Chapter 7
Rixon
Rixon clenched the missive in his fist, crumpling it for good measure before smoothing the sheet and passing it around to the others. His council chamber was full. There were a few sighs of disappointment, resignation, and then—
“I told you not to sign that order,” General Ralson growled.
“You cannot speak to him that way,” Lord Haspel cried, leaning forward in his seat. “It is disrespectful.”
He smothered his snort. It seemed in signing the order, at least he’d earned himself an ally.
“The order was necessary,” he drawled, wishing his glare was enough to silence Ralston forever.
Most ran the other way from his brooding personality, but Ralston was all too eager to go toe-to-toe at every possible occasion.
“I will not have our people starving in their strongholds. Farms have gone fallow. All they’ve got left is land trade.
Just because our coastal cities are thriving—thanks in large part to Lord Kipani’s merchant fleet—does not mean we can leave our other settlements to languish. ”
“They’ll be glad they languished when there’s an army on their doorstep,” the general said, a sneer in his voice.
“The spies only reported fewer than a thousand soldiers. I’ll speak with Weiss—”
“What good would it do?” Ralston cried, his face reddening with impatience. “That male is an outsider. You can hardly trust what comes out of his mouth.”
“He was correct about the repellers.”
“Yes, and perhaps you should have put in an order for a thousand rather than syphon half our border troops to become nursemaids.”
Rixon took a deep, calming breath. “Weiss didn’t have a thousand, in case you’ve forgotten.
And making that many will take months, according to Weiss.
Our people don’t have months. They’re starving to death.
The training program won’t be ready in time, either.
Until then, our military will have to do. ”
Why was he letting this male goad him like this?
Ralston leaned back, scrubbing a hand down his face, obviously still irritated. He wondered if the scar Mina had given him still plagued him. He hoped it did. Hoped it fucking chaifed. Gods, he missed her—ached for her.
It had been nearly two weeks and he’d received a meager string of correspondences from her.
A note from Elianna when she’d first arrived, which had infuriated him, because he wanted her words, not someone else’s.
All he could think in those moments was how he would punish her for it.
At first, he’d assumed it was because she was still avoiding him.
He’d been somewhat mollified when another missive had arrived a day later with an apology—that she’d been summoned immediately by the council, but had wanted to honor her promise.
What she’d said after had only made things worse.
The council had threatened to strip them of their bond.
He hadn’t known such a thing was possible. Apparently, neither had she.
He’d fought the urge to saddle Ferrah right then and there and ride for the Citadel. She was his to protect. But how could he, when she was half a kingdom away?
Even now, he rubbed at his throat, trying to ignore the burn of bile at the thought of her coming to harm. It made him want to lock her in the nearest tower. When had he become so fucking possessive?
He knew when. Right around the time he’d lost complete control of her. When he’d made that damned promise to his father to take the crown.
He could barely keep his kingdom under thumb. His lady witch was doing gods only knew what. Everything felt like it was falling apart, slipping right through his fingers.
He hadn’t felt this out of control in…well, he couldn’t remember a time.
“If Carth attacks us with our pants around our ankles, gentlemen, we will lose the kingdom.” Ralston’s declaration brought him back to himself.
The general—along with everyone else in the room—was aware of the assassination attempt on his life.
The knowledge had spread through the palace, and then the city, like an uncontrolled burn.
It was normal in a position of rulership, to fear for one’s life.
His father had received plenty of attempts.
But he couldn’t help wondering about the timing.
His lady witch was gone, and an assassin had conveniently emerged from the cracks.
“Our spies didn’t report numbers large enough to be of concern,” he found himself saying. “Until they do, we continue as planned.”
“Those numbers are plenty to take a settlement or two.”
“They’d have to breach the walls, first,” said Lord Holland. “I think it unlikely.”
“Thank you,” he found himself saying. Holland had been surprisingly compliant, thank the gods. Unlike Ralston, who’d been a constant thorn in his side, warning repeatedly about impending invasions from Carth.
“Why would Carth attack when they’re trying to sell us these new Nebrine repellers they’ve fabricated?
” Lord Kipani crossed his arms, eyeing the general.
