by Ben Wolf
When he emerged from the bath and entered the bedchamber, he found multiple articles of clothing, most of them laid out in coordinated sets.
The female servants had gone, so he dressed himself in one of the sets of clothing. They fit him fairly well, though additional tailoring would have improved the overall look.
He slipped into the least stiff pair of boots they’d provided for him. If something adverse should happen, he wanted to be limber and ready for action. The looser clothes and the more malleable leather of the boots he’d selected would better allow for movement if he should need to do so.
Still, he wished his other clothes and boots hadn’t burned up in the throne room. Those boots, especially, had fit just right. He’d finally broken them in not even two months earlier.
What he wouldn’t have given to have his sword handy as well. To his knowledge, it was still under lock and key, held fast by the guards at the palace gates. It would do him no good there.
Kent positioned himself in front of the vanity positioned near the chamber door, and he examined his image in the mirror. The clothes were distinctly Inothian and not quite his taste, but the fabrics were fine quality.
All in all, he’d suffered far worse at the hands of both Muroth and Inoth thus far, so he reconciled himself to mostly ignoring his appearance. Satisfied, he headed to the door, opened it, and stepped into the corridor.
Two guards in black armor awaited him, along with Grak himself. Kent stopped just outside the door, so close to Grak that he could smell garlic and beef on his hot breath. At that range, Kent finally got the chance to size him up properly.
Grak outweighed Kent by thirty pounds or so, not including his armor, which looked heavier than it probably was. Well-made armor typically weighed less, not more, and someone in Grak’s position could afford the best-quality armor available.
He had Kent beat in height by a little more than an inch, and he had a thicker, bulkier neck. Overall, Grak was broader and possibly stronger than Kent. Perhaps Kent’s assumptions about Grak’s complacency were unfounded.
Then again, size didn’t necessarily translate to prowess.
Kent stood there, unflinching, inhaling Grak’s tainted breath in silence, unwilling to speak first. He always refused to cede any ground in such confrontations. He’d stand there in silence all night if he had to, and Grak would pay for it since he’d been charged with bringing Kent to dinner.
Finally, Grak looked Kent up and down and said, “You look pretty.”
Somehow, Grak had pinpointed one of Kent’s few insecurities about what was to come, but Kent didn’t show it. Stoic, Kent said, “You are not my type.”
Grak smirked. A deep reservoir of intelligence lingered behind his cunning green eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any weapons on your person, but I’m going to check anyway.”
“I would prefer that you refrain from touching me.”
Grak leaned in close, only inches from Kent’s face. “I don’t give two twigs what you would prefer.”
Kent’s nose wrinkled at the intensity of Grak’s breath, but he remained otherwise unfazed. “Let me put this another way: you are not going to touch me.”
“Is that so?”
“The queen gave you orders. If I arrive unmolested, you will have fulfilled your mandate. If I arrive in any lesser condition, you will answer to her wrath.”
“I can say you resisted. Maybe you even tried to attack me.”
“But you will not.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I am an asset and an invited guest. I have no reason to resist. I have no reason to attack you, a nobody. If I meant to do someone harm, I would have already done it in the throne room.”
“She trusts what I tell her,” Grak said. “I’m the captain of her personal guard.”
“The queen is intelligent and discerning. She would see through your lies. And I will be late if you persist in talking when we should be walking.”
“I need to search you,” Grak asserted.
“I am unarmed. You may either take my word for it, or you will fail your mandate one way or another.”
Grak studied Kent’s eyes for a long moment. Then he raised his finger and pointed at Kent’s chest. “If you so much as sneeze the wrong way at dinner, I’ll kill you quicker than you can say ‘magic.’ Crystal?”
Kent didn’t respond.
Grak’s brow furrowed, and he started down the corridor without Kent.
Kent glanced at the two other guards, and one of them motioned him forward. So Kent followed Grak, and the guards followed him.
As they walked, Kent noticed that Grak didn’t have any pouches connected to his belt. Perhaps Grak wasn’t a mage. Kent would have to investigate further later on.
The walk terminated in a grand hall about a quarter of the size of the throne room, adorned with white marble and dark wood paneling reminiscent of the room where he’d met with General Deoward earlier that day.
A long banquet table filled a good portion of the room but only had four chairs around it, and three tall windows divided the hall’s western wall.
At the far end of the room sat Queen Aveyna. The space between them measured about the same as when she’d been sitting on her throne while Kent stood on the red tile in the throne room.
As Kent entered the room, Queen Aveyna stood. Prince Kymil, who sat to her left and on the corresponding side of the table, also stood, but considerably slower.
“Welcome.” Her voice carried across the large room to Kent, and she motioned toward the chair on the side of the table to her right, Kent’s left, across from Prince Kymil. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Kent obliged her.
He waited for her to sit, then he sat down in unison with Prince Kymil.
When he looked at Prince Kymil, he received an artificial smile in return.
Kent had seen a few thousand forced smiles in his lifetime—perhaps tens of thousands. He’d had servants and soldiers under him, after all, and many of his fellow lords and ladies had mastered the art as well.
