Chapter 14
The Frostheim delegation arrived in the middle of the night. Richard had only slept two hours when Lord Byrom pounded at his door, frantically reporting that visitors were at the Southern Gate. After a moment of bleary scowling at the bed canopy, Richard swung his legs off.
“Rouse my siblings, Byrom,” Richard called out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “And the High Council. And for the love of the gods, have someone light the throne room.”
What followed was a half-asleep procession of royals and lords and ladies converging on the throne room in various states of disarray.
Elara was the widest awake—clad in a nightgown, with her lips swollen and a bruise forming at her collarbone.
On catching Richard’s glare, she arranged her hair to hide the mark.
Corwin sat on the dais steps with his chin on his fist. Briony slumped against him, dozing on his shoulder.
The High Council, at least, gave a more dignified appearance, though, oddly, Lady Kestrel was wearing Lord Gregory’s crest chain, and he wore her shoes.
Dain and Kaelen stayed by the doors, looking far more alert than Richard felt. With a sigh, Richard settled into the throne and willed his eyes not to shut. The servants had steeped the hall with lavender oil in lieu of a proper cleaning, and it made sleep harder to resist.
A firm ally, Frostheim. The firmest Ardenia had, in truth, and the oldest, the bond predating Richard’s grandfather by generations.
As a boy, Richard had studied the stories—the snow-lashed coasts, the black waters thick with monsters, the first frost-clans who carved longboats and rowed east to raid.
But conquest had not remained simple, and eventually, the people they brought back had risen to overthrow and remake the realm. A joining of two heritages.
Now, Frostheim’s court observed a mix of rituals—tea ceremonies, elaborate calligraphy adorning their treaties, and ancestral shrines. Yet, they kept the longboats, the mead halls, and their ruling line, House Jeong, had married enough into the old blood that some royals bore blue eyes.
The doors slammed open. A dozen Frostheim soldiers marched in.
They wore quilted black armour resembling fish scales and carried white banners.
The ink strokes depicted a nykur rising from the surf—a fabled shape-shifting water-horse that lured victims to mount it before dragging them to the depths. Frostheim’s insignia.
Behind the soldiers came attendants in furred robes with sleeves past their hands. The men’s hair was long and braided back, and the women’s hair hung loose.
In front of them all, Crown Princess Seola swaggered in. She was in all white. A ribboned jacket and a high-waisted skirt that fell in a bell-like sweep to her ankles. As she turned to snap orders at the guards, her back revealed a red embroidery of a nine-tailed fox.
Richard smiled. She was as he remembered, if broader around the shoulders, as if she’d hauled the oars to cross the sea herself. Short black hair framed a pretty face fixed in a roguish grin.
“Princess Seola.” Richard descended the dais. “Frostheim’s early arrival is—”
Seola closed the distance in three strides, seized him around the ribs, and lifted him clean off the floor. Air left Richard’s lungs in a wheeze as his boots dangled.
“Old friend!” Seola’s voice boomed. “Your eyebags have grown deeper. I had not thought that a possible thing.”
“Yes—friend—put—me—down,” Richard wheezed.
She set him on his feet and thumped his shoulders, beaming. Richard glowered at her and straightened his doublet.
“You are very early.”
“The winds were good.” Seola shrugged. “Would you have us circle the harbour until the correct hour?” She squinted at him. “You look tired.”
“I was in bed.”
“Ah.” Seola winked. “Not alone, I hope?”
“Princess.”
“Bah. You have not changed, you dreary creature.” She peered around him at the dais. “There they are! The little ones!”
Corwin jerked awake as Seola barrelled towards him. He managed half a bow before she caught him in a headlock and ruffled his hair.
“This tall you were when I left.” She gestured at her hip. “Now look at you, you handsome devil. Do the boys and girls weep?”
“The boys, mostly,” Corwin choked. “The girls throw sharp things at me instead.”
“Ha!” Seola released him and crouched in front of Briony. “And this one. Oh, by the Great Raven.”
Briony’s eyes widened. “What?”
“The dull bearing of a booklarva.” Seola sighed. “It is etched clear upon you exactly as your dour brother.” As the little girl spluttered, Seola turned to Elara. “Still angry with me, Sun Princess?”
“You bedded three of my ladies-in-waiting last time.” Elara’s grin was full of teeth. “On the same night.”
“A delightful time they had, no?”
