Voices paused around the room, and they all stared at her.
“What does that even mean? Who is King Aeron?” asked one of the councilmen.
“I don’t know,” Aydra said. “That’s the point. These people are not to be trusted. They obviously want our lands.”
“The Venari should bring some of them in for torture and questioning if there is a next time. Find out information rather than simply killing them as you’ve done so recklessly these last times. Perhaps these men could be useful,” said Reid.
“Of what use could people not of our own be? They are clearly not Haerlandian and come from somewhere high across the seas. We don’t know from where they were born, what they did to their land there, or why they would be traveling so far away from their homes,” argued Aydra. “You cannot take this lightly. We must—”
“I’m not sure I understand why we are having this discussion,” Ash interjected. “The strangers are not on the shores of Magnice.”
“The captain is right,” said one of the Nobles before he turned to face Draven. “Do you have this situation handled or are you and your men as worthless as the Chronicles say you are?”
Draven’s fist curled in on itself, and his jaw tightened. He glared at the standing people around him.
“We have it handled,” he growled. “For now.”
Rhaif clapped his hands over the table and said something, but Aydra didn’t hear it. Her nostrils flared at the ignorance of the people around the table as they stood and began chatting with each other absentmindedly. She fought the urge to slam her fist in to the table.
A glass of wine was sat down in front of her then, and she turned just in time to see Dorian sit in the chair beside her.
“They’ll figure it out when they’ve an army taking over their towns,” he said to her.
Aydra lifted the cup to her lips and drank it in one swift gulp. “Idiots,” she mumbled. “You would think an invasion would alarm them.”
“They don’t care unless it’s on their land,” Dorian insisted. “Also, Reid is right. We really should find out what they want.”
Aydra sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, fine.”
“I know, sister. It’s one less instantaneous spill of blood your sword will meet,” he mocked, “but you might find diplomacy can be an option.”
“Killjoy,” she bantered.
Dorian almost laughed at her. “Perhaps you should take Nyssa with you next time they come,” he added.
A frown slipped onto her face. “Why?”
“Because she might be a twat half the time, but her negotiating skills have come to rival Rhaif’s,” he answered. “And she could use some time away from this place. See the land. Meet the people. Just remember to bring a bottle of nyghtifyr.”
“Why’s that?”
“She gets a bit shy in front of crowds.”
Aydra almost laughed, but the serious face Dorian had strewn across his own made her pause. “Oh, you’re not joking.”
“I’m not.” He traded out his full cup for her empty one then and stood, holding out his arm. “Come on. Don’t give them the satisfaction of your being bothered by their idiocy.”
Aydra made her rounds with full glasses of wine, putting on the facade her crown so demanded she wear in front of the Council she knew would take it from her if given the chance. No one spoke of the ships. No one spoke of politics. The only thing they seemed to want to speak to her about was she and Rhaif’s birthing moons coming up in the next month, wanting to know if they’d decided on a party theme or decor. She had to lie and tell them all she was looking forward to it, that they’d planned a grand celebration for it.
Her reprieve came in the smell of herb once she escaped their clenches.
“There you are,” she said in relief when she found him by the open window of the hall.
Lust rose in his eyes as he puffed on the pipe and looked her deliberately sideways. She felt her jaw tighten upon reaching him, and he held out the pipe to her.
“Careful, Venari,” she uttered as she took the pipe from his hands. “Your gaze deceives you.”
“Funny,” he mused, turning back to the window. “I’m sure I saw you climax at least twice simply sitting at that table.”
