Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  Tarness nodded as he guided Dallow to their room. Hector looked from Angst to Victoria and, shaking his head in disapproval, walked to his room. Victoria and Angst stared at each other. Both looked furious and sad at the same time—on the verge of apology, or battle, or embrace. Neither said a thing, and with a deep breath, they spun on their heels and parted ways to their own room.

  39

  Melkier dining tables were not the standard rectangle of Unsel or the fantastical oval of Rohjek. The table was an enormous square with a ‘U’ cut out every several feet, allowing plenty of room for extra food and elbows. This made it necessary for every guest at the table to hop their heavy wooden chairs forward several feet to better tuck themselves into the meal.

  Where Queen Isabelle would’ve been prominently on display at the head of the table, King Gaarder sat in the middle, within the largest ‘U’, wrapped in tight like a potpie. Crloc and his freshly-Hector-carved beard sat to Gaarder’s right, and taller-than-Crloc Nicadilia to his left. An older nobleman sat beside Nicadilia, safely partitioning her off from their estranged guests. Angst and his friends were directed to sit across from Nicadilia, the king and Crloc.

  Even sitting, Nicadilia appeared tall. She was as thin as one could get without looking unhealthy, as if her tallness had stretched out every ounce of fat. Nicadilia was thin-lipped and thin chested. Her low cut burgundy dress showed no cleavage and was made for a larger woman. Despite a gaudy display of jewels swirling about her arms and chest, there was nothing flattering about her attire. Her high cheekbones stood out beneath aging skin hungry for sunlight and washed out by pale blond hair. She was not unattractive, but age and a lifetime of looking down her nose at others had turned her into a handsome woman unable to reach the full potential of her beauty.

  Angst guided Dallow to his seat before walking around the table. Everyone watched in surprise, and Nicadilia’s mouth hung open.

  “May I sit next to you?” Angst asked Nicadilia while nodding politely at the older man already sitting beside the queen regent.

  “Uh,” she replied hesitantly then nodded at the other man to move. “Of course.”

  Angst struggled to help the old man hop the heavy chair out of his dining alcove then sat and proceeded to noisily hop himself back into the same spot. Heads around the table nodded reactively with every jounce, their eyes wincing at the screeching noises.

  “I look forward to learning more about Melkier,” Angst said enthusiastically to the queen regent. “I’m feeling better than I have in days, and I’m certain dinner will be fun.”

  “Yes,” she said, her cheeks now a bright shade of red, “fun.”

  The old nobleman sat between Tarness and Dallow. He looked to his right, his eyes widening at the empty sockets, then to his left and swallowed hard at the enormity of the large black man sitting next to him. Tarness ignored the nobleman, gawking at a woman beside him who was so well dressed for the occasion she was as fancy as the marble floor. Tarness flashed her an enormous grin, his white teeth bright behind his dark lips. She stared up in astonishment and attempted to hop her chair away, as though momentarily forgetting she was stuck in her ‘U.’ She pulled her right elbow off the table for safety and stared straight ahead.

  “That’s a very becoming gown, Your Majesty,” Angst said quietly to Nicadilia, his brows furrowed with mock-sincerity as he leered at her dress. “Did you make that?” From the corner of his eye, he could see Victoria’s shoulders tense with worry across the table.

  Nicadilia turned to stare down her nose at Angst with thin, intolerant eyes. “You realize, sir, that I am royalty?”

  “Of course,” Angst stated with a smirk. “That’s why I said Your Majesty.”

  As though she had never been teased or taunted in her entire life, Nicadilia almost lost composure. Appearing shocked, she stared at Angst in befuddlement, as though he’d smacked her upside the head. She leaned forward and peered, as if analyzing him for the first time.

  “I did not make the dress,” she stated flatly. She brushed graying blond hair from her high cheeks as if dismissing Angst like a fly.

  “Good, because it really isn’t flattering at all,” Angst said with feigned relief.

  “Pardon?” she squawked, completely unnerved, now looking down at her dress as though she wasn’t the one who’d put it on.

