Despite the foolishness of the idea, he did it anyway. Crossing his legs, he pulled the stool in and set his bowl on top. He smiled as he ate, feeling at home for the first time in months. Silly considering his comfort was due to a life of deceit and cruelty at the hands of Lord Nathak and Poril. Still, no amount of fancy clothes, featherbeds, or “Your Highnesses” could change his past. Being a stray was a part of him.
So engrossed in the stew, Achan didn’t hear the light scuff of footsteps until it was too late. He sat motionless, hoping whoever it was would come and go quickly.
The rustle of fabric drew near until soft blue velour brushed his left hand. He jerked it into his lap, staring at the gold satin slippers that had stopped by his left knee. Slippers so fancy could only belong to a noblewoman. He held his breath. What noblewoman would walk in the kitchens at such an hour? The duchess’ lady in waiting sent to fetch a snack, perhaps?
The layers of velvet rumpled as the woman crouched down, revealing inch by inch an immaculately embroidered robe and curling auburn hair cascading over her shoulders.
“Duchess Amal.” Achan scrambled back and bumped into another stool. He pushed a stool to get out, but her hand on his arm stopped him.
“Why does the Crown Prince of Er’Rets sit under a table in my kitchen?”
Achan’s cheeks flushed. “I…was hungry.”
“Could you not call for a tray?”
“I wanted…” Achan cast his eyes to the bowl of stew on the stool. How could he explain without insulting this woman? He swallowed but could not meet her eyes. “I could not sleep and thought a snack might help. Take no offense, my lady, but I’m not used to such gracious hospitality.”
“But not just a snack, Your Highness. Under the table? Why?”
Achan’s face burned. “As a boy, I spent many a night under the bread tables in the Sitna kitchens. Despite his best efforts, Sir Caleb has not been able to train the slave boy out of me entirely. I’m afraid I am still most comfortable in a kitchen. I know it must sound mad, but it… feels like home.”
To his great relief, the duchess smiled. Her green eyes flitted over his face, hair, cramped body, and bare feet. Sweat moistened his brow at her scrutiny. Something tickled his wrist. He glanced down to see a tiny black bug. He jumped, dropped his roll, swatted the bug away. Every muscle tense. He’d used Sparrow’s pine juice. The fleas had been gone. He scratched his wrist, arm, shoulder, neck. They couldn’t be back.
The duchess chuckled. “It’s only a few ants, Your Highness. I would think one so seasoned to eating on the floor would be used to them by now.”
Achan ran both hands through his hair, which was loose and not tied back. Oh, horror. Again he couldn’t look at the duchess. What would she think? “I thought they were fleas.” His breath hitched. Why had he said that? Fleas? Blazes!
The lady raised a sculpted brow. “Did you enjoy your time with the soldiers?”
He studied his father’s ring. “Except for the fleas.”
“You’ll go to war, then? And fight alongside your men?”
“Should there be one, yes.”
“And your wife?”
Achan blinked and met the lady’s green eyes. “I have no wife, my lady.”
“But you will soon.”
Could this conversation become any more awkward? He picked up the roll and dropped it in the remainder of his stew. “I suppose I might.”
“And what will she do while you are at war?”
Achan shrugged. “Whatever pleases her. If she’s good with a sword, I’d welcome the company.”
The duchess smiled. “Ah, you are droll. But what if she is with child? When this war comes.”
Achan’s lips parted, his cheeks filled with heat. He would not come to this kitchen again. He didn’t appreciate Duchess Amal’s midnight interrogation. She’d clearly thought more about his bride than he had.
She pressed on. “I mean no disrespect, but these are things a man must consider when taking a bride. Many say you traveled with a woman. What will your wife think of her?”
Achan sucked in a sharp breath. “Please. It wasn’t like that, my lady, I promise you. Sparrow wasn’t who she claimed to be. We all thought her a boy. Have you seen her? Did she pass through Carmine? Do you know where she lives?”
“Why do you ask, Your Highness? I would think you better off without her presence tainting your reign.”
“Vrell could never taint anything. She’s sweet and good and lovely—”
“You care for her, then?”
