Tarron’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I’m feeling perfectly fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just have no desire to visit the dungeons today. You know the place depresses me.”
“Osric is concerned about your health. I could see it in his eyes. I’m certain he said something about it to the rest of my council the moment I stepped out of the room.”
“Yes,” said Deven, offhandedly. “Osric says lots of things, and he speaks out of turn entirely too much for someone of his rank. We should work on remedying that.”
“You could quiet them by taking care of this matter in a strong, decisive way.”
The king brought his gaze level with Tarron’s. It looked gravely serious for once. “Not today,” he said.
“It must be dealt with.”
“Yes, and you will go in my place, as I mentioned.”
“Deven—“
“Leave me be.”
Tarron did not move.
“That’s an order from your king,” Deven said, his tone cold and unyielding and so entirely unlike his brother that Tarron obeyed the order, backing out of the room mostly because he was too shocked to do anything else.
The dismissal didn’t get under his skin until the door slammed shut behind him.
Why won’t he just admit that he’s getting sicker?
With one last furious look at the closed door, Tarron headed downstairs. He pushed his brother out of his thoughts. He considered only the task before him, making a list in his mind of what he would need to do to successfully interrogate their prisoners. A comforting, orderly list of things to check off. He was in control.He was in control.
He barely noticed a servant walking toward him until they nearly collided.
“Your Highness, a word—“
“Not now,” he said, striding past without sparing a glance. But he made it only a few more steps before the servant found his voice and called after him—
“It’s your bride, my lord.”
Tarron rounded so quickly that the servant recoiled.
“What of her?”
“S-she’s taken ill, I’m afraid. She—”
“Impossible.” His heart leapt into his throat. “I was just with her. She was fine.”
“The doctor thought you should be summoned.” The servant lowered his eyes.
Tarron took a deep breath, averting his irritated gaze. He was angry at his brother, and at the day’s strange happenings; no sense in taking it out on this servant.
“Very well,” he said. “I will go to her. But I need you to deliver a message to Councilman Osric for me.”
“Yes, of course—”
“Tell him to go warm our prisoners up for their official interrogation,” said Tarron, already turning away and walking briskly back toward Leanora’s room. “I’ll be downstairs momentarily.”
The servant said something in reply, but Tarron did not hear it; his pulse was throbbing too loudly in his ears, and he was moving too quickly.
He took the stairs to the second floor in leaps and bounds and then raced down the hall, slowing only when he caught sight of the doctor as he exited Leanora’s room.