  Victoria looked from Angst to Nicadilia in astonishment. She glanced at Hector who stared at his place setting, his grin uncontrollably creeping up one cheek.

  “I would just feel bad if you were the one who made it,” Angst said as sincerely as he could. He whispered loudly, “I can understand if you’d chosen a light blue, or a bright green, but that red... I guess it would be better if it fit. You really look overweight.”

  Nicadilia stared at her gown, desperately attempting to straighten it out with her hands as though brushing off droplets of water.

  A cloud of dark hovered over Crloc, and his nostrils flared. While he couldn’t hear all of the conversation between Angst and Nicadilia, he bristled at her reaction. The king held out a reassuring hand, nodding at his Captain Guard to keep the peace.

  “Mr. Angst,” King Gaarder said, facing him. “Were you aware that my daughter, the queen regent, will soon wed Captain Guard Crloc?”

  Angst raised one eyebrow in surprise, leaning forward to look around Nicadilia and the king and stare at Crloc with wide mocking eyes. He then shared that same expression with the queen regent.

  “No, Your Majesty. Crloc didn’t mention that to us.” Angst looked at Victoria. “Did he say anything to you when you dined together?”

  Victoria shook her head quickly, grabbed her goblet of wine and took a long draw. Nicadilia glared openly at the princess, and Crloc slammed his fist on the table. Hector shook his head, his smirk now reaching both cheeks.

  “I didn’t realize you were royalty...” Angst said to Crloc.

  “Would it have made a difference?” Crloc said gruffly.

  “I would’ve bowed after pushing you into the hole I made,” Angst said with a broad grin.

  Tarness barked a quick laugh, making the woman next to him squeak nervously. Nicadilia chuckled despite herself, avoiding Crloc’s stern glare and covering her mouth with a napkin. She caught herself and looked down at her dress once more before glaring at Angst. He shrugged and took a sip of wine, thoroughly enjoying that it was appropriate in Melkier to leave his elbows on the table.

  “It has been a long time since this table has seen levity,” King Gaarder said with a smile, resting a firm hand on Crloc’s arm.

  The old king’s eyes squeezed shut for a long time, and everyone quieted in respect. When he finally opened them, they appeared glazed over by exhaustion. Table-runners delivered a course of candied meats and pickled fruits while topping off goblets of thickwine. Tarness gobbled his helping faster than anyone. Hector also ate the food quickly, while Dallow savored every bite.

  “It’s okay to eat,” Angst said quietly to Nicadilia. “I swear nobody’s looking.”

  The queen regent placed her fork on the table and stared at her food with wide eyes.

  “Your Majesties,” Dallow asked. “May I ask you about the dark armor? How does it resist magic?”

  Gaarder looked at Crloc, who shrugged dismissively. The king raised two fingers to call forth a squire. He whispered in the young boy’s ear and sent him scurrying away.

  “It was never meant to resist magics,” Gaarder said. “We were looking for a way to protect our soldiers from dragonbreath.”

  The squire returned, handing the king a broken piece of large bone. It was dark, almost black, yet blue when reflecting light. Gaarder handed it across Nicadilia to Angst. As soon as he touched it, he shivered. He held a void in his hand that was both fascinating and nauseating. Angst could have felt the steel of plate, but this was more like a sinkhole sucking at his magic. It was unlike any mineral he had ever come in contact with, and he ran his fingers across it to look for the hole he felt. The king smi
led and nodded at his reaction. Without consideration for dinner etiquette, Angst casually tossed it across the table to Hector, who caught it and handed it to Dallow. Victoria’s face was in her hands, as though she were a grown-up who had brought her naughty children to a neighbor’s party.

  “Dragonbone,” Gaarder stated. “To protect us from the dragons’ fires, we harvested bones from their kills to protect us. Coated our soldiers’ armor to keep them from harm.”

  “It makes sense,” Dallow said. “If dragons had the same bones we do, the bones would disintegrate in their own dragonbreath.”

  “Yes, mi’boy,” the old king said. “Who knew it would resist magic as well?”

  “So...about the sword,” Angst said.

  “My counsel has yet to review Your Majesty’s generous offer,” Gaarder said to Victoria.

