‘Just your breakfast order, Majesty,’ said Johan, without daring to come inside. ‘What are you having?’
‘Stress,’ muttered Alarik, rising from the bed and stomping into the adjacent bathing chamber. ‘Round up my war council and have them meet me in the war room.’ He paused, before adding, ‘Make sure there’s a pot of coffee in there as big as your head.’ Another pause. ‘And also pastries.’
‘Yes, Majesty.’ The door eased shut and Johan disappeared, leaving Alarik to bathe and dress himself. As he liked it. He chose a pair of black trousers and boots with silver buckles, and a high-collared grey frock coat that brushed his chin. He raked his blond hair back from his face, lingering on the ink-black streak in the middle. The one that appeared the morning after his father drowned. The same day he was crowned the new ruler of Gevra.
Useless king, hissed a vicious voice in his head. He shook it off, grabbing his sword and fastening it to his hip. His fingers curled around the icy pommel as he recalled the first lesson his father ever taught him.A good king arms himself in battle. A Gevran king arms himself everywhere he goes.Alarik marched from his bedchamber into the brightly lit glass corridors of the east wing, where guards and beasts dipped their heads as he passed.
Johan met him again on his way to the war room, leaping into Alarik’s path like a startled gazelle. ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he said, swatting a strip of lank brown hair away from his face. ‘The war room is in use.’
Alarik glared down at his steward. ‘Oh? Is there another king of Gevra I don’t know about?’
Johan shook his head. ‘I believe the room is being rearranged.Or, um, dusted?’
Alarik’s brows hunched, his patience so thin he could snap at any moment, throw a priceless vase from the third-floor hallway, and send Johan flying after it.
‘The battle council has convened in the orangery instead,’ his steward went on.
Alarik’s frown sharpened. ‘What in freezing hell is an orangery?’
‘Uh, follow me, Majesty.’ Johan turned on his boot heel. Seething with a dangerous mix of frustration and impatience, the king stalked after him.
The orangery was located in the south wing of Grinstad and was a small, unseasonably warm room made entirely of windows that looked out on the manicured lawn. The room was filled with citrus trees; lemon and lime and orange, planted in large baskets of rich, wet soil. All of them appeared to be thriving, despite the hostile climate. In the centre of the room was a low tea table surrounded by five wrought-iron chairs.
The few trusted members of Alarik’s war council were already here, each of them looking as bewildered as he was to find themselves in the orangery.
Astrid Vine, captain of the king’s soldiers, was inspecting one of the lemon trees, trailing her fingers along a delicate white blossom. ‘I didn’t know these things came with flowers,’ she remarked to no one in particular.
General Vesper Hale, the king’s armourer, who was in charge of weaponry, was sitting stiffly in one of the wrought-iron chairs. She had forgone her Gevran soldier’s uniform for her preferred outfit of black leather, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail that was shaved on one side and fastened so tight it pulled her violet lips into a strained smile.Her light brown skin glistened in the flood of morning sunlight, her kohl-rimmed hazel eyes focused on the map in front of her.
Beside her, Elias Hansen, Alarik’s spymaster and illegitimate first cousin on his father’s side, was a study of leonine grace. His silver-blond hair was slicked back with oil, his