The King's Marked

by Terina Adams

  “Thank you.” I gave him my biggest smile and he ducked his head upon receiving it.

  I turned to go, but Fednick said, “Is it true you saw a ragool?”

  “What do you think? Do you believe in the pets of wraiths?”

  He nodded his head.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “They say only three of you survived.”

  “That is also true, although I wish it wasn’t so.”

  “Will you tell me about it someday?” I heard the hesitancy in his voice. Maybe few granted his requests.

  I laughed softly, then winked at him. “There aren’t too many boys who could resist a story of monsters. Soon, when it is not night, for I’ll scare myself too.”

  With his head tilted to the side, his fringe shifted, revealing his beautiful eyes, marred only by the frown now gouging grooves between his brows. “Hey, you wanted a spooky story and that is what I will give you. Especially since it doesn’t seem like you heard the whole story.”

  His frown deepened.

  I leaned down, coming close to his face. “There were six ragool that night.”

  His eyes widened. In so many ways, he seemed innocent compared to Nellene. But I was sure, living as a servant with no apparent family, he was anything but innocent. “And now you know why the story must be told when the sun is up and we cannot go to sleep weaving bad dreams.”

  “I never have bad dreams.”

  “Is that so? My tale will leave you shaking.” I smiled at him, and after a heart’s beat, I received a sort of smile back.

  12

  The servants’ entrance led me around the side of the curtains and into the box where the king and his entourage sat. No one noticed my arrival, so I stayed toward the back next to the heavy curtain like Sophren had instructed. Someone would arrive with the food and wine when the time was right, and then I would be expected to serve, but until then I was to stay out of the king’s eye.

  From the back, I could not see his face, but his lush black hair belied his age. With two grown sons, he could not be a young king. My eyes darted through the entourage, which consisted of the king, his consort, who sat to his left looking like she wanted to be elsewhere, other important men, I surmised, given the brass buckles on their expensive clothes shined in the sun. Sitting to the front and right of the king was a tall, broad man with the same profile as his father. The prince; his bearing even in sitting gave him away. Cerac and he had the same straight, slim nose and thick dark hair. Cerac’s cheekbones were high and defined, whereas Hunrus’s less so.

  More trumpets from the side of the king’s box rang out. In the far side of the arena, a large metal door trundled open and two men stepped onto the red dirt. The crowd roared their cheers as the men paced in opposite directions to each other, limbering their muscles by slicing their swords through the air. From up here, I could not see each man clearly enough to tell if any were from the feast this morning.

  The consort leaned across to say something to her king, which he laughed at before turning his attention to the arena. For a fleeting moment, she glanced over her shoulder and met eyes with one of the important men sitting in front of me. Her look was not the look of a naive woman. Too quick for me to avoid, her eyes landed on mine and her coy smile dropped. Her eyes narrowed before she lifted her chin high and turned away, dismissing me. An unpleasant feeling weighted low in my stomach. I did not need enemies, especially powerful ones.

  Beside me, the curtain parted and Cerac stepped through. His attention fell to his father first, but soon enough he noticed me standing off to the back. His eyes flared briefly before he snapped his attention away. My small smile didn’t even manage halfway to my lips before he strode down the few steps to stand beside his father. The king failed to acknowledge the arrival of his second son, or if he did, I missed it. Cerac found his own seat to the side of the king as the crowd roared their excitement.

  In the center, the two warriors slashed and sliced their weapons, clanking metal against metal and grunting with the effort. When they danced around each other, the crowd jeered, when they engaged each other in fighting, the crowd roared. Hunrus’s attention did not leave the arena as he relaxed into his seat, one arm rested on his sword, the tip of the blade pointing into the stone. Cerac, too, stared ahead at the fight, but his body looked tense, like he would take flight at any moment.

  My eyes traveled around the arena, taking in the sight of all the people. When I looked back, I caught Cerac staring at me, his surly, aggrieved expression in contrast to the few times we’d met. I’d done nothing wrong so could not fathom why he should act like he was.