  “We look forward to your thoughtful decision,” Victoria said politely.

  “So it is here,” Angst said with a smirk.

  Victoria rolled her eyes at his lack of tact, but Gaarder merely smiled. “Yes, Angst, we do have a sword that resembles the one you used to wield.”

  “Your Majesty, it could save my life,” Angst pleaded.

  “That is a small price to pay for the safety of our kingdom,” Crloc growled.

  “Angst is no danger to Melkier!” Victoria said. “We’ve been allies for centuries!”

  “Allies don’t have contested lands,” Crloc spat as he stood.

  “Melkier is not prepared to support magics!” Nicadilia sliced at the air with her hand.

  “What if you don’t have a choice?” Hector asked, mockingly rubbing a spot on his chin.

  Crloc tried looking at his own chin, touching the spot Hector had cut off. “We’ve had no problem defending ourselves!” Crloc said in fury.

  “That’s not what I saw earlier today.” Hector peered at Crloc with his wolf-like eyes.

  “Enough!” Gaarder yelled in a gravelly voice. “This is time for dinner, not debate. Is that clear?”

  The tension dissipated, slightly, but enough remained to make everyone sit and grumble quietly to themselves.

  “I don’t understand why you people can’t see how dangerous you are!” Nicadilia whispered over her shoulder to Angst in an attempt to get in the last word.

  “I still don’t understand why you wore that dress,” Angst replied.

  Queen Regent Nicadilia went pale. She stood fast, her chair falling to the ground behind her with a smack. She seemed on the verge of slapping Angst, but instead covered her mouth and rushed out of the room.

  Angst caught Gaarder’s eye and shrugged helplessly.

  The king looked at Victoria.

  “I know how she feels,” the princess said quietly.

  40

  Queen Isabelle lay on her side, staring at the fire that popped and snapped as wood settled into the grate. Every night that Victoria was away, she found it took longer to fall asleep—though she knew in her heart that, somehow, her daughter was safe. Isabelle blinked heavily. She hoped the lessons learned on this adventure would sway her defiant daughter to choose the path of queen and not adventurer. It was a gamble, but what choice did she have? It was just as much a gamble to make the young magic-wielder a queen, wasn’t it? She had borne a wielder, as though she deserved such punishment.

  The queen shut her eyes as she envisioned peeking through the doorway to watch a nine-year-old Victoria on bare feet, her long dark hair pulled into a tight knot. Her linen clothes were baggy and padded to protect her and she had just bested yet another boy while dueling swords. She looked unhappy about it and sighed.

  “Tyrell, I’m bored,” the young princess whined.

  “I see that,” Tyrell said as he bent over stiffly and helped the twelve-year-old boy to his feet.

  “She cheats!” the burnished-haired boy said, pointing the sword at her. “No girl is that good!”

  “Mind your tongue!” Tyrell admonished, slapping the sword away.

  The boy lowered his sword slowly, obviously upset at losing to a girl. Victoria stuck her tongue out at her accuser, making him grip his hilt hard with embarrassed frustration.

  “You did well today. Better than you think, son,” Tyrell said, patting him on the back.

  Isabelle sighed with relief. While she understood the importance of these training sessions, she had feared for the worst sort of accident.

  “See yourself home,” Tyrell waved the boy off.

  “Yessir,” the lad muttered, watching Tyrell and Victoria turn their backs on him. The two walked toward the queen’s nearby throne.

  It was one of those uncontrollable moments that can overtake any child. Jealousy, anger, an almost-fury at the injustice of the humiliation boiled over within him. With barely a sound, the young boy leaped forward, swatting at Victoria’s rear with the flat of his blade.

  Her heart in her throat, Isabelle started through the door, only to stop when she saw her daughter’s reaction. Casually, nonchalantly, the princess unsheathed her sword, blocked his swing and spun to kick him in the gut. The boy crashed to the floor with a groan.

  Tyrell stared at the princess in shock, the look on his face a mirror of Isabelle’s. He gripped Victoria’s arms and spun her about to check for damage. She was so scared at his reaction that she started to cry.