Achan thudded his head back against the table leg. “My feelings don’t matter. She refused me, and Sir Gavin berated me for my recklessness and Sir Caleb for my carelessness and I for my foolishness and Câan for my selfishness. I’m a wretched prince. Far too impulsive. But I’ll do my duty and marry whom they choose, and I’ll love her as best I can. Does that satisfy your curiosity, my lady?”
She smiled. “It does.”
Finally something had. “You know, I was freer as a stray.”
“I understand that feeling. I hadn’t wanted to marry the duke. It was the loneliest time in my life. At first.”
Achan recalled Sir Eagan’s tale of their past and decided she did understand. “Your intuition is right on target, my lady. I haven’t once considered the inner workings of my future marriage past the identity of my bride. If it were my choice I’d marry Sparrow and live in a cottage in the mountains. I’d hunt and she’d keep a garden of herbs. We wouldn’t be rich, but we’d have our freedom and each other.”
He sighed and met Duchess Amal’s green eyes. “Alas, my life isn’t mine to live. I’ve now given it freely to Arman. He appeared to me, you know. Fairly destroyed his own temple. He’s my master now and I trust his plan, even if I can’t understand it. I only wish my obedience didn’t come so bitterly. I fear if he could, Arman would give me a sound flogging for my demeanor of servitude.”
Duchess Amal’s eyes widened. “I think you misunderstand how Arman loves his people. He does not punish them.”
Such a statement didn’t align with what Achan knew of masters. “I only mean that I’ve never been a very contrite servant. Ask Lord Nathak.” Achan chuckled softly, then bowed his head low. “Forgive me, my lady. I must beg leave of your gracious company. I’m very tired and if I continue to prattle on, you’ll think me drunk.”
“Of course.” Duchess Amal stood, allowing Achan to crawl out from under the table. “Please do not go out alone again, Your Highness. You are welcome to sit under the table, but we recently had a traitor in our kitchens, and I would feel better knowing you were not wandering alone. At least bring your Shield under the table with you next time.”
“As you wish.” He scraped the contents of his bowl into the slop pail, rinsed the bowl, and set it on the drying rack. He bowed to the duchess again. “Good evening, my lady. You have a magnificent kitchen.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. Good night.”
41
Vrell perched on a stool in the dark corridor and stared through the peephole. The five Old Kingsguard knights sat around an oval table in Achan’s bedchamber. Achan had dragged his chair down to the fireplace at the end of the room, where he sat alone, staring into the flames.
Sir Caleb held a parchment open on the table. “First we have Lady Tova Sigul of Hamonah, age fourteen. I still object to this offer. Hamonah worships Thalassa. We cannot consider anyone who does not follow Arman.”
“But Hamonah is being at war with Jaelport,” Inko said. “They’re being extremely rich and would be bringing an immense dowry. The diamonds alone would be buying weapons and armor to be fitting a thousand soldiers. Surely Achan could be teaching the girl about the Way.”
“Achan barely understands the Way himself.” Sir Gavin said. “Don’t burden him with an unbelieving spouse.”
“Arman forbids it,” Sir Caleb said. “In the Book of Life.”
“Besides, ’tis too far away and unstable,” Sir Gavin said. “And I trus
t Lord Sigul as much as I trust Queen Hamartano.”
“Agreed,” Sir Caleb said. “What say you, Eagan?”
Sir Eagan shrugged. “I say let him pick his own bride.”
“Thank you,” Achan said.
Sir Eagan continued, “But I would not marry him to any enemy, and I agree with Sir Caleb. He must wed a believer.”
“But it would make for an interesting relationship, it would,” Kurtz said. “Lots of sparks, eh?”
Vrell blanched. Could Kurtz think of nothing else?
“Is there a noblewoman at Zerah Rock?” Sir Caleb asked.
“None I know of,” Sir Eagan said, “but it has been many years.”
“A second cousin to Sir Rigil.” Sir Gavin sniffed a short breath. “Were Achan a younger prince in a house of princes, he could marry whomever he wishes. We need a noblewoman of vast connections.”
“And wealth,” Inko said.
Achan groaned by the hearth. No one paid him any mind.
“Ladies Mandzee and Jaira are out,” Sir Gavin said.
“Praise Arman for that,” Achan mumbled.
Vrell smiled. A blessing indeed.
