Chapter 5
When King Mordric slowed to a stop, his footsteps beating against stone, I blinked my eyes open with great effort to find myself at the threshold of the palace.
A gasp escaped me as I heard the belltower toll two in the morning.
Crossing the entire city in so little time should have been impossible.
The King stared down at me intently. His cold fingers were still flush against my cheek and a shiver coursed through me as our eyes met.
I had never entered Valnar Castle through the main gate.
It sat under a pointed arch, the doors made of polished mahogany with burnished brass rings for handles.
The arch was wrought of iron and rigged to drop bars into place to barricade the door in case of attack.
Two guards were stationed there in shiny steel armor.
They bore a crest on their breastplates in the shape of Valnar Castle.
We breezed past them, the King carrying me down an empty corridor and coming to a stop before another arched door. He set me gingerly on my feet with one arm wrapped firmly around my waist, and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Dr. Murrows,” he barked.
Hurried footsteps sounded just before the door swung open, revealing a small man with bushy gray eyebrows.
He blinked up at us through a pair of round spectacles that nearly hung off the edge of his nose.
He expressed no surprise at the sight of the vampire towering above him or me, balanced precariously as I was on unsteady legs.
“She’s injured,” said the King. “Attacked in the city.”
The physician raised his bushy eyebrows. “On the table,” he ordered.
I dropped my satchel unceremoniously to the floor as he waved us in, the King leading me to the middle of the room. “I think she hit her head,” he added. I avoided his gaze as helped me onto the simple wooden table, his hands grasping me by the waist.
“Did you lose consciousness?” asked the physician.
“Yes,” answered the King before I had the chance. Heat seared my cheeks.
Dr. Murrows nodded knowingly. The King lingered over me, watching the physician with narrowed eyes as he ran his hands over my tender skull. My ears rang as I awaited his assessment. I exhaled sharply as he prodded the spot where I had hit the cobblestones.
“That’s enough,” hissed the vampire, startling me.
“I have successfully served the court for forty years, Your Majesty, perhaps you might permit me to do my work?” responded the physician, unfazed.
My eyes flitted to the King. His expression was merciless, tracking the physician’s every move as he further prodded my wound. “There’s some swelling,” Dr. Murrows concluded. He pressed a palm to my brow, frowning. “You’re a bit warm. Are you experiencing any headaches? Dizziness?”
“Only a little,” I replied.
“Fetch me a cold compress from my store in the cellar if you please, Your Majesty.”
The King’s brows knitted together and his gaze flicked to meet mine for a moment before he retreated into the shadows without protest. I paused, holding my breath to hear his footsteps recede as the physician continued to examine me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers curling over the edge of the table. What in Letlas’s name had the King of Valen been doing wandering around the city alone? Especially somewhere as unsavory as the alleyways. Perhaps this was a dream.
Perhaps he didn’t realize that the girl he had rescued off of the streets of Valnar was one of his servants.
Or that I was the same servant that he may have seen using magic in the library.
I inhaled, my breath shuddering through my lips as if there was a weight on my chest. I should have bowed when I saw him tonight.
Or averted my gaze at the very least. Instead, I swooned in his arms.
Oh gods. I scrubbed a hand down my face, recalling Mrs. Cathers’s warning earlier today. If she found out about any of this, I would be out on the street.
“The compress will be all?” came a voice from the threshold.
My eyes flew open. The King stood squarely beneath the doorframe, his expression unreadable.
The physician pulled himself to his feet with a groan, wagging his finger at me.
“You have a mild concussion. You’ll need to monitor your symptoms and use a cold compress three times daily for no less than a half hour.
If the pain worsens, or you experience anything odd, like memory loss, I will see you back here without delay. ”
I repressed a sardonic retort. I certainly wouldn’t mind forgetting the events of this evening.
“And you’ll need rest, too. At least a few days.”
I nodded, although I had no intention of resting. Even if I could afford to miss work, I had no doubt that Mrs. Cathers would delight in forcing me to toil away with a head injury.
“Thank you for your services, doctor,” said the King. “The hour is late now, and I feel I must implore you to retire for the morning.”
The physician turned his back to me, squaring off with the King. “I suppose that is an invitation to leave my own office?”
King Mordric’s smile did not reach his eyes. “It is.”
He bowed, catching my eye as he reached the door. “You need rest,” he warned, closing it in his stead.
I stiffened as the King approached, unsure of what to do.
“I advise you not to ignore him,” he cautioned.
He unfurled a thick cloth, one that had been sitting in the cold cellar for some time, I imagined.
My grip tightened on the edge of the table as he silently and gently pressed it to my skull.
The cold brought some relief, soothing the heated pulse pounding in my head.
I met his gaze and remembered myself, lowering my eyes once again. I felt exceedingly small in his presence. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.
“You can look at me, you know.”
I stiffened. According to Mrs. Cathers, I could not look the King of Valen in the eye. But, I supposed, if the King himself was telling me to … I glanced upward to see a smile playing on his lips.
“I imagine that you might have some questions for me,” he said. “As I do for you.”
My forehead creased in confusion. What could I know that a king did not? “Questions, Your Majesty?”
There was amusement in his voice as he said, “For instance, what business does a king have wandering the streets of Valnar?”
