Jeo tenses and lets me go, but my words are a challenge all their own, and Pruinn knows it. He gazes down into the shadowed depths with an unenthused expression. He covers it up a second later when he gives me a reverent nod. “It would be my honor to lead you, Your Majesty.”
Jeo makes a rude noise beside me that the merchant ignores completely.
My guards move out of the way, but just as Pruinn takes the first step down, a deafening crash comes from the direction of the kitchens.
“They’ve broken in!” one of the guards shouts, setting off all four of the armored men to lift their swords from their scabbards in a swish of metallic scrape.
“Go, Your Majesty! Go!”
There’s no time for me to hesitate or to dread the trek, because the horrible frenzied shouting has multiplied, rending through the air. The screams and chants out there are like a pack of rabid wolves with the scent of blood in their snouts.
Cries like yips echo while glass smashes and footsteps pound in time with my galloping heart. All hesitation on Pruinn’s part is erased in a moment as he rushes down the steps. I barely have time to register the great boom of noise that shakes the ground before I’m shoved forward after Pruinn, my body plunging into the passage.
“You two go with the queen!” one guard shouts. “We’ll close you in!”
My boots skid against the steps, slipping until Jeo’s fingers curl around my arm. “I have you,” he says behind me. “Keep going.”
We shuffle downward, every stair narrow, making my toes hang off the edge. My palm skims against the filthy stone wall at my right, and I stay glued onto Pruinn’s heels, while Jeo stays on mine.
The shouting is closer now, more breaking, more horrible hacking.
Just when I don’t think it can possibly get any worse than this, the two guards who stayed behind suddenly slam the secret doorway shut.
Darkness devours me.
Chapter 22
KING MIDAS
There’s a gloom over the morning light as I watch the sculptors chisel into the ice.
Two of them are working on a block taller than me, their bodies poised on stepladders as they chip into the frozen slab in the courtyard. I’m told they’re working on a sculpture of Niven. A gift for the prince’s upcoming birthday. Apparently, they’ll be making a total of thirteen sculptures in his likeness.
I have to suppress a sneer.
The boy is nothing but an overindulged brat who seems to think he can play at being a ruler. Fulke did his son a disservice by giving him the entitlement of the crown, without any of the actual aptitude to be effective. His youth doesn’t excuse anything. When I was his age, I was already running my household, making and stealing wages to ensure I had food on the table. Nothing was handed to me, I had to take it.
The only thing Niven takes is liberties with my patience. He’s been a splinter in my thumb since I arrived, a prickling annoyance that I can’t pluck out.
Not yet.
Timing is everything. I need to have this kingdom eating out of my hand. It’s begun to happen already, especially now that Ranhold is growing richer room by room, touch by touch. Gold always sways favor.
I look around, the gentle tap of the chisels thrumming in my ears as I make a mental note to have this gazebo gold-touched next. I’ll be able to see it from my rooms, and with any luck, it will far overshadow any of the prince’s sculptures. All damn thirteen of them.
A presence jars me from my thoughts, and I lift my head as Queen Kaila steps into the gazebo, her form-fitting blue skirts flaring out at the knees.
“Queen Kaila.” I rise to my feet at the smiling woman as she tips her head.
“Good morning, King Midas,” she says, cinnamon eyes filled with amusement. “This is the second time I’ve caught you out here. This must be a favorite haunt of yours.”
“It is. Would you like to sit?” I ask, gesturing beside me.
She shakes her head, the fur-lined hood of her cloak glittering with leftover frost. “That’s alright, I was just taking a walk.”
My smile tightens. I imagine that during these so-called walks, she’s using her magic to try and suss out secrets. It’s what I would do if I were her. I’ll need to have another discussion with the guards to make sure they’re all keeping talk to a minimum. Men in uniform seem to gossip more than schoolgirls.
“It is a pleasant morning for it.”
“Very quiet and calm,” she replies, though I have a feeling she isn’t talking about the weather, and I have to suppress a smirk.
The queen’s power intrigues me, even as it sets me on edge. It’s an impressive magic to be able to gather the words of others. It would certainly have its uses. It’s why I invited her here.