Huen: Sci-Fi and Fantasy Romance (Zhekan Mates Book 2)

by E. A. James

  “What?!” He groaned as he rose out of the throne. Then he wobbled forward and squinted, his narrowed eyes raising above her head and landing on her hands. He gasped. “What an insult! Release them at once!”

  The guard in front of her stammered a few words before saying, “Your daughter requested—”

  “I’m your king! And these people are valued allies of Sallimor. Release them at once!”

  The guards hesitated before lowering their hands and shuffling back, away from the throne and away from Leonie and Adrik.

  Leonie sighed, lowering her hands. “Thank you.” She glanced over at Adrik—who appeared more curious than angry—and she smiled. “I’m afraid I have much to tell you, and when I’m finished, you may believe the rumors about me being mad. But I promise the rumors aren’t true.”

  “Of course not.” He waved his wrinkled hand. “Speak away, Young Duchess. Tell an old man your story, and he will listen with as much fervor as he’s capable of.”

  She took a deep breath. “Very well.”

  Adrik grunted and shook his head, eyes snapping over to a few of the guards. He was still visibly tense, anticipating a fight at any moment.

  She cleared her throat. “As I was saying…”

  By the time she had finished her story, King Gier had sat back on his throne. His small chin rested on top both of his palms as he blinked owlishly at nothing. His facial muscles were slack.

  Leonie hunched and tapped her fingers together. Her guts twirled and hopped and it was all she could do not to vomit.

  Adrik wasn’t helping—what with his occasional groan and the way he shifted back and forth on his feet. He moved a little closer to her, his head turning to the side, toward the guards.

  Before she even realized it, she found herself moving closer to him, too.

  “Remarkable,” King Gier said. “Simply remarkable. In all my years, I’ve never heard of something so…breathtaking and amazing.”

  Leonie nearly swayed on her feet, hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up and overwhelm her. “You believe me then?”

  “Of course I do, my dear! I’m a Trilinity believer, faithful since I was nine years old.” He slapped his palms on top of his bony knees. “I only wished I was worthy enough to be approached by the god of fate himself. We must heed his caution at once.”

  “Yes!” Leonie said, joy and relief soaring up her torso. “I agree with you completely, your majesty.” She beamed at Adrik.

  Adrik muttered something—lips curled downward—but his shoulders lost their earlier tension. He stayed closer to her, though, arm brushing against hers.

  She playfully bumped up against him, her giggles nearly spouting out of her.

  King Gier tapped his cheeks and murmured to himself for a few moments. “A war, a war—why a war? We have no quarrels with the Kingdom of Maylorn. Corsonall had always threatened to overtake the land, not us. How strange.” He tapped his lips then, gaze lowering. “How very strange, indeed.” He clasped his hands together. “Come. We must discuss this further in the council room.” He pushed off against the throne, swayed a bit, and then walked forward. “Guards, fetch my daughter and her spouse and tell them where we’ll be. This concerns all of us.”

  The guards bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”

  Gier grabbed Leonie’s shoulder and Adrik’s forearm. “May Mathsus guide us through these troubling times.”

  “May he, indeed,” Leonie whispered, glancing at the ceiling. She swore—for a second—that she could see another star forming right above their heads.

  Adrik snorted. “May rationality be our guide.”

  King Gier cackled, releasing them. “I like him! What an outspoken ally to have in your retinue.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  King Gier, despite his old bones and sluggish motion, walked around the large and spacious council room with a passionate light in his eyes. His expression pinched, he pursed his lips and muttered out his theories.

  “Maybe Maylorn is the one who initiates the war,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Oh, that would be unexpected. Their military is nonexistent. They would be slaughtered. Or would they?” He hummed to himself, walking a little faster and rapping his knuckles against the long table in the center of the room. “Perhaps it is our army that starts the war. Maybe they’ll go rogue! Oh dear.” He clicked his tongue. “But what would be their reasons?”

  Leonie sat at the other end of the table, Adrik standing beside her due to the small size of the chairs. She leaned back and crossed her arms, her own mind wandering as she tried to think of possible threats.

  “We should go to Maylorn,” Adrik whispered to her. “This—what we’re doing now is a waste of time.”

  “We’ve only been here for less than an hour.”

  “And all we’ve heard is the babblings of a madman.”

  She glared. “He’s not mad, nor am I. And even if we were, that would make you mad for following us.”

  Adrik huffed, gaze shifting to the table. “What a terrifying conclusion.”

  Gier raised both hands and cried, “I have it!”

  Leonie jumped, her heart leaping to her throat. “Yes?” She stood. “You’ve figured it out?”

  “Perhaps the god of death wishes to destroy both our lands by compelling us to war!”

  Her heart sank right back in its place. “I…” She turned to Adrik, who shook his head and smirked. She bumped her elbow against him, but the smirk didn’t vanish. “It’s possible, at least. It’s good to try and come up with ideas.”