Staring into his depthless eyes, I tried to recall if vampires could read minds. I was fairly certain they could … “Your Majesty is free to spend his time wherever he chooses, of course.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Believe it or not, I’ve been suffering from a terrible amount of stress lately. Something about these dreadfully long council meetings puts me on edge. So I was running an errand for William, my seneschal, to clear my head.”
Now that I could relate to. “Oh?” I said. “I wouldn’t think that the King would run his own errands.” My eyes widened as I realized what I’d said and who I’d said it to.
He grinned. “I had to practically blackmail my guards to allow me to leave unaccompanied, but this errand was special. I commissioned Caleb Brummings to craft a blade for someone. A gift. I was on my way there when I heard the commotion in the alley.”
“A blade?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“A dagger, in fact,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to send my seneschal to retrieve it another day.”
My gaze flicked to the satchel that I had abandoned by the door when we arrived. It was a miracle that it had even made it back with us. “This dagger,” I said. “It didn’t happen to have a serpent’s tail on the hilt, did it?”
His head cocked. “As a matter of fact, it did.”
I gestured to the satchel. “I was sent into Valnar to fetch a number of items for the seneschal. It wasn’t on my list, but Ewan—”
I swallowed, picturing the harrowing look in his eyes as he bore down on me in the alley. I inhaled a shaky breath. “Er, the blacksmith’s apprentice insisted that I take it.”
He stooped, pulling my bag toward him by its strap. Tucking a hand inside, he fished around for a moment before tugging the dagger from its wrappings. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.
He loosed the blade from its sheath, holding it up to the firelight. “How extraordinary. I’m even more certain now that it was fate that we met tonight, Miss …?”
“Erramun,” I finished for him, offering a halfhearted smile.
My eyes traced the fanged serpent scored into the otherwise smooth blade. It trailed from the dagger’s gilded hilt to its lethal point where it coiled around the pointed steel. Ewan had been right; it was a fine blade.
“You said that you have, er, questions, Your Majesty?” I whispered, staring at my distorted reflection in the cold steel.
The corner of his lip curled upwards. “Indeed I do, and I suppose this is as good a time as any to ask them.”
Beside us, the fire spit and crackled violently, the bark curling off of its log before the flames transformed it into sinewy smoke. It set my teeth on edge. “You know,” he said, “until yesterday I had no idea that we had a witch in our midst.”
The heat drained from my face as I met his depthless gaze. “I assure you, Your Majesty, I am no—”
“Please,” he interrupted, waving away my protest. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
I wasn’t so sure.
“It’s rare to encounter a witch these days,” he said.
I didn’t reply.
“You are not comfortable speaking of it,” he observed, grinning as my eyes widened. He was toying with me. “I can tell. Your heart started beating wildly the moment I mentioned it.”
I blanched. “You can hear that?” I asked, recalling Maxence’s earlier caution.
He nodded. “I can. Tell me, why does it make you so nervous?”
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” I said, unsure if it was something worth apologizing for. “Some people are, er, hostile toward witches.”
He made a noise that sounded vaguely like a growl.
“My advisers tell me that there are some in the Outlands who consider witches akin to demons and therefore believe that witchcraft should be punished, despite the fact that witchcraft is not a crime in my kingdom. A preposterous notion born of their own ignorance, of course.”
“I come from the Outlands.” The words escaped me before I could stop them. I winced, expecting reproach.
His expression softened. “I mean no offense.”
I ducked my head.
“May I ask how you found your way into my employment?” came the King’s voice. “The Outlands are terribly far away.”
I took a shaky breath. “I left my village three years ago under, er, strained circumstances. I served in Lord Reardon’s house before finding employment here.”
The beginnings of a periwinkle sunrise seeped through the gap in the heavy curtains, its nascent rays falling across my face. His expression smoothed. “I’m sorry to hear that you left your village under difficult circumstances. Although, I suppose if you hadn’t we would not have met tonight.”
The skin of my cheeks warmed. “I suppose not, Your Majesty.”
“The hour grows late, and I imagine what you need more than anything right now is rest,” he said. “Before I let you go, is there anyone I can send word to on your behalf? Family?”
I winced, the image of blue flames once more dancing behind my eyelids. “No,” I whispered. “I have no family.”
He touched my hand gently. “My apologies for the presumption.”
I nodded, gratefully accepting a handkerchief that he pulled from his cloak as my eyes grew watery. “I’m sorry,” I sniffed. “It’s the shock, I think.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me.”
I sniffed again. “Thank you.” A beat passed between us, his hand still on my own. “I should be getting back,” I said. I had already wasted enough of his time.
“I’ll call for a page to escort you,” he said.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“This may seem forward,” he said as I slipped off the edge of the table, “but I wonder if I could entice you to meet me in the Winter Garden tomorrow evening? Eight o’clock?”
I stared at him blankly. “Why?”
He smiled, the firelight casting a warm glow over his handsome features. “I know it’s an odd request, but I think there may be more for us to discuss. After you’ve gotten some rest, of course.”
My thoughts whirred so feverishly that I wondered if he might hear them, too.
The idea that the King should want to speak to someone like me ever again was absurd.
And yet, I couldn’t deny him. Not just because he was the king, but also because I didn’t want to. I swallowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”