Chapter 6
Aiden
I pillaged, I plucked, I ripped apart,
my faith was made anew.
“The King requests your presence in the throne room, your Highness,” The messenger’s white robes sweep the floor as he bows.
My stomach clenches instinctively. Not long ago, each summons meant more awful news.
Famine. Death. Resistance. More of our people taken by the Mer Army, though that has yet to change.
I thank the gods for the ceasefire each day.
But with territory councils still refining details for the peace treaty, anything can happen.
“Immediately. He says Highness, not I. I would never demand you go anywhere immediately—”
“It is well. I understand.” I say. As he bows once more, his curious eyes dart around my quarters with avid fascination.
Books are everywhere. Lining every wall.
Stacked in drawers. Underneath the bed. Naturally, they are organised by category, then alphabetically, and finally by colour.
There is, regrettably, no other sensible way to arrange books.
But they do occasionally enjoy playing tricks on me, rearranging themselves whilst I am preoccupied.
The sound of my throat clearing quickens his steps as I push my midnight blue tunic into my trousers and adjust my crown under my dark ringlets, before hurrying through the corridors.
I bow deeply before the King. He is poised upon the golden throne atop the dais. A goblet in hand.
To my left stands Nykholas, Lieutenant of Ember Court.
With his strong arms folded across his broad chest, he towers above the other lieutenants.
Lili of Ashen Reach— slight with an onyx stare and a beauty that could kill, Tobian of Cinder Cliffs, slender with eyes the colour of a storm, and Leander.
The stocky, hairy brunette who was once lieutenant of Obsidian Hold.
He is now the Master of Training and Discipline after ceding his previous title to Theron.
Nykholas offers a forced salute and a half-assed smile.
I return it, while his insufferable black cat, Soot, winds between his boots like a tiny shadow summoned from hell.
I make a mental note to investigate whether pets can be taxed.
Nykholas’s dark eyes bore into the side of my face.
I have never seen snow, but the illustrations from Earth Study books come to mind when I regard his short, wavy hair.
It burns bright against his warm russet skin and short, dark beard.
To my right are the King’s advisors, Kian and Vale.
Wide-eyed and alert. Kian’s greasy, dark hair lies plastered to his forehead with what I assume is nervous sweat.
I do not blame him. The times are volatile at best. I inhale my sigh and take my place on the dais, observing those my uncle trusts the most. And noting who is missing.
“I apologise for the intrusion upon your morning, but there is news.” His voice cracks. A shadow of sorrow crosses his face that only those who know him well would catch.
“It seems my niece is alive.”