Chapter Three Amunet #2
My brows lifted. All this because of unanswered letters?
There had been no connection between our two countries since King Zaid had conquered the Kaldfolk almost two decades ago, save for a few rebellious souls who tried to steal a drink from the Lotus River.
I’d assumed the correspondence that sat on the king’s desk was nothing more than a collection of spicy insults, maybe a declaration of war or two. Nothing as compelling as this.
Jasim’s lips brushed my ear as he said, “You cannot stay here, my princess. It’s too dangerous.”
“Hush.”
King Zaid’s frayed voice echoed through the throne room. “We do not help our enemies.”
“Your Majesty,” the Kald tried again. “My name is Keir of the Wild Valley, and this is Alarik of Crestbane.” He gestured to the man beside him, who had rings glinting in his braid. “We are representatives of King Rade of Frostguard. If you would let us explain, I can—”
The king turned his head, an athletic feat, and ordered his soldiers, “Kill them.”
A blade slashed.
It cut through nothing but air.
The Kald’s friend, Alarik, was fast, so fast he was practically a blur. But I did not miss when his teeth elongated and he tore the guard’s esophagus out of his body in a mad spray of blood. The guard could not even choke before he collapsed to the floor.
My eyes bulged. I was no stranger to violence, but this… this was…
The fleshy bit of meat hung from Alarik’s jaws for a moment, before he spat it out. The red stained the mosaic. His yellow eyes flicked back to the king.
The first Kald, Keir, sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. “Oh, King. Why did you make him do that?”
King Zaid shrieked, “Kill them now!”
“As you wish,” replied Keir. He turned on the nearest guard. An inhuman roar exploded out of his throat as his teeth grew to fangs, claws burst from his fingers, fur sprouted, and between one blink and the next, a bear stood in his place. One preternaturally large, angry bear.
Scimitars stabbed, arrows fired, all chaos broke loose.
And I had officially overstayed my welcome.
When Jasim tugged on my arm again, I willingly ran with him. Screams and roars echoed behind us. A voice that was more animal than man shouted, “There she goes! Second floor!”
Terror flooded my system.
Jasim jerked me into my room, my maids rushed in right behind us, and Tarim/Parim threw the dead bolt over my door. Jasim said, “We’ve got to get you out of the palace. Change quickly. Something plain that won’t attract attention in the city.”
My maids wasted no time, some rifling through my wardrobe while the others peeled my nightgown off. “You are the greatest army on the continent. How could anything get past your defenses?”
A knock at the door. We all froze. My heart pounded in my ears.
“It’s me.”
Jasim relaxed. Recognized the voice, even though I didn’t. He opened the door to a pale-faced guard. The four words he spoke brought the world to a standstill: “The king is dead.”
My blood ran cold. He was dead? A hissing hole cracked open in my chest. Not grief exactly but… a yawning emptiness. Something missing. It was a peculiar sensation. I’d looked forward to his death for so long, had been ready to rejoice every day at the inevitable news.
But never had I thought his death would come at the hands of the Kaldfolk.
“So is Hamadi,” the guard added. His eyes slid to me. “She’s queen now.”
My heart stuttered, the words landing like a blow. Queen.
An almost meaningless distinction. The Kaldfolk—the Kaldfolk were in my home. They’d killed my foster father. They’d killed my cousin. They’d kill me next. Holy gods.
“Now, my queen,” Jasim prodded.
I glanced down and realized the maids had clothed me in one of my most boring dresses, a drab brown with the sparsest number of pearls. It had belonged to my mother, which was the only reason I’d kept it. Foolishly sentimental. But now it would help me blend in with the citizens of Ketopolis.
My entire life, guards had shadowed my footsteps.
I’d even trained with the Khada Guard on the impossible chance I was ever alone.
The king was constantly reminding me that I was in danger, that any number of people wouldn’t want me to live to my twentieth birthday, but I’d always thought them the words of a paranoid man.
And now, annoyingly, he was right. Dead—but right.
Terror threatened to send my thoughts into a panicking spiral filled with images of limbs torn apart, splattering blood, faces twisted in agony. But I clenched my hands into fists so tight, my nails bit painfully into my palms, reining in the fear. Later, I ordered myself.
The Kaldfolk were here. They’d killed King Zaid. If they could reach me in a heavily fortified palace, they could find me anywhere. It didn’t matter where I ran or how fast. The Kaldfolk were like bloodhounds. They’d just keep coming.
I couldn’t let that happen. “They’ll need a body.”
Jasim blinked only once before he caught my meaning. He nodded and pointed to a random maid. “You. Remain here.”
“No,” I said. She was far too tall, with scars on her cheeks. A Kald would only need one look to know she wasn’t me. I scanned the assortment of maids before I landed on a girl trying to hide behind another. “You. You will stay.”
The girl’s dark brown eyes bulged. “Me, my queen?”
In the dark of the night, the girl could pass for me. Our faces had similar structures, though mine was certainly less hollow than hers. She lacked the Khada-green eyes, but nothing could be done about that. “Put her in my nightgown.”
The other maids didn’t hesitate. In mere seconds, the girl’s filthy uniform was shed and replaced with my violet silk nightgown.
“Leave some of your men behind to guard my rooms,” I instructed Jasim. “Make it look convincing. The rest are with me.”
“Yes, my queen. Karim will head the decoys.” He nodded to my other guard, who stood straighter at the order.
Ah. Karim. That was his name.
Well, there wasn’t any point remembering it now.
“But,” the maid said, voice trembling, “my queen, I don’t—”
I didn’t have time for arguments. “What’s your name?”
“S-Samira, my queen.”
“Well, Samira,” I said, barely glancing at the slave as I pulled a short wig over my shaved head. Not an exact replica of a commoner’s hairstyle but close enough. “Ashorah thanks you for your sacrifice.” I nodded to Jasim. I was ready.
“Stay close, my queen.” And then we were running out of my room and down the long flight of steps, guards filling in to flank me on all sides. My sandals scraped against stone as we descended the stairs two at a time.
We hadn’t even reached the main courtyard before I heard the screams.