lurched in his seat. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a promise,” she said.
“I know what it is, but why—?”
“For you and Leila.”
As the silk spooled in her palms and poured into her lap, the life Tobias had long discarded unfolded before him: his village awash in browns and grey, save for the occasional flash of red on someone’s wrist—a promise tied into a bow, often accompanied by a wide smile or shy, rosy cheeks.
Friends and strangers alike would stop to stare, to offer their congratulations, or to marvel over the ribbon as if it were dripping in jewels.
But he’d never seen a promise like this—untied, before it was a promise at all, just a question in waiting.
A longing for marriage with no answer, no assurance.
Naomi shifted in her seat. “There’s no pressure, and no need to make haste.”
“I know that,” he said.
“But you love Her. And we’re in the middle of a war, with no access to civilization for however long. So, when the time comes . . . a promise.”
He plucked the ribbon from her hands, rubbing it between his fingers—soft, fragile. One wrong move and it would shatter in his grasp.
“How’d you get this?”
“The servants like me.” Naomi flipped her hair. “For obvious reasons.”
The silk swirls sat heavily in his hands.
He’d never considered such a moment, hadn’t seen it in his future.
He had long been married to labor and the coin his family so desperately required.
To promise himself to a woman was pure fantasy.
But the sugarcane fields were hundreds of miles away, and he had Leila.
What would it be like to wear the ribbon on his wrist? To tie it along Hers?
“Are you upset with me?” Naomi said.
Something warm and effervescent bubbled inside him, stirring his nerves. He met her gaze and smiled. “Thank you.”
He wrapped her in a firm hug, holding the promise tight as if it might slither from his grasp. His mind bounced between horror and bliss.
What if She says no?
But God, what if She says yes?
Naomi released him, ending his reverie. It didn’t matter. Hope radiated in his chest, his emotions a flurry of everything scary and wonderful all at once. And then the facade faded, reality crashing down on him like boulders in the labyrinth.
Flynn leaned against the doorway, eyeing the ribbon in Tobias’s grasp before he turned on his heel and left.
The afternoon air was wet and dense, beading along Tobias’s skin.
He’d been waiting in the shade of a broadleaf tree while Flynn sparred with his trainer in the distance.
The noble was adept with the sword, artful in ways Tobias hadn’t learned himself.
All showmanship and no brutality, completely useless for battle—or perhaps Tobias was biased. He wasn’t exactly an expert.
The two men dropped their swords and shook on a job well done, and the trainer was off, leaving Flynn to gain his bearings or perhaps neaten his impeccably groomed hair.
It was time. The tension was consuming Tobias, and he wasn’t waiting any longer.
This was about Leila, after all. Bygones were a distraction they couldn’t afford.