  “I’m sorry, he... I... He was going to strike me,” she said, the tears pouring out.

  Tyrell rested his hand on the princess’s shoulder and shushed her gently before storming over to the young boy. He lifted the boy by an ear and an arm. “Do you have any idea who this is, boy?” he barked, his face red with fury. “Do you know what you could have done?”

  Now the boy, too, was in tears, and Queen Isabelle stormed into the room.

  “What’s going on in here?” she roared.

  “He attacked her from behind!” Tyrell said, still holding the crying boy by an ear.

  Isabelle marched to Victoria, kneeling to inspect her as if checking the flank of a racing horse. The princess immediately stopped crying.

  “She seems unharmed,” the queen said to Tyrell.

  “You see yourself to the kitchens, Samsen!” Tyrell yelled, spinning the boy about and kicking him in the rear. “I’ll see to it that you’re scrubbing pots for weeks!”

  The boy left in tears, bawling his sorrys loudly.

  “He didn’t mean it, Tyrell,” Victoria said with a sniff, her voice thick with guilt at Samsen’s predicament.

  “You will learn as queen that commanding punishment is often unpleasant, but necessary,” Isabelle advised coldly.

  Victoria nodded at her mother, understanding but still unhappy with the queen’s teachings.

  Tyrell took a deep breath and turned to kneel before the princess. He wiped her wet cheeks with the back of his hand and smiled proudly. “You did well, Your Majesty,” Tyrell acknowledged. “How did you know to block his attack? He was behind you.”

  Victoria shrugged. She rubbed her nose on her linen sleeve only to have her arm pulled from her face by Isabelle. Victoria rolled her eyes at her mom and sniffed loudly. She looked at the door Samsen had walked out of.

  “I don’t think the kitchens are a good place for him,” the princess said with a wince, pressing her palm to her forehead. “He’ll get hurt in there!”

  Victoria began crying uncontrollably and buried her face in the queen’s long dress, holding on for her life.

  Isabelle and Tyrell looked at each other helplessly.

  Isabelle blinked rapidly as a handmaiden set another log in the great fireplace. The older woman looked at the queen, worried that she had been too noisy. After hastily brushing bits of bark from her long gray woolen dress, she rushed out of the queen’s chambers. Isabelle smiled to herself as she once again dozed into memory-filled dreams of her daughter.

  The young queen paced on one side of the great hall, while the king hovered over a table at the other. She peered at her husband, both perturbed and full of love. She had cleared her
throat loudly, several times, to no avail, as her husband doted on his daughter.

  “And you see that, Daddy?” the eight-year-old princess said, tugging on his dark brown beard and pointing at a peninsula between Unsel and Melkier. “You’ll lose that if you make your men go over there.” She pointed at Rohjek. “But that’s okay because I’ll get it back!”

  “Oh, you will, will you?” the king said, chuckling in his tenor voice. He tickled her sides and smiled at her giggles while eyeing the map. “Hmm. It’s possible, but I don’t see—”

  The third ahem was more of a squawk, both interrupting playtime and bringing focus to the frustrated queen. She held her fists hard against the waist of her green brocade bodice. The king smirked, setting Victoria on the floor and walking over to his wife.

  “And how may I assist, milady?” he asked mockingly.

  “You really want to host a party for the commoners?” Isabelle asked, tapping her foot in disapproval.

  “We would be nothing without those commoners, and you know this,” he said sternly, itching a spot beneath his crown. “They are the people of Unsel. We have a duty to protect them and to—”

  “Fine,” she interrupted in exasperation. “But do we have to thank the entire castle staff? Where do we even hold that many people inside the castle?”

  “Outside, Mommy!” Victoria said, clapping her hands. “The party can be outside by the big sword! We can make the sword a game!”

  The king shrugged at Isabelle, who agreed in her own disgruntled fashion.

  “You cannot leave the castle, young lady, and that is final!” Isabelle commanded.

  “I’m thirteen!” Victoria yelled back, stomping her foot. “I want to see what’s out there!”

  “You don’t need to see what’s out there,” the queen yelled, her temper rising. “You need to learn your role here!”