Boaz harrumphs. “That is rich coming from him. I would not trust any of his claims, Your Highness. After all, they arrived by the Ybarisan queen’s messenger.”
“The taillok?” That fierce-looking iridescent thing? It delivered messages to Princess Romeria several times on our trek south from the rift. I swore I’d put an arrow through it if I ever saw it again.
“Exactly. And guided by the casters, I’ve heard. Mother and daughter are likely scheming together against you.”
“No, Zander would castrate himself before joining leagues with Neilina. This caster of theirs must have captured it somehow.”
“I would have said the same once, not long ago, about him joining leagues with Princess Romeria after her crimes.”
“She has certainly won him over,” I agree. My brother is hopelessly in love with her.
“Anything else of value in the letter, Your Highness?”
My eyes graze the feminine writing at the bottom of the page. She is determined to end the blood curse. That is impossible.
Isn’t it?
Suddenly, I wish I’d paid more attention to my studies as a child.
There is someone who might be able to answer that question. So far she has been unwilling to speak, but maybe seeing Romeria’s own words will inspire her to share what she knows. They became close in those weeks after the attack.
“Nothing but fairy tales and lies.” I fold the letter and tuck it into my vest for safekeeping. I don’t need to seek Boaz’s counsel on the rest of it. I can already hear his words.
Deceptions.
Treachery.
Disregard.
He may even decide I’m unfit to wear the crown should it appear I am taking a Ybarisan’s advice to heart.
“How do you wish to respond?”
“You handed me this letter five minutes ago, Boaz. I need more than that to consider my options.”
“Of course. The taillok waits on a roost. For how long, I cannot say.”
“It will wait there as long as it’s been instructed to. A minute or a lifetime.” At least that’s what Romeria told me once, when I asked that very question, eyeing the odd thing as it sat idle on top of a wagon. “But time is something we don’t have, if Neilina is on her way.” I move for my desk, collecting paper and quill. How do I respond to such wild claims and requests?
“Do you think the marriage proposal between Tyree and Annika will sway her decision? Change her course at the rift?”
“I doubt it has reached her yet, and even when it does, how is she to swiftly respond, now that we have her carrier?”
“I’m sure she can find other methods of communication. She has a tower full of those elementals, after all.” Boaz’s lips curl with distaste.
“Perhaps. In the meantime, I must do a better job selling the idea to Annika.” She’s currently somewhere in the castle, spitting my name onto the stone floor. “Have Tyree brought to the same rooms where his sister was once imprisoned. Bring him clothes and food he can eat without convulsing. Station three guards at his door and triple the ones below the balcony. Arm them all with merth bolts.”
A knock sounds on the door.
“What now?” I shout.
The door creaks open, and a guard escorts Corrin in.
I chuckle. This is a first.
“A lady’s maid does not seek an audience with the king!” Boaz barks.
I wave him off. “It’s fine. Thank you. I will bring a letter for the taillok shortly.”
“Your Highness.” His jaw tightens at the dismissal, his steel boots heavy as he marches out.
I lean back in my chair, smiling. “This should be interesting.”
“Your Highness,” Corrin begins, her voice crisp, her chin lifted. What this mortal lacks in size—she reaches my chest in stature—she makes up for in attitude. My mother always valued and trusted her. “I do not know what your intentions are with the baker—”
“Nor should you. She’s my subject, and I am the king to do with her what I wish,” I say evenly.
“Yes, of course you are. I would never suggest otherwise.” She pauses to choose her words. Or perhaps to bite back the salty ones she wishes she could utter. “I merely want to make sure you are aware of what sort of keeper she faced before she arrived here.”
“A lying, thieving, conspiring one?”
Her brow furrows. “Yes, perhaps he is all of those things as well, but I mean what he did to her.”
My smug smile slips off. “Continue.”
“When Gracen and her children came to the castle, they were skin and bone. I doubt those children had had a proper meal in their entire lives. And Gracen … I helped her into the bath once and”—she flinches—“there were marks all over her body. Bruises and bites, worse than anything I’d ever seen. So many of them.”