by Kyra Gregory
Kara and Jared shared a glance. Years of battles and hardship, sacrifices and schemes, passed between them. “At the risk of almost having lost each other in some other way,” her father replied.
“If we could do something on our own terms, we did,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it was easy, doesn’t mean we didn’t suffer…” Her mother’s voice cracked, her gaze distant, glistening. Jared reached out, taking her hand gently in his. Gaining his wife’s attention, bringing her back to the present, he gave her a soothing smile. Her fingers squeezed his back, her smile small but significant, “It was just the two of us back then, even if we had the crew,” she said. “You have more than that. You’re more powerful than we were.”
There was some truth to that, Malia thought, nodding. She was right. The old tactics could work equally well. Perhaps, they could even work better. Maybe Riffin was right. Maybe this was the answer. Maybe this could work.
Quick on her feet, she approached her parents. Wrapping an arm around her mother’s back, she pressed a kiss to her cheek, then to her father’s. “Thank you,” she said. She went to leave the room, stopping short of the door before turning around. Her parents followed her with their gazes, still holding each other’s hand. Their presence here, their reasons for being up at such an hour… “Is there...anything I can help the two of you with?” she asked.
They met each other’s gaze again, their hands tightening around one another’s. “We’ll be fine,” her father replied.
Malia wanted to nod and agree, only to find herself less than convinced. She licked her lips, swallowing the uncertainty of her words before she spoke, “The two of you aren’t alone anymore,” she said. “And, while I know I’ve been…preoccupied, I appreciate all you’ve done for me by being here.”
Their expressions softened further in a moment when Malia didn’t think it was possible. “Think nothing of it,” her father said.
She laughed, “I will,” she said. “Always.”
Storming into her chambers, startling Riffin out of his light slumber, she paid his fright little mind as she confronted him. “I’d made myself clear,” she said.
Pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut, he shook his head, “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t like the thought of allowing the enemy into our home,” she said. “Certainly not when they seem to lie beneath so many faces.”
“I—”
“If you’d like to persevere with the plan then I don’t mind,” she said, before he could say anything else.
Slumping forward, Riffin breathed out a sigh, both of relief and contention, “I’m glad,” he whispered, a crack in his voice.
“I think you might be right,” she said, looking elsewhere. “I think this might be the plan that will succeed where I failed.”
Riffin threw down the sheets, sighing heavily, “You haven’t failed at anything,” he chided. “I never should’ve burdened you with this,” he whispered, cupping her face in his hands.
“A King requires a Queen to share a burden,” she said. “I should’ve been more supportive.”
He shook his head, dismissive, “I can’t ask you to be pleased with my choices,” he said. “The least I can do is try to compromise and let you know that this family is my priority—I won’t endanger the children.”
Her lips forming a tight line, she nodded, “My father and mother opened my eyes to the advantages,” she said. “So long as our children’s safety is assured, I can accept it.”
Saying nothing at first, Riffin wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Everything will be all right,” he whispered.
Chapter 34
RIFFIN LEARNT THAT NOT everything was what it seemed at a young age. As his father taught him their history, his eyes opened to deception and that deception played a large role in their victories.
“We’ll be having a ball,” he declared abruptly the following morning. Faced with confusion from all those closest to him, he elaborated upon his intentions, “It’ll celebrate all that we’ve achieved in the last year—my ascension to the throne, the birth of my son, my sister’s marriage.”
Confusions came from all around, never abating.
Although they were all baffled by the decision, nobody seemed more concerned by it than Malia did, even if she’d accepted it. When the threats to their livelihoods came from the outside, the last thing she could imagine doing was inviting them inside their walls, into the place they called home and into the place they were meant to feel the safest.
The ball would bring together all the nobles—all of them. The Alliance Council or not, they would be invited to partake in the festivities, to honour their King and the lives of his family.
Thane seemed equally unsettled by the notion, his mind distancing itself from the conversations going on in the throne room, calculating the number of guards it would take to secure such a feat. The fact that Deros had left that morning, taking half the King’s Guard with him, did little to put Thane’s mind at rest.
Neyva appeared indifferent, though Riffin could see her quaking at her very core as her hand instinctively rose to her cheek. Though the bruise had healed and faded into nothingness, leaving nothing short of a faint yellow hue beneath her skin if one squinted, the wounds caused by her marriage went a great deal deeper than that. The very thought of the nobles in her home, be them friend or foe, frightened her.
Although they were her peers, she never quite got along with them, mostly because many defined her as the illegitimate love child of a bastard. It didn’t matter that her land had been granted to her by a Queen, it didn’t matter that the home she’d shared for most of her life was that of a Queen, or even that she had such a powerful woman’s attention. The nobles turned their noses down at her and, though she had the grounds with which to fight them , she found she’d lost her footing ever since abandoning Darner in favour of the safety of the palace.
“What does father have to say about this?” Neyva asked. While she scrutinised their plan herself, the opinion that mattered to her the most was that of her father.