  Adrik’s expression did somber a bit at that.

  Gier’s hands quivered as he lowered them, his wide eyes darting all about. “Mors, God of Death, spare us this plight, please.” He turned around.

  Leonie sighed, bowing her head. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered to Adrik. “But what will the royals know in Maylorn that the royals here don’t know?”

  “I wish I knew,” Adrik whispered.

  Gier was still praying to Mors when Princess Froda—a middle-aged woman in a flowing maroon gown—and her husband, Prince Almund, strode into the room and stopped in front of Gier.

  Gier jolted. “Daughter! You’ve startled me.” He patted his chest. “You must not startle an elderly man, it could prove fatal!”

  Froda glared at him, and then she walked around him and glared at Leonie. “What exactly have you poisoned my father’s mind with? Tales of gods and delusional prophecies?” Froda flicked her hand toward Leonie and turned back to Gier. “Father, this woman is not well. You cannot listen to her religious tripe for it can’t be true.”

  Hot rage surged up Leonie’s chest, her lungs constricting. “It is true, Princess Froda. I would never make up such a story. I only know it has fallen to me to act upon it.”

  “Of course not, dear,” Froda said, nose wrinkling with disgust, “but then again, the mad usually don’t intend harm or falsehoods.”

  Leonie clenched her hands into fists.

  Gier frowned at his daughter. “She is a Young Duchess of Asawiss, Froda. She is deserving of respect.”

  Froda gaped at him. “Respect?! Father, she’s a heretic at best.” She turned to her husband, who stood by the door with his hands clasped together in front of him. “Almund, tell him this is so.”

  “This is so,” he said, nodding.

  Adrik chortled, leaning a little closer to Leonie. “A compelling argument, I can see we find ourselves amongst the intellectuals of this kingdom.”

  He smelled of earth. Leonie inhaled deeply and smiled at him, his rare smile soothing away some of the anger within her blood. She breathed a little easier.

  Froda silently motioned her hands back and forth between her husband and Leonie. The older woman’s expression was marred by exasperation and rage, lips quivering.

  King Gier blinked rapidly at her. “What are you doing now?” He rubbed his temples. “Daughter, you make me dizzy and queasy, all at once.”

  Froda growled, “This mad woman is a danger
to us, as well as to the Kingdom of Maylorn. With all of her proclamations throughout Olnorma, she has caused people to become paranoid—to act without thought of consequences! She must be locked up and made an example of.”

  Gier jutted his chin. “No. Not while I still rule.”

  “Father, surely—”

  “No, Froda. We believe in the Trilinity, do we not? So it falls to us to believe her, too. We cannot turn a blind eye to the will of the gods.”

  Froda’s nostrils flared, her lips curling downward and revealing the edges of her teeth. She opened her mouth, but then her gaze landed on Adrik. She furrowed her brow. “And what of her Gargan companion?”

  Leonie tensed, anger doubling as it swelled within her. “What of him?”

  Froda eyed her, and then Adrik. And then she turned back to her father, who lowered his brow and his eyelids.

  Froda blew out a breath. “Very well, since my words mean so little, I suppose I must tolerate this…” She crossed her arms, her attention snapping toward the hallway. “I expect guards following the Mad Duchess and the Gargan at all times. Do you understand?”

  Guards—apparently standing in the hallway, by the door—bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”

  “Good,” she huffed, glaring at Leonie yet again. “Give me some peace of mind, at least.”

  Prince Almund, eyes glued to the floor, nodded.

  King Gier hacked a few times. “Now that we all understand the situation, we ask that you help us with this matter, Daughter.”

  Froda squeaked out an amused sound, tilting her head back and placing her hands on her hips. “You wish me to aid the heretic now?”

  “I certainly do! Two kingdoms depend on it, and many more lives.”

  Froda rolled her eyes. “Father did it ever occur to you that if Mathsus truly wished to prevent a war from occurring, then he would prevent it from occurring.” Her gaze flicked over to Leonie. “Why would he waste time and effort on a mortal? Especially one as inconsequential as her.”

  Leonie flinched.

  King Gier furrowed his brow, whispers tumbling past his lips. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth.

  Frowning, Adrik stepped forward and waved out his hand. “You say that as if your god of fate ever made sense. You have read the tales, yes? Many of them speak of Mathsus’s will as chaotic and random.”

  King Gier’s face lit up. “Yes! That is true! That is very true!”

  Froda rolled her eyes and sighed.

  Leonie’s heart twisted and burned, frustration simmering in her veins as inklings of doubt taunted her. “You know what?” she said, clasping her hands together. “Let’s pray to Mathsus. If his will is to be done, then he’ll show you the truth.”

  Adrik buried his face in his hands. “Leonie,” he groaned. “I don’t think this is wise.”

  “No,” Froda said, her lips spread wide in a crooked kind of smile. She glanced over Leonie. “She’s right. Let’s pray to the god of fate, and this matter will be resolved.” She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and pushed her hands together. “Whenever you’re ready, Young Duchess.”