  The arrival of the food and wine snapped me out of my messy thoughts. Sophren stuck her head through the gap between the pillars and motioned me closer. Seeing her friendly face, I exhaled and quietly headed over.

  She handed me a large plate filled with fruits and delicate cut meats and cheeses and whispered, “Remember, offer to the king first, then the crown prince, next the dignitaries, then the master, and try and fit the consort in there somewhere. If you’re lucky, the king may take a morsel or two for her so you don’t have to worry.”

  “Why the dignitaries before Cerac?”

  “Don’t ask questions, just do.”

  I took the plate and her face disappeared. She returned seconds later with a large pitcher of wine and mugs on a tray and placed the tray down on a flat stone bench most likely built for such a purpose.

  I squared my shoulders and headed down the few steps to the king. “Your Majesty.” I did everything according to Sophren’s rules, including the bow of my head. I settled my eyes on the plate of food rather than his face, which I was most definitely not allowed to do.

  The king did not reach for the plate, so I flicked a hesitant glance up to see what was the matter. His gray eyes bored into me. Although his hair was dark without the telltale signs of age, creases buckled at the corners of his eyes, puckered across his top lip and sagged his cheeks to his jaw. Despite this, I would still call him handsome, if not for his eyes, which glared at me with condescension. I lowered my eyes to the plate again, wanting to keep any connection between us to my duty as a servant.

  “Is this the servant?” He spoke up over the noise of the fighting.

  In my periphery, I caught Hunrus turning around in my direction.

  No one replied. The king shifted his head slowly to the side and eyed Cerac with a flat expression.

  “I would not know.” Cerac’s voice was stiff, dismissive. I found myself able to breathe again, grateful for his lie, but it made no sense.

  “She doesn’t look like much,” Hunrus said. I glanced at him before I could stop myself and found his eyes working their way inch by inch up my body. A man shamed a woman by crawling his eyes over her body like Hunrus was, but he would get no joy with his lechery thanks to the loose pants and shirt that was the servant’s uniform.

  Hunrus was as handsome as his brother, but unlike Cerac, whose expression invited you in, Hunrus’s eyes, once they made it to my face, were nothing but cold pits, his lips curled in a twist of disgust. His eyes did not roam my face with interest, backed by the hint of a smile as Cerac’s had done; instead they gouged through me, peeling me apart like I was hunks of meat to be tossed to the dogs. Cerac reeled me in. Hunrus made me want to run far away.

  “Perhaps they are just rumors,” Cerac said with a casual air to his voice.

  Against my will, my attention diverted to the consort with her golden hair tied in elaborate braids atop her head and her beautiful features accentuated with a darkened shadow under her eyes and a deepened red to her lips. Her eyes, though a dark blue, froze my heart like the deep chill of winter.

  “I don’t see why Barnep would lie,” Hunrus said. I could tell by the goading tone of his voice he would not let this go. “Girl,” he said with a derisive tone. I imagined a metal blade slicing through my stomach with that single word.

  I turned toward him, conscious I still held the plate before
the king. Behind me the fight wore on, the crowd roared, but everyone in the king’s box focused on me.

  “Is it true, then?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I do not know what you refer to.”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. His face was broader than Cerac’s and the angles less defined. He was a bigger man. “Don’t play coy, girl. That sort of game is for the courtiers, not the servants.”

  “I do not know how to play coy, Your Highness.”

  Hunrus’s jaw clenched.

  A united roar from the crowd saved me from Hunrus’s harassment. A warrior lay bleeding from a nasty gash to his abdomen. Servants rushed into the arena to carry the fallen warrior away while the winner strode across the dirt to stand before the king’s box. I moved aside, not quickly enough, as Hunrus grabbed my wrist.

  “Our conversation has not ended.”

  In my periphery I caught Cerac’s sudden jerk forward in his seat.