“I also recommend we reject Ladies Jacqueline and Marietta Levy of Mahanaim,” Sir Caleb said.
Sir Gavin tapped his fingers on the table. “Agreed.”
“You’re throwing out all the options that are being the strongest,” Inko said.
“Remind me your concern there?” Sir Eagan asked.
“They’re Lord Levy’s daughters,” Sir Caleb said. “He voted for Esek as king.”
“Ah.” Sir Eagan nodded. “Wise to cut them, then.”
Sir Caleb lifted the list again. “This leaves us with three options: Lady Gali Orson of Berland, age twenty-six—”
“Bah!” Kurtz wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Berland women are rough. Trust me, I know.”
Sir Caleb continued, “Lady Halona Pitney of Nesos, age twelve—”
Kurtz blew a raspberry. “Oh, come on! The lad won’t even be able to—”
“Kurtz,” Sir Eagan said, “silence your useless comments.”
“I’m just pointing out what none of you are bold enough to say. How many of you would wish to marry a child, eh?”
Sir Caleb sighed. “And finally, Lady Glassea Hadar of Armonguard, age fourteen.”
“Prince Oren’s daughter?” Achan’s forehead wrinkled. “Isn’t she my cousin?”
“Aye,” Sir Gavin said.
“It would be making a strong blood match,” Inko said. “A Hadar and a Hadar.”
Achan’s eyes bulged like he had swallowed a fly.
“Let us talk this out,” Sir Eagan said. “The ladies from Nesos, Armonguard, and Berland are all heirs to duchies?”
“All but Glassea,” Sir Caleb said. “Achan will rule that duchy.”
“So marrying Glassea gets him nothing,” Sir Eagan said. “He already has Prince Oren’s support and rule of Arman Duchy. There is no bonus in this match. Cross her off.”
“Thank you,” Achan said.
“That leaves us Nesos and Berland,” Sir Caleb said.
“Both of which voted for Achan as king,” Sir Gavin said.
“Is one stronger than the other?” Sir Eagan asked.
“I see them as equal,” Sir Caleb said. “Both have decent control over their duchy. Neither are the strongest. Nahar has Nesos, Xulon, and Walden’s Watch. They’re also in a civil war with the Ebens. That could divide their service. Therion has Berland, Meribah Corner—which we now know is useless—Zamar, and Har Sha’ar.”
“A bunch of nothing, eh?” Kurtz said.
“True,” Sir Caleb said. “Berland is strong, but Darkness has weakened Therion, I fear.”
“Well, Pacey? What do you think, eh?” Kurtz asked. “Aged twelve or twenty-six? Personally, I’d go with the twenty-six-year-old. At least she’ll look like a woman, she will.”
“You’d be surprised,” Achan said. “She’s quite…brusque. Six feet tall and built like you. Tough as nails and a little scary. Nice, though. I vote against her because Shung dotes on her.”
“Achan, Shung would never be permitted to marry her,” Sir Caleb said. “He’s a peasant.”
“Not if I knight him.”
Vrell smiled. Achan would make an excellent king. He cared about all people, down to the peasants and strays.
“Oh, lad,” Kurtz said. “You’re just a bleeding heart, you are. We can’t let that get out.”
Achan stood and approached the table. “Shung is a good man and a great warrior. Why shouldn’t I knight him?”
Kurtz reached across the table and grabbed a handful of grapes. “Knight him if you want. Marry the child. I don’t care, eh? Just don’t come weeping to me when all falls to dung.”
Achan sighed. “Is there truly no one else?”
“None we deem safe, Your Highness,” Sir Caleb said.
“What of Lady Averella?” Sir Eagan asked.
The room fell silent.
Vrell stiffened. A chill flashed over her arms. What was Sir Eagan doing?
Sir Caleb shrugged. “I don’t believe she is an option.”
“She’s not,” Sir Gavin said. “She’s betrothed already.”
“Bran Rennan,” Achan said. “though he has proved himself unworthy of such devotion, in my opinion.”
An ache passed over Vrell at the rawness of these words, and from Achan of all people.
“Well now, none of that matters any, eh, Eagan?” Kurtz said. “A prince beats a local lord any day, it does.”