“Father approved it before he left,” he replied.
“What is there to gain from this?” she asked. “To have them here and eat our food and share in the festivities? For what? They’re traitors!”
“They’re not all traitors,” Riffin declared, “and that’s precisely why we’re bringing them here—so I can discern who is with us and who is against us.”
“And how will you do that?” Jared asked. “If this isn’t planned well, it stands to be too great of a risk.”
“I can understand your concerns,” Riffin said, cutting off the mutterings of all those who agreed, “but every other method of discerning the loyal from the treacherous has reaped little reward. If we don’t deal with this now, by the next time they might show themselves they’ll likely have the upper hand on us.”
Reluctant as they were to agree, they did, and, by the time they exited the throne room, the decorating of the corridors and dining hall were already underway.
Having watched the arrangements take place, he could see his wife slowly beginning to unravel. “Are you sure this is wise?” she asked, a shiver running down her spine.
Wanting nothing more than to put her mind at ease, he wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her to lean against him, “Trust me,” he said.
She lifted her head from his chest, “I do trust you,” she said, “you know that.”
He smiled, pecking at her lips gently, “I do,” he said. “We have three days to prepare. I’ve already summoned Gyles—I’d like to have as many of us here as possible.”
Having as many of their allies around as possible should’ve been enough to put her at ease and, to some extent, it did. But she wouldn’t allow it of herself. She deliberately kept herself on edge, knowing that the moment she conceded to the feeling of safety that an enemy within their home would seek to exploit it.
Nonetheless,
years of growing up in Queen Sybelle’s courtroom, surrounded by people who deemed her unfit, Malia had developed an unshakable talent for faking confidence. She knew how to put on a show, knew how to appear vulnerable, and knew exactly how to appear almost naively comfortable, even within her own circumstances.
When the nobles started to arrive on the afternoon of the third day, the King and Queen stood side by side, appearing unshakable as they greeted their guests within the Capital’s courtyard. The noble Lords and Ladies whose name’s ruled over their land, were separated from their partners not long after they entered the palace. With the spouses rarely involved in their partner’s affairs, Malia offered them a tour of Capital’s gardens, as well as their lavish recreation rooms. Meanwhile, Riffin sat and listened to those who ruled the lands, doing the part of the dutiful monarch who had little interest in anything other than what it was that troubled the men and women that deemed themselves the King’s most loyal of servants.
With little more to show them, feeling the pang of loss in her heart, Malia made a sudden quip, “Would you like to meet the children?” she asked.
Before any of them could give her a reply, she was on her way down the corridor, quickly followed by the large group, made predominantly of women. Many of them smiled softly, almost gleeful at the thought of meeting the littlest members of their family. They were gentle and playful, remarking on the fact that it appeared Malia had taken a liking to motherhood.
Coming to an abrupt stop at the nursery door, she scanned the vacant room. Her mother wasn’t there. Neither was her father. The cradles were unmade, absent the blankets she coddled the children with.
A servant stepped out of the neighbouring chambers, leaping ever so slightly as she found her there. “Your Majesty,” she greeted, curtsying.
“Where are the children?” she asked.
“Moved to different chambers,” she replied.
“On whose orders?” she asked, nostrils flaring as she approached.
The servant took a weary step backwards, frightened by the anger burning in the Queen’s eyes. “On the order of the King,” she replied.
She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “And my mother and father?” she asked. “Are they with them?”
The servant shifted her weight, holding her breath. Malia raised both her brows at her and that alone was enough to prompt the startled young woman into speaking. “They’ve been dismissed,” she replied.
“Dismissed?” she asked, taking another step forward. “By the King?”
Pursing her lips together, she nodded.
Eyes wide, anger blazing, she turned on her heel and stormed through the corridors, the crowd behind her stepping out of her way and bowing their heads. All the way down the corridors, their noble guests followed her in silence, despite the obvious temptation to mumble amongst themselves. She threw the throne room doors open before the guards could do so, startling the occupants.
Normally, a room of messengers and noble delegates would be enough to bring her to a stop, to have her reconsider her actions and how she appeared to those she commanded respect from. She couldn’t appear weak, she couldn’t appear to be driven by more emotion than reason. Until now. Now, she couldn’t care less. The occasion demanded her ferocity.
The nobles and messengers bowed upon her entrance, greeting her with respect, but she never stopped to bask in it.
“Malia?” Riffin looked her up and down, brows furrowed together.
Stopping short of him, her hand flew across her cheek, winding him. His eyes wide, noting the silence in the room, he touched his stinging skin with the tips of his fingers.
“You dismissed my parents?” she asked, eyes wide and dark with outrage.
He stood tall, half turning his back to her. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said. “In private,” he stressed though gritted teeth, meeting her gaze.
She shook her head furiously, her heart racing as she charged towards him once more. “Why?” she asked. “I want to know why!”
