Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
“The last I heard, they were hiding in the Venhorn Mountains.” Bexley’s knowledge is firmly rooted in the whispers of elven and mortals, not of nymphs and prophecy. I doubt she’d know anything of use. She can’t be trusted with that information, as much as she would love to wield it for her own benefit.
“Hmm … Yes, I’ve heard the same. Send up the girl at the desk on your way out.”
A dismissal if I’ve ever heard one. It is almost laughable, how I am king and yet with Bexley, she acts like the ruler. But there’s nothing more I’ll get from her at this point, anyway. I rise from my seat. “You should be careful. There is more poison circulating than we originally thought, and it is too easy to become a victim.” I know firsthand.
“Do not concern yourself with my safety. Focus on your own. Your city is overflowing with strangers from all over Islor ahead of this reckless wedding. Mortals are disappearing every day, into kennels and cages or running off into the wilds. Your lords conspire against you, and you do nothing but spy on them.” She draws a long drag. “You have already lost. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
“It is usually a pleasure. I cannot say the same this time.” My anger boils. If anyone could hear her speak to me like this, I’d be forced to punish her.
“What do you expect?” she snaps. “You’ve disturbed my peace and made me choose sides.”
“I didn’t make you do anything, Bexley. You just realized how much you love giving advice to a king.”
Her lips curl into a sneer. “If you want my advice, Your Highness … Do not become another king who wastes time playing games for allegiances you will never win. Give them a reason to fear you, or hand over your crown now.”
Clouds promising rain obscure the sun by the time I emerge from the darkness of the tavern. I peer up at the window Bexley bathed in front of. Her harsh words claw at my mind. I was a commander, leading an army of soldiers, loyal to me because of my swift action. These last few weeks have been suffocating as I navigate the politics that come with the throne, trying to behave as a king would. And yet lords—even pathetic ones like Danthrin—plot right under my nose. That should be my first sign that I’m failing miserably.
The only advantage I have right now is that they think I’m blind to what’s happening in the east. But will I be able to play the ignorant king through tonight’s assembly?
“At least your brother had the decency to wait until dark to lurk in squalor,” Boaz hisses, suddenly behind me.
Fuck, he’s like a homing pigeon.
I pull my cowl forward to hide deeper. “I’m not in the mood.” My voice carries enough bite to warn Boaz.
“Yes, Your Highness.” He dips his head, his words curt. “I’ve dispatched your message with the taillok, and Prince Tyree has been moved to new quarters.”
“Thank you.” I take in Port Street in the afternoon. Plenty of people mill about—some visiting the shops, others lingering outside the brothels, while the rest share quiet words within small groups. It’s as busy as usual, though the air is thick with apprehension. That likely has to do with the Cirilean soldiers roaming the streets. That, or the rotting corpse hanging from a light post on the corner. The Silver Mage arrived this morning, and the Seacadorians who arrived with it can’t seem to look away.
Zander’s letter said the Ybarisans used the trade routes that led here, and that there was too much poison to control. How many of these mortals have come across it already? How many already have tainted blood? Several of them could be carrying poison within their pockets as I stand here, or they could have hidden it beneath a rock. There are too many rocks in this city to look under them all.
If I were to corner each one, I’m sure their pulses would race. But how much would that be from guilt rather than fear of being questioned by the king?
At least they fear me.
Bexley is right, I’ve wasted too much time playing by the rules when no one else seems to be.
“I need you to seal the gates and port immediately, but quietly. Stall anyone trying to leave and let no one in. No messengers are to leave unless their letters bear my seal. Any letters that arrive are to be seized and brought to me. And if anyone attempts to wield their positions to contradict these orders, punish them accordingly.”
“But Islorians arrive every day ahead of the wedding and Hudem—”
“No one enters. No one leaves.”
Boaz dips his head. “Your Highness.”
“Also, gather your thirty most trustworthy and skilled of the guard—discreetly—and have them meet in the main stables in an hour. I must pay a visit to the soldiers outside the gate.” Fates, I wish I had the Legion at my disposal. Their skill was like no other.