Vrell stifled a gasp. Kurtz deserved a slap. What a horrible thing to say in light of Sir Eagan and her mother’s past.
Yet Sir Eagan did not seem bothered by Kurtz’s audacity. “I will speak to the duchess about it. It is my understanding the engagement has been broken.”
Vrell could not bear it. Bring her home to Carmine, then betray her? What was Sir Eagan’s game?
“Carm is being the strongest duchy in all Er’Rets. Both Therion and Nesos would be siding with Carm,” Inko said.
“That’s true,” Sir Caleb said. “But what of Sitna?”
“Many would side with Achan given the chance,” Sir Gavin said. “There’s little love for Esek or Lord Nathak there.”
“Plus they’re traveling,” Inko said. “Who’s ruling in their absence?”
“Likely Lord Nathak’s steward,” Sir Gavin said.
“If she were an option, I’d vote for Lady Averella,” Sir Caleb said.
“Agreed,” Inko said. “Esek was having that plan, after all.”
“As would I,” Sir Gavin tugged his braid, “yet I don’t think that’s the case.”
“How old is Lady Averella?” Achan asked.
“Now you’re thinking along the right lines,” Kurtz said.
“Uh…seventeen, I think,” Sir Gavin said.
“Eighteen next month,” Sir Eagan said.
Heat swelled in Vrell. Sir Eagan knew her day of birth?
“Oh, that’s much better.” Achan took a long breath and sighed. “Okay. I vote for her too. To ask, anyway.”
“Then you must give her a token,” Sir Caleb said. “If the wedding is not to take place until after the war, you must offer something that will assure the young lady you’re serious.”
Vrell slid the peephole shut and laid her forehead against the wall. She would have to talk to Mother right away to stop this discussion from going any further.
* * *
Unfortunately, when Vrell sought out Mother, the duchess was in a meeting of her own. And when Vrell returned before dinner, Mother was already meeting with Sir Eagan.
Vrell stormed through the inner walls of Granton Castle, keeping to passages where she would not be seen. The peephole overlooking the great hall was low since it looked out of the second story of the hall. Vrell never liked this location. She had to sit on the floor and stomach rats and spiders that might scurry past. But if she wanted to look on the great hall, this was her
only option.
She set her candle a few feet from her skirt and peeked through the slot in the wall. No celebration tonight. Achan sat alone at the high table, looking forlorn. Shung stood against the wall behind him. Shung should sit. Achan needed company.
“Still shadowing the prince?”
Vrell cowered. “Mother! You scared me.” She clapped her hand over her heart and felt its rapid beat through her gown. “What are you doing here?”
Mother set her lantern beside Vrell’s candle. “I would ask you the same question.”
Vrell turned back to the peephole. “Well, I asked first.”
“Seeking out my reclusive daughter. Shadowing the Crown Prince could be considered treason should the wrong person find out. Dearest, why not confess and end all this?”
“Mother! I am trying to save him a broken heart.”
“I can attest it is far too late for that, Averella. I sense great sorrow in him.”
“Which is why I will not parade out there in my finest dress and give him false hope.”
Mother stepped up to the wall and looked down on Vrell, blocking the light. “Master Rennan came to visit me yesterday.”
Vrell winced.
“He said you are no longer interested in his proposal.”
Vrell looked up. “I never said that! Bran told me I was not interested. What kind of thing is that to say to a lady?”
“A very noble thing, I should think. Dearest, he is willing to give you up to see you happy. He knows, as well as I, that you care for our young prince.”
“Do not try to make Bran look noble. He has fallen in love with a peasant and changed his mind about me.”
Mother folded her arms. “Do you know, I found His Highness in the kitchens last night. He was sitting under a table, barefoot, eating a bowl of stew.”
Vrell looked up to Mother’s shadowed face. “Was he? Why?”
“He confessed he is trying but cannot erase his past. To him, sitting under the kitchen table feels like home.”
Vrell found Achan’s face in the peephole again. Two maidens walked by his table and giggled. He simply stared straight ahead, as if seeing nothing but his own thoughts.
“He is an interesting and honest young man,” Mother said. “I know you do not wish to be queen, but if you are no longer interested in Master Rennan, I have no reason to deny the prince’s offer of marriage.”
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 52