  Everything in me wanted to yank my wrist from his grasp, but this was not a common man or even a soldier. And by the sinister set of Hunrus’s eyes, I knew he would take great pleasure in hurting me.

  The warrior in the arena bowed to the king, then strode around the arena, receiving the cheers he felt he deserved. With everyone’s attention on the warrior, I glanced to Cerac and found his eyes on me. Maybe I looked at him too long, wanting to determine what his eyes were trying to say, because when I turned back, I found Hunrus flicking a glance from Cerac to me. His eyes narrowed when they reached mine and a budding smile twitched at his lips. There was nothing nice in his attempted smile. He yelled over the crowd, “They say you defeated a ragool.”

  “Rumors have a habit of growing beyond the truth, and I am sorry, Your Highness, but this rumor is far from how it happened.”

  “Do you call Barnep a liar?”

  “I never cheapen anyone’s name.”

  He humphed. “It seems she is too modest and too shy. Hardly the traits of a true warrior.”

  “I would never dare think myself the part.”

  “Fill the boredom with your story while we wait for the next bout,” the king said.

  Dread loomed large, choking what little courage I had. But alongside the narrowing of my throat and the weight settling over my heart, a fierce fire burned in the pit of my stomach.

  “We were attacked, Your Majesty. Your captain bravely fought the ragool off. I played little part except to cower by the fire. That is the truth.”

  The king held my gaze. The cheers from the crowd erupted again, signaling another fight, and the king flicked his hand to signify he was done with me and my plate of food, but Hunrus grabbed my wrist once again. His eyes looked to the food and then to me. I had forgotten my duty.

  I moved aside so I did not obstruct the king’s view of the arena and offered the plate to Hunrus. Instead he looked at me. “You’re nothing special, really,” he said. “I don’t know, maybe with some better clothes and some attention to your hair, we might see a woman appear.” He turned to the consort. “What do you say, Shellery? Perhaps she could wear one of your outfits.”

  Shellery’s face flushed and her lips parted in shock and horror. Hunrus hoped to stir a pot of trouble with that comment. The consort made no attempt to hide her disdain for me. “And why would you wish to honor a servant, Your Highness? Especially, as you say, one so plain as her.” Venom dripped from her voice.

  “You were nothing more than a peasant once, Shellery, my dear. And you can easily be one once more,” Hunrus drawled.

  The king snorted a hard laugh. “An interesting idea. Perhaps she will outshine Shellery.”

  To this, Shellery’s eyes bulged with indignation, but she swallowed it down and stared ahead. I could read the hatred boiling inside of her by her stiff back and tapping fingers.

  “Tell me of your plan,” the king said.

  “She is one of them.” He waved his hand toward the crowd. “They are more likely to believe one of their own than one of the king’s men. She can tell her story while we parade her around the city, convincing the peasants to believe in the king’s glorious army.” His tone turned to boredom by the time he’d finished his speech.

  My pulse fled through my veins. In my panic, I looked to Cerac, thinking he was the only one here who could save me, but his eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression closed to me. Hunrus raised an eyebrow as I turned back to him, then made a show of glancing around me to Cerac. The heat rose up my neck and into my cheeks, but the heat had more to do with anger than shame. By leading him to believe there was more between Cerac and me, I was giving him fuel for his taunts. Or perhaps I was opening myself up to punishment. Helna was right, to think Cerac was my friend was to think above my station. I did not want to be a part of this world.

  “The people will listen to someone they trust, someone they believe in. And that is not a stranger.” The moment they were out, I wished to take the words back, but it was too late, so I belatedly added, “Your Highness.”

  The implication behind my words could be enough to have me flailed, that the people did not believe enough in their king or their commander. Why had I spoke them?

  The muscles in Hunrus’s jaw twitched with his anger. “Do you imply the king does not have the trust of his people?”

  “The girl does not know what she is talking about. She is new to the city and naive to our ways.” At last Cerac spoke up.

