I don’t even dignify that with a response.
His lips curl in a raking smile. “How are things going with your wife, by the way?”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
Rian shrugs, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off his jacket with his bound hands. “Marriage is the art of hiding your secrets better,” he quips. “At least, that’s what my father used to say.”
I narrow my eyes at him—he’s just trying to get under my skin.
Begrudgingly, I take his word for it and signal to the soldiers to begin hanging sheets from the parapets that Rian indicated.
They’re black sheets, Rian’s signature color. He swears up and down that this is the plan he established with his generals, the Cold Coins. If he hangs black sheets from certain parapets, they’re to call off the siege.
I run the fabric between my fingers as a soldier walks back carrying it, and grunt. “Shocked they aren’t white. You’d be the spineless kind to use the color of surrender.”
Rian scowls, Kendan flicks his gaze between the two of us like we’re warring children.
“Can we get on with it, please?” Kendan mutters.
I signal to the soldiers, who bind the sheets with ropes and hang them from Honor Tower. It’s a windless day, and the sheets hang heavy, like bodies at the gallows. Honor Tower stands high over the rest of the city, designed to be visible from every quarter, a shining beacon.
Which means the Cold Coins can’t miss our message.
“Now,” I say. “We wait and see if they still obey their master’s call.” I slap Rian on the shoulder.
It’s tense as we stare down at the courtyard below, where our soldiers have barricaded the castle gates. At sight of the sheets, sentinels camped out on the opposite side rush to pick up their weapons, already on alert and ready should a fight break out.
But they’re only infantrymen—it’s the Cold Coins who will make the call.
“It’s an old tradition, you know,” Kendan says as we wait, motioning to the sheets. “To use hanging sheets in code to send a signal. They did it in King Byrne’s reign.”
“I know,” Rian snaps, irritated. “Why else do you think I did it?”
Kendan raises an eyebrow. “You mean you were actually paying attention in our tutoring lessons? Could have fooled me. You and Lore spent more time snickering over drawings of naked ladies than the ancient texts.”
Rian smirks, his eyes wistful. “Wonder if we still have those drawings.”
I smack him on the back of his neck, sending him reeling forward. With his hands bound, his balance is off, and he nearly stumbles right off the roof before catching himself on a flagpole.
“Fuck, Basten!”
“March yourself to the stairs,” I command, pointing to the courtyard, where a flurry of tense activity is breaking out. “I think your generals are about to pay us a visit.”
I make Rian walk ahead of me, giving him a good jab in the ribs whenever he slows, as we make our way down to the courtyard. However, as soon as we step out into the sunlight, my jesting stops.
Now’s the time to be a king—not Rian’s tormenter.
Even if it’s so damn fun to.
I pause at the entrance to Raven Hall for a squire to help me fasten my scabbard and shield—heavy, official weapons that are meant to blind my opponents with their riches. I shift uncomfortably under their weight.
“How about I trade you for that bow and arrows?” I say to the squire, pointing to a simple wooden bow in the weaponry stockpile.
Kendan leans in and murmurs heavily, “May I remind you that you’re no longer hunting to put venison on the dinner table, King Basten.”
I groan—I see why Rian was always so irritated with his older brother—but relent.
“Keep it on hand, eh?” I say quietly to the squire, who nods with big eyes.
