Without thinking, I take a step back, positioning Valenar between myself and danger.
“Watch your words,” Valenar says, once again saying so much more that I don’t understand.
Castorian grins wider, leaning in close enough that I can smell the overpowering musk of him. “You wouldn’t let a little warning stand in your way, would you?” he asks, dangerous eyes darting toward me again, making my spine tingle with the need to flee. “You’d track them through all thirteen reaches if needed. You’d stop at nothing. And you know how I know?” he taunts while Valenar grows more and more tense with every heartbeat. “Because you’re. Just. Like. Me,” Castorian says, punctuating each word by jabbing his finger into Val’s chest. “And some hungers don’t ever fade. Isn’t that right?”
“Leave now or the king’s guard will assist you in doing so,” Valenar says through clenched teeth, his ears flat and tail twitching.
Unsurprisingly, Castorian takes the escort out, grinning, not saying a word, but still drawing the attention of everyone present.
“What did he mean by that?” I ask, watching the enormous doors close again, viewing Valenar with a new wariness.
“Nothing worth repeating,” Val says, his jaw still tight. “I think you’ve been thoroughly Presented, don’t you?” All at once, there’s been a shift from the king’s loyal left-hand man, insistenton doing everything by the books, to a caged mountain cat eager to escape up the nearest tree or rock face he can find.
Not trusting myself to answer for fear I’ll change his mind, I just nod eagerly.
“Right. I’ll have Morwen show you to your quarters,” he says, leading the way across the ballroom.
Before we make our escape, we’re stopped by an obstacle in our tracks. It looks like a mossy hill come to life, bone charms clattering from horns that look more like deadwood. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking at, but when the hill lifts a gnarled branch the size of my leg and waves it around, I’m not too inclined to try to push past.
“Seed from another world,” the sound is like a toad found its voice, and if this had happened at the beginning of the night, I might have been startled into flinching, but at this point, I’ve seen too many impossible things for yet another to strike me as anything other than something preventing me from getting to bed and forgetting this whole terrible day.
“Your roots are young, but tend them well and the Wilds will favor you above all others.”
“I…’m sorry?” I ask wearily, catching myself before repeating the ‘begging’ mistake.
“Not yet, but you will be.” The top of the hill tilts to one side, moss and leaves moving enough to reveal a yellow grin in the shadows.
“Your wisdom is cherished, as always, Archdruid,” Val says without a hint of sincerity. “May the Briarspire’s thorns pierce those who’d disregard it.” His even tone seems to be satisfactory for the mossy hill because it makes no move to stop us as Valenarsteers me away from the ballroom, past whispers ofhuman bride, cursed blood,and worst of all:bound to be rejected.
Chapter Nine
Xandril
The Presentation, well-attended as it is, will fare much better with Valenar introducing my bride. He has always been the one with the charming smiles, the smooth words, the uncanny ability to move through all circles of society without drawing attention to himself. If anyone from the Wardens should have taken the Emerald Throne, it’s him. He has the patience for frivolous parties that I do not. He has an understanding of the political battlefield in a way I never will.
My sole value lies in what labor I can provide for the throne. There is no time to get more familiar with my bride when there are patrols to send out, reports to study, and endless damage to repair left by the previous king. The throne tree is in a sorry state, all but withering to dust before my eyes. I don’t know how long it will hold out for, but I know there’s not a moment to spare for anything that isn’t in service of the Crown.
Day after day, I hole up in the war room trying to undo the damage Farandir wreaked. The Wilds continue to grow stronger, eroding our borders, infecting our lands. In prosperous, healthy times, Crownwood would be able to protect its roots from the incursion, but in its current weakened state? No one knows whether the throne will survive if the Wilds reach that far.
And while we face the unrelenting march of wild magic, our neighbors have seized the opportunity to strengthen their own positions. Latest reports from the mountains suggest that soldiers from Iron Reach have been patrolling beyond their borders, perhaps scouting for something—a relic, a resource, or reconnaissance for a future attack—whatever it is, we can’t be caught unaware.
I refuse to be the king who failed.
Morwen enters without a word, back to fetch the tray of food I haven’t touched. She hesitates before lifting it, looking back toward me with an arch look.
“The kitchens do fine work with the limitations we have,” she says as if scolding a naughty dog. “Royals who take that for granted may soon find themselves eating the same porridge as the rest of us.”
I grunt, not willing to be lectured by her with everything else going on. Before she can leave, though, my mind latches onto her word choice.
“You don’t mean only me,” I realize.
Morwen’s lips purse, hefting the heavy tray like it’s light as a pillow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your bride is on a hunger strike.”
My stomach twists. Why wouldn’t she protest being attached to a beast like me? Even if it comes with a crown and title, it’s hardly worth the exchange. I should have made a new bargain with the Dealmaker. I don’t know why I stopped myself. Now I have one more complication to securing my rule.
“Of course, that’s not accounting for the missing breads and cheeses, nor the crumbs found in her laundry…”
My stomach unclenches a fraction. At least she’s eating. But Morwen’s not bringing it up for nothing. Castle staff talks, and if they’re unhappy with us, neither my bride nor myself will be safe. Other concerns may have to wait until I’ve taken the time to rally the troops.