Kent returned it with a nod, but he didn’t smile back.
Two royal guards already stood behind Queen Aveyna, and Grak joined them. The other two guards who’d accompanied Kent to the dining hall split apart. One stood against the wall behind Kent, and the other rounded the table and took a position on a wall behind Prince Kymil.
Good positioning, Kent mused.
If he were to attack either the queen or the prince, he’d have a hard time pulling it off because of the royal guards’ potential to intervene. Grak clearly knew what he was doing.
A set of double doors opened behind Queen Aveyna, and a line of servants entered with extravagant platters of food. They arrayed the platters on the table and filled crystalline goblets with red wine and water.
Queen Aveyna thanked the goddess Laeri for her provision and blessed the food. Meanwhile, Kent offered a silent prayer of thanks that he’d survived today’s trial, just in case Laeri had had anything to do with it, and then they set to eating.
“If it pleases you, Lord Etheridge,” Queen Aveyna served herself a helping of roasted lamb, “I would like to hear the detailed story of how you found your way to our capital.”
Kent took a sip of his water to buy himself time. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss, especially with any great detail, but he couldn’t very well refuse her, either. And furthermore, she had referred to him by his birthright title again.
In the end, he reminded himself that he could never return to Muroth or his ancestral home, so he obliged her. “Certainly, Your Highness.”
Kent started by sharing how nearly nine years prior, he’d experienced his awakening to magic. Then he shared about his father’s ailing health, the succession ceremony, and all that transpired there. He detailed his journey to the border and his escape from his own border fortress, including his fight with General Calarook.
“Eventually, I found my way here,” he contin
ued. Kent explained how he ran across Ronin and the criminal Eusephus in the street, how he’d helped take Eusephus out, and how he’d teamed up with Ronin from that point on. “And now I am dining with the queen and the prince of Inoth.”
Queen Aveyna smiled at him. “The gods have a peculiar way of throwing our lives into disarray, don’t they?”
“To say the least, yes.”
They continued conversing throughout the entirety of the meal and dessert, but Prince Kymil hardly said a word. Kent noticed, but he didn’t press the issue. He just noted it and left Prince Kymil alone.
He also noted the changes in Queen Aveyna’s demeanor throughout the course of the meal. She began the dinner as the pinnacle of proper conduct, but as the conversation extended, her mannerisms and speech relaxed.
Kent couldn’t be certain, but at times between shared laughter, the queen might’ve been sizing him up—physically. And with the exception of Kent sharing the dark parts of his expulsion from Muroth, Queen Aveyna’s smile remained fixed to her face.
Kent wondered whether his charm or the wine had played a more significant role in the conversation’s evolution. Either way, he found himself relaxing as well, with a full belly and a never-empty goblet of wine.
“Mother, would you excuse me?” Prince Kymil asked. “I would like to retire.”
“But it’s so early, my love,” Queen Aveyna said. “Are you sure you’re well?”
He nodded. “I’m fine, Mother. Just exhausted from the day’s excitement.”
Kent looked him over. They sat about six feet across from each other, as close as they’d ever been.
Prince Kymil was built more like his mother than a man. For his age, his shoulders and arms should’ve begun to fill out by now. Furthermore, his sickly pallor didn’t help with his overall appearance.
It wouldn’t be a stretch for Kent to believe that Prince Kymil truly was exhausted from the day’s excitement, given his relative frailty.
But more likely, from the occasional sullen glances Prince Kymil had cast at Kent throughout the evening and the way he’d barely touched his food, Kent discerned that Prince Kymil just didn’t want to be there with him.
Kent didn’t blame him. At Prince Kymil’s age, Kent couldn’t have tolerated eating across from an Inothian lord of any shape, size, or color either.
Ongoing wars had that effect on countries—people developed a deep- rooted disdain for their adversaries. Were it not for the whirlwind of experiences severing Kent from his old life, he would still harbor the same contempt.
“Of course, darling.” Queen Aveyna smiled at him. “Good night.”
Prince Kymil blushed like he had back in the throne room. His voice flattened. “Don’t stay up too late, Mother. You know how you get.”
Queen Aveyna chuckled and waved him away. “It’s early, my love. I’ll be fine.”
Prince Kymil opened his mouth to say something else, but instead he bowed to her and then left the room with two of the royal guards following close behind.
With Prince Kymil gone, Queen Aveyna said, “He’s such a wonderful boy.”
“What happened to his father?” Kent asked.
Queen Aveyna’s smile faded, and she reclined in her chair. “He died a year ago.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Kent leaned forward. “May I ask what happened?”
Queen Aveyna broke eye contact and stared at her plate instead. “I don’t think I’ve had quite enough wine to discuss that with you, Mr. Etheridge.”
Back to “Mr. Etheridge” again? A slip of her tongue, perhaps? Or was it intentional, a way to remind him of his place?
“Forgive me if I came across as too bold,” Kent said.
She waved her hand, dismissing his apology. “It takes far more than that to offend me. But all the same, I believe I ought to draw our time together to a close.”
As she stood, Kent stood as well. She nodded to him, and he bowed to her.
“I will call upon you tomorrow,” she said.