Richard intervened before Elara could ignite something. “We have prepared quarters for your retinue, old friend. I trust you will find the chambers adequate.”
Seola snorted. “I trust you will not offer me your chamber tonight?”
“I trust you recall your marriage?”
She cackled. “Yes, yes. I only jest for old times’ sake.”
“Old times’ sake.” Richard gave her a flat stare, the memory from all those years ago flickering to mind.
He’d been nineteen and she eighteen, and they’d grappled on the eastern ramparts at dusk.
She had been quicker even then, pinning him on the flagstones and sniggering as he squirmed.
When she kissed him—fierce, sudden, and tasting of wine—he’d kissed back, hoping it would ignite something within him.
But when she yanked off her blouse and guided his hands to her pale breasts, he’d panicked and kicked her.
The force had tumbled her off the parapet’s edge, and he’d scrambled to catch her wrist. For a lurching heartbeat, she’d dangled, the courtyard thirty feet below.
Once he’d heaved her up, they’d sat against the parapet, breathing hard. Under the moon’s shine, Richard had haltingly confessed he felt no desire for her, nor for any woman. She’d laughed and laughed as she laced her blouse.
“Try a man then, you fool. Do not expect me to pursue you. A long line of eager bodies awaits me already.”
Richard blinked the memory away. “The Naradesh King arrives in the afternoon.”
Seola rolled her eyes. “Attempt to wake me for it, and I shall resort to bloodlust.”
“My Lady of the Nine Tails.” An older man stepped forward from the attendants, his blond beard stretching down to his belly. “Might I beg, Princess, that you be polite to our hosts for at least the first night?”
Seola laughed. “There now, old friend, you hear him? He says I am not polite.” She jutted a thumb at the man. “This desiccated old hawk is Right State Councillor Ragnar. My mother sent him with me so he can bow at things in my stead.”
Ragnar intoned wearily, “I often do.”
Richard nodded and signalled to Byrom. “Lord Steward. See that our friends are settled with comfort.”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
Richard addressed the hall. “My lords and ladies, the hour is indecent, and our guests require rest. We shall reconvene in daylight.”
There was a rustle of bows and curtsies.
The councillors filtered away. Lady Kestrel attempted to drift towards the left side door, but Lord Gregory yanked her to the right.
Corwin trailed after Seola, answering her questions with flushed cheeks.
The boy had held a passing fancy for her, Richard recalled, and had pouted for days when news of Seola’s marriage reached Ardenian court.
Elara tried to sidle by, but Richard seized her elbow.
“Just because Penelope is here,” he said, “and just because you are both intent on behaving as though the past year did not happen, do not imagine I have changed my mind. I will never let you go to her realm.”
“Let?” Elara repeated softly, eyes flashing. “I was not aware my life required your permission, Brother.”
“It does when your life would be spent in a slaughterhouse.”
“And what would you have me do?” she asked. “Stand aside while the woman I love is dragged back there alone and scared?”
Richard’s lip curled. “Do not be childish. Estara is collapsing in on itself, and Marius would chain you to his court the instant vows were spoken.”
Flames alighted on Elara’s wrists. “I will not abandon her.”
“And I will not abandon you,” Richard hissed, tightening his grip around her elbow. “You will heed my command.”
Elara’s flames surged higher. “I am your sister, not a pet to be caged.”
Richard gritted his teeth. How could she consider abandoning him for another realm? How could she think to leave when Galdran loomed on their doorstep? For so-called love? For a woman she’d known far less than her own kin? After all Richard had sacrificed to keep her safe—
A gauntleted hand curled over his wrist. “Your Majesty.”
Richard glared at Kaelen. The knight’s hair was mussed, likely from sleeping against his pillows, and the sconces lit bronze shimmers in his eyes.
Irritation flared. Truly, Kaelen had no right to look so handsome while meddling.
“Chief Mage Dianara has just arrived,” Kaelen said calmly. “They are waiting in the generals’ office.”
Elara’s flames guttered, and Richard let her go. He raised a brow at Kaelen, who hurriedly released his hold, too.
“This is not finished,” Richard said.
“No,” Elara said coldly. “It is not.”
With a curt nod, Richard strode to the doors, his cape snapping behind him. Dread churned his insides.
Over my dead body. His hands clenched into shaking fists. Over my dead body, Marius, will you have one of mine.