It was an eerie tale, one of fate, betrayal, and the love of a woman.
The tale ended with a curse delivered from the lord of hearts over the lord of war. The warlord was forced to wander the lands, poisoning and twisting loyalty of the people until they took to battle—father against son, wife against husband—while he searched for his lost lover.
There was something about the story that felt almost too real to be myth. Brutal and a little tragic, still I could not stop reading.
Until the door kicked open with a soft curse.
The book tumbled to the ground, and I nearly spilled over with it. The alver king filled the doorway, utterly transfixed on a stack of sealed missives in his hands. He would squint one eye, then switch to the other, studying the symbols printed on the front, curse again, and do the same with the next one.
I wasn’t certain he even knew I was there.
Jonas’s father was broad and tall like his sons, and on my first glance at him in the negotiations, I thought him to be a cruel man. He did not smile, and seemed ready to lash out if too many folk spoke to him at once.
Time in Klockglas proved otherwise.
True, the king did not chatter endlessly, he observed. Quiet and stoic, but there was no denying a light filled his eyes at the sight of his queen and his sons and those he considered his family.
He did not raise his voice or his hands.
I took him to be a man who merely watched the world around him, a gentle shadow.
“Highness, good morning.”
Kase looked up from the missives. “Didn’t realize you were here. And stop calling me Highness, girl.”
Much like his temperament, if I had not observed his words in these weeks, I might tremble beneath his gritty, lowvoice.
He spoke like that to everyone.
“I feel strange calling you by a given name, so what would you have me call you? Father-in-law?”
“Bit of a mouthful.” He stepped into the room, making his way to the desk near the window. “Call me whatever you like.”
“Except royal titles.”
Kase jabbed the air with the missives. “Exactly.”
I clasped my hands behind my back, pulse racing. “Would it be strange if I called you Daj? My own is dead.”
The king stalled his hand from placing the missives on the desk. For a breath, he didn’t move, and I wanted to flee. What a foolish thing to say. It was not as though I was some beloved child of his, not like his sons.
Yes, we got on all right. Yes, he had given thanks for aiding Jonas during the mesmer fever, but . . .
“I like that,” he said, voice rough. “That’ll do fine.”
A small smile curved in the corner of my mouth.
“Unfortunately, I have been charged as the post deliverer today.” The king lifted the missives. “One has an elven symbol, so I think it is addressed to you.”
He thought? I went to the desk and rifled through the stack. One was to me from Natthaven, another from the Ever Queen, but the rest were not mine.
With a touch of hesitation, I handed the other letters back to the king. “Um, these are for others.”
He took them back without a pause. “Not my fault. I’ve said countless times, I am the last sod in this palace who ought to be delivering official missives.”
Could the king not read? “I-I can tell you to whom they’re addressed. If you’d like.”
“Certainly would save some time.”