“Whatever Your Highness wishes.”
Her wonderful smile returned. “Good night, Lord Etheridge.”
Kent smiled back at her. “Good night.”
Without looking back, Queen Aveyna reached out with her right arm. Grak moved hooked his arm around hers and started escorting her to the door. The two royal guards behind him followed, but they stopped short of the door.
Queen Aveyna didn’t so much as make eye contact with Kent when she walked past him, even though he watched her every move.
Grak, however, glowered at him with each step until he led Queen Aveyna out of the dining hall.
The two remaining royal guards took Kent back to his chambers and left him there, unguarded, for the night. Perhaps it was the queen’s first real attempt at establishing a measure of trust between them.
Inside his chambers, as he prepared to retire for the night, Kent noticed a soft orange glow outside his chamber window. Curious, he peered through the glass. Down below, two figures stood before a stone mausoleum.
One was clearly Grak, based on his size and armor, and the other was just as obviously Kymil, small, frail, and pale. Grak held a burning torch while Kymil faced the mausoleum. After a long moment, Kymil turned away from the structure and headed back toward the castle with Grak close behind him.
Perhaps Kymil’s father was buried in the mausoleum, and he was paying his respects. In a way, he Kent envied Kymil for it; Kent would likely never have the privilege to pay his respects at his own father’s gravesite.
He turned away from the window, stripped down to his new undergarments, and retired. The bed welcomed him, easing his aching body and his tired mind.
But just as he began to fall asleep, a faint knock sounded from his door.
Bare-chested and barefoot, Kent rose to open it, wary. If Grak had come back for him, or if someone else within the palace has decided to attack the former Murothian noble now living as the queen’s honored guest, he wanted to be ready.
In the moonlight streaming into his room, Kent searched for something he could use as a weapon, and he found a thick, iron candlestick. He removed the candle and set it on the vanity, then he advanced toward the door.
The knock sounded again, a bit louder this time.
Kent eased his way over to the door and reached for the knob, but he heard the jingle of keys on the other side, and he stopped short.
Metal clinked, then scraped as the key slid into the lock from the other side.
Whoever it was, they were coming in whether Kent wanted them to or not.
Kent stepped to the side, behind where the door would open, and readied his candlestick. He calmed his breathing, but his heart kept hammering in his chest.
The lock clicked, and the door latch clicked, and the door slowly swung open with a low groan. Faint footsteps padded on the floor, and Kent stiffened.
As the door closed behind the intruder, Kent raised his candlestick to strike.
Chapter Ten
Kent didn’t swing.
It was a woman. A blonde-haired woman, very beautiful, and clad in only a thin, silky nightgown tied together at the top with silken string.
Queen Aveyna.
She shut the door, locked it, and looked at him in the moonlight. She glanced at the bludgeon in his hand and whispered, “That’s not a very hospitable way to treat a late-night visitor.”
Kent lowered the candlestick. His heartbeat accelerated, and he whispered back, “What are you doing here?” He added, “Your Highness?”
“You know why I’m here. And you don’t have to call me that right now,” she said. “Call me Aveyna.”
Kent swallowed. By the gods, she was beautiful, and he wanted her. “Your High—Aveyna, this is not wise.”
She let the keys drop to the floor, and she closed the distance between them and put her hands on his bare chest. The top of her head came up to just below his neck.
Aveyna inhaled a deep breath. “Whether it’s wise or not, it�
��s happening.”
She rose up on her toes and kissed his chin. Her arms curled around his neck, and she pulled him down to her. Her lips met his in a long, passionate kiss, and he dropped the candlestick. It hit the ground with a dull thud.
Kent drank in her touch, reveled in the feel of her warm body against his. She still smelled like flowery perfume. And he hadn’t been with a woman in such a long time.
Not since Miranda.
He gently pushed her back and held her at bay. “Forgive me, but I do not believe this is a good idea.”
Aveyna stepped back and untied the strings at the top of her nightgown. “Kent, it’s no use resisting. You want this as much as I do.”
She slipped the nightgown down over her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
Kent swallowed again. Incredible.
Aveyna started toward him.
As she reached for him again, he slipped away from her—toward the bed. He regretted the decision immediately, as she took it as encouragement and headed straight over to it herself.
She crawled onto it and beckoned him over, every curve of her impeccable body outlined by moonlight.
“Aveyna,” he began, “forgive me again, but I barely know you, and I am not in the habit of engaging women, no matter how beautiful or regal, in this manner so soon after meeting them.”
“I knew I had to have you the moment you emerged from the flames,” she said. “Your body is nearly as magnificent as your skill with magic.”
Kent wiped sweat from his forehead. He felt it collecting under his armpits and on his back as well. “I appreciate the honor you are showing me, but mere hours ago you considered me an enemy of the state of Inoth.”
“Perhaps I’ve decided to extend more trust to you.” She eased one leg off the bed and then the other, and she took hold of his wrists and began to pull him back.
He stopped his forward motion with one step, but she kept pulling—not hard, but enough to continue her suggestion.
“You are the Queen of Inoth. I am no one. This is not right.”