  Everything about Hunrus’s expression spoke of his feelings toward his half brother as he glared at him. His eyes hardened and his lips thinned as he pressed them together so they turned white. He huffed. “My brother. He has no words of his own and so he must use someone else’s.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I fled up the few steps before Hunrus could call me back and retrieved the wine. This would not remove Cerac or myself from Hunrus’s taunts, but it might upset the flow of his criticism for his brother.

  I reappeared in front of the king, carrying the tray with the wine and mugs. Instead of taking the mug, the king stared at me, his eyes repeating what Hunrus’s eyes had done not so long ago. “Your idea has merit. It is best done where the people gather, of course, the ale houses and brothels.”

  Both the king and Hunrus shared a laugh just as the crowd roared the defeat of another opponent.

  “Maybe she will fetch us a fair price while she’s at it,” Hunrus said.

  The king took one of the mugs and balanced it in front of his lips while he stared at me. “Maybe, but she will need some finer clothes.”

  “Or less of them,” Hunrus said, to which the two of them laughed again.

  Cerac stood. “With your leave, Father, I will see to today’s schedule.”

  “Have you not taken care of that already?” Hunrus said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  Cerac ignored him and focused on his father. “Your Majesty.” The formal address caught his father’s attention. “I have better plans to sway the people than parading a servant girl through the streets.”

  “You plan on persuading them yourself. Really, brother, you think too highly of yourself. The commoners hate people like you.”

  Cerac curled his fists, but they stayed by his sides. “If you are finished with your food and wine, I would like to take the servant to tend to the injured. Helna is unable to at present and says the girl has demonstrated sound knowledge of herbal lore. I will send up someone in her place.”

  The king ran a lazy eye over his illegitimate son, then over me. One wave of his hand and I was set free. Cerac wasted no time, taking the few steps in one stride, leaving me to run behind while trying not to spill the pitcher or knock the mugs over.

  I placed the tray I was carrying back on the stone bench and left via the side entrance while Cerac swept the curtains aside and strode out. He kept his pace without looking back. Given his obvious haste, I wasn’t sure if he intended me to follow him.

  Fednick had brought me through a maze of passages and turns, so I wasn’t sure I could get myself back
. Cerac had disappeared through the door leading to the dark stairwell. I picked up my pace, not wanting to be left behind and wandering around through those dark passages for hours looking for the kitchen.

  The moment I entered the stairwell, hands grabbed my waist and spun me around so my back was to the wall. I gasped as Cerac pinned me close between his body and the stone and stared down into my eyes. A tingle sparked to life, sprinkling through my insides. I placed my hands on the cold brickwork behind to steady the dizziness in my head as the smell of exotic spices and musk filled my nose. A quick flick to his eyes, too close to my own, and I sought the safer place of his broad chest to look. The warmth where his hands rested on my hips spread through to my skin; a distraction I was powerless to stop. Morick was the only man to stand this close to me, to touch me in a way that preluded to intimacy.

  The familiarity in his hold was outrageous. A man touched a strange woman like this when he thought her a whore. I raced through the few times we’d been together, trying to remember if I’d mistakenly given him a reason to think he could touch me like this, all the while my body heated for reasons other than anger, and I found I could not say the words to make him relinquish his hold. When he did, a coldness settled over the places his hands had been. He stepped back, allowing the shaft of light from the doorway to fill the space between us.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  For touching me?

  “I would’ve protected you from them if I’d known.”

  He was talking about his father and brother, not us. “They wouldn’t use me to turn the people to their side?”

  “My father would do anything to win public support.”

  Should I be surprised to hear the people in the city loathed him as much as the people in the country?

  With the light shining on one side of his face, it was as if he wore a mask on that side, one side of him exposed, the other side a mystery, what lay at the heart of the king’s illegitimate son.

  “I do not wish to turn the people to his side. I don’t want to be used as a pawn.”