Luka Kipani was a rich male, with the largest shipping fleet in the kingdom, perhaps even the world.
He kept the great city of Corinna afloat, bringing goods from across the sea and beyond.
“Because it’s probably a distraction to lure us into a false sense of complacency,” Ralston growled.
“Enough.” He leaned forward, snatching the rumpled missive. “I will speak with Weiss. Otherwise, we’re done for today.”
He didn’t wait for their answers as he rose and strode from the room.
He found Mya waiting for him outside his chambers, Lola and Julian with her. He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling. He’d forgotten about her note, that she’d arranged to meet with him. Fucking hell. Did it never end? Would he never get a moment of peace.
He strode past them, nodding a greeting at his new guards before opening the door.
“You may enter,” he said, inviting them in.
He went straight for the liquor cabinet, pouring two fingers of whiskey.
It was barely midday and he already needed a drink.
Then he joined them in the sitting area, tossing the drink back and enjoying the way it burned.
“Tea service, Your Majesty?” one of his servants asked.
“Yes, be quick about it.” He didn’t want this meeting to last any longer than necessary. He had never liked witches. A lot of it had to do with how they treated their wielders, though, Mya’s bunch seemed cut from a different cloth.
Then again, Mina would say he didn’t like anyone in general.
He almost huffed at the thought, schooling his expression. “To what do I owe the pleasure? As you know, my lady witch has gone to the Citadel.”
“You’ve had an assassination attempt on your life,” said Mya, folding her hands. “With your lady witch gone, you are in danger. She can’t heal you if you sustain life-threatening wounds that do not allow you to reach a healer in time.”
“I don’t intend on sustaining any wounds, Lady Witch.”
“As if such a thing could be planned!”
“Is that why you’re here then? You’ve brought bodyguards?
” He looked at Lola and Julian. He didn’t know much about either of them, just that Lola was of a quieter sort.
She was skinny, almost frail looking, with light brown hair.
If he didn’t already know she had magic, he’d laugh at the idea of someone like her protecting him.
“Your lady witch would never forgive me if something happened, something that might be avoided.”
“I plan to be careful,” he said, annoyed by the implication that he couldn’t take care of himself.
“Oh, and when you take a drink of your whiskey and find it laced with poison? Laced with something that incapacitates or even kills you? What then? How will you save yourself from that?”
“Fine. Point taken. I’ll get a taste tester.”
“Even with one, there are poisons that take longer to act. Besides that, assassins don’t simply move in the shadows. You could be targeted from afar. One arrow straight through the eye. A building that comes down around you. There are many ways to kill a king, Your Majesty.”
He studied her. “You seem to know a lot about killing kings.”
She huffed. “I’m too old to be offended by your insinuation.”
“Well, if you were someone I couldn’t trust, what’s to stop you from planting two assassins right under my nose,”—he motioned to Lola and Julian—“with the false pretense that I can trust them?”
“It would be rather strategic, yes.” Mya’s eyes gleamed as she leaned back. “Though I’m not sure Lola could kill even a fly. No offense, dear.”
“I certainly could.”
Rixon almost started at the sound of Julian’s voice. “Didn’t realize you could talk.”
“Don’t usually have much to say.” Julian was dressed in the usual wielder attire. Pants and a tunic, armed to the teeth with blades.
Rixon lifted his brows. “I can relate.”
“So, you’ll take them, then?” Mya leaned back to regard him.
“I suspect you want them trailing me at all times?”
“That would be safest. Julian can keep an eye on things when you’re distracted by court matters—”
“I don’t get distracted.”
“—and Lola is there for any emergency injuries.”
The servants chose that moment to walk in with their tea service. He almost cursed. There wasn’t much more of this conversation he wanted, but with tea just arriving, they had a reason to linger.
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath as they set it out. If Mina were here, she could carry the whole conversation for him. He could merely sit and bask in her presence while she deftly handled everything.
Instead…
“Corven,” he barked, turning to the nearest servant. He’d made a point to learn the names of those working directly in his chambers, especially knowing his father never had. He’d also had them vetted extensively, then insisted they undergo yet another check after the attempt on his life.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Get my steward. Have him brought to me immediately. The rest of you—dismissed.” The remaining servants disappeared.