  Leonie closed her eyes tight and tilted her head back, her face aimed at the ceiling—at wherever Mathsus stood in the heavens. “Mighty Mathsus, god of fate, I pray to you in this time of confusion. I’m Leonie—the Young Duchess of Asawiss that you’ve chosen to prevent the war between the Kingdom of Maylorn and the Kingdom of Sallimor. Those who doubt me stand before me, and I need your help and your guidance to show them the dangers we face. Please, speak to them as you have to me.”

  “Leonie,” Adrik whispered brokenly.

  She closed her eyes tighter, shoulders rising a bit. “Your will is the will of life. But please show us guidance in this confusing time. Please, Mathsus.” She went quiet then, giving time for the god to respond to her.

  He didn’t.

  Leonie twitched, aches blooming beneath her skull. “Mathsus—”

  “Oh enough,” Froda said, huffing and shaking her head. “You’ve tried to prove yourself, and you failed. I won’t waste any more of my time on this.” She spun around—her long gown flowing for the briefest of seconds—and strode out of the room.

  Prince Almund ducked his head and quickly followed her.

  Leonie tightened her grip on her own hands, eyes still closed. “Mathsus, why won’t you answer when I need you to? That alone could prevent the war?!”

  King Gier sighed. “Maybe he…I don’t know. Maybe my daughter is somewhat right about all of this.” He grumbled to himself, waddling out of the room. “Eat whatever, drink whatever, and sleep wherever you wish. I must be alone for a time.” He closed the door behind him, leaving the guards to stare at Leonie with their stoic eyes.

  Leonie prayed, hunching over herself and trying to block out the soft noise of Adrik breathing beside her. She flinched when he touched her arm.

  “Leonie,” he said, “if he wanted to come, he would come. I’m sorry.”

  Her hands lowered. She prayed silently—desperately—for a few more seconds before she, at last, opened her eyes. The cold and rough touch of Adrik’s fingertips on her arm burned her torso, resentment swelling beneath her clavicle. She glared at him. “You don’t even believe.”

  He shook his head slowly. His eyes gleamed—warm, full of pity—

  Leonie looked away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Leonie sulked in the council room for some time—Adrik next to her, soundless as he was—until the guards announced that the hours of sleep were upon them.

  “Alright,” Leonie said, rising from her seat and rubbing her sore eyes. “Lead us to our bedrooms, please. Anything close to this room would be much appreciated.”

  The guards nodded, opening the door for her to walk through. Adrik trudged behind her, his steps making the floor rumble.

  The guards led her and Adrik through a couple of hallways before they stopped in the middle of the two tall doors. Then one guard pointed at both doors. “These are two guest rooms. You both may choose yours, though know that they’re practically identical.”

  Leonie nodded and walked to the farther door. “Thank you.” Numbness radiated in her blood, though a dulled kind of soreness throbbed in her heart.

  It would be a night of tears, no doubt.

  She opened the door to the room, pitch black that a slight stir in the air that suggested a large space.

  “Leonie, wait,” Adrik said.

  She rubbed her brow, something recoiling within her. “Look, Adrik, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. I’m just tired.”

  “I understand. But I wish to tell you that…um, well…” He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “I want to say that…I’m sorry for today, I know that wasn’t easy.” He cleared his throat again. “I hope that suffices.”

  She blinked at the ground for a few seconds. “What?”

  “I…I don’t think I said that right.”

  She turned to him, her confusion distracting her from her aches. “What are you trying to say exactly?”

  Gargans couldn’t really blush—their blood wasn’t even red, much less a color that could seep through stone. The way Adrik winced, his eyes flicking over anything but her; she could’ve sworn that his cheeks turned a different shade of gray.

  She chuckled at her sudden realization. “You’re trying to cheer me up, aren’t you?” She laughed a little harder and rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re not very good at it, I’m sorry to say.”

  He scowled.

  “But I appreciate it,” she added more gently. Her smile remained, even as her laughter died away. “Sincerely, Adrik, that you would try to make this not feel so…humiliating…” Her lips did quiver a bit then. “Thank you.”

  He breathed deeply, his fingers twitching at his side. He opened his mouth, only to close it again and shake his head.

  “What?” she asked. “What is it?”

  He bit his lip, the brief sound grinding. “I simply…” He shook his head again and walked up
to her, his fingers reaching for her hand and then hesitating. “I—”

  A set of guards made their way past them on patrol of the halls.

  Adrik stiffened before he slowly turned his head toward the guard, and then toward the other guard, and then toward yet another guard. The Gargan rubbed his jaw and stepped away.

  Leonie sputtered out a sound of protest to his departure before she could even think to do so.

  Adrik, not glancing back, said “Goodnight Leonie” as he entered his room.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered to his closing door, her hand tingling. She grabbed it and massaged her palm—soothing away some sense of disappointment.