Riffin bit his tongue for all but a second before speaking again, “I don’t want their influence on our children,” he said. “I don’t want our children to end up anything like you!”
She took a step towards him and, in an instant, his hand crossed her face, knocking her to the ground in the blink of an eye.
The nobles who bore witness to their argument gasped around them, men and women alike absolutely scandalised at the sight of their King looming over their Queen, the mark across her face rivalling the redness of her hair.
Tears stung her eyes, burning humiliation lighting a fire that fear quelled like ice cold bathwater.
Meeting her gaze, the same devastation was clear in Riffin’s eyes as he swallowed the lump that formed in the back of his throat. “Stand,” he said, his voice nothing but a quiet croak.
She stayed where she was, on the ground, gripping her skirt within a clenched fist to keep her hand from shaking.
“Stand,” he commanded, more forcefully this time.
Biting the top of her tongue, she rose to her feet.
His jaw tense, his eyes seemed to darken as they took in every inch of her features. “We will discuss this later,” he stressed, his voice carrying the same severity.
Averting her gaze, Malia gave a short, swift curtsy, turning on her heel and leaving. Her head lowered, unable to look any of the nobles in the eye, she made her escape from public view a swift one, with the tall and sturdy doors separating her from the court within the throne room.
Chapter 35
IN THE DEAD OF night, with just the light of the full moon above them to light their way, Deros and his men made their way through the forest. Peeking through the trees, the small, unassuming cottage sat on a bed of flat land.
Nestled within Evradian land, just south of Lionessa’s western boarder with Ludorum, the insignificant structure remained in pitch darkness, almost as though nobody inhabited it—almost.
“On your command, Sir,” the King’s Guard to his right said.
Sucking in a deep breath, hoping against all hope, Deros eyed him out of the corner of his eye, nodding curtly. One by one, they crept out of the darkness, advancing on the humble building, surrounding it.
Whizzing past, a blur and nothing else, came the arrows. Cries of pain emanated through the air and the King’s Guard pulled back, returning to the trees where they could be concealed until they were able to regroup.
But it couldn’t be, he thought. There was no need to regroup.
Be it hope or delusion, Deros held his hands up in his bid to show he came in peace, taking step after step forward until he was no longer beneath the protection of the trees and in open sight. Beneath the light of the moon, he would surely be seen and, at risk of being slaughtered or not, it didn’t matter.
In the blink of an eye, an arrow came whizzing past, ramming itself deep into his shoulder and knocking him backwards. An attempt to lift himself up proved fruitless, grimacing against the pain, only to find another arrow rooting itself into the ground at his feet. Then came the third, catching him on the side of the arm, only inches below the arrow embedded in his shoulder.
Flat on his back, breathing in the cold night air, he curled his fingers into the dirt and waited for the next blow to come, only for it never to do so.
“It’s good to see you, my love,” a familiar voice whispered.
Deros scrunched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his skull. “Tell me I’m not mad,” he whispered.
The back of gentle fingers brushed his cheek and, coupled with a soft laugh, had his heart racing. “Oh, you’re certainly mad,” she replied, “but not for the reason you fear.”
Opening his eyes, he couldn’t bear to look in her direction, wanting nothing more than to maintain the delusion that she was there, alive and well. But looking beyond her told him that, if this was a delusion, it was a shared one. Their mouths agape, as their aching bones creaked from the blows they endured at th
e hands of the guards, his men scrambled onto bended knee, their eyes wide in utter disbelief.
“I never thought you one to fear ghosts,” she whispered.
Be it courage, be it impatience, he couldn’t deny himself much longer. As he turned to face the soft-spoken speaker, the wind escaped his lungs.
Leaning over him, her face unchanged from the day he left her at the Capital’s gates, was his wife. Her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, framing her pale features with her smirking lips and rosy cheeks, her eyes glistening with a touch of emotion of her own—it was her.
Swallowing the lump that had formed in the back of his throat, he sucked in a deep breath. “You need to come home,” he said. “We need you.”
Chapter 36
THE NOBLES WERE FULL of whispers, even before Malia could make another public appearance. She didn’t miss the way they laid their eyes on her, taking in every inch of her, as though to discern whether she had been submitted to more of her husband’s wrath. There was not a mark on her—not even upon her face. With no trace of the man’s hand across her cheek, her smile became the next topic of discussion. It was well-placed, just as she’d rehearsed, polite and gentle as she greeted the noble men and women once more.
As the nobles dined, Riffin watched each and every one of them closely, just as Malia did. Dinner was an extravagant affair, one they all delighted in as the nobles feasted amongst their peers, with one room so rarely containing so much wealth and power. When their meal was finished, the music, the dancing, and the rest of the festivities began.
The King and Queen remained in their seats. While many found the joy in the celebratory occasion, others used the opportunity to vie for the King’s ear. Invited to his table, noble after noble approached, offering their own well-wishes towards the future, their kindness a thin veil across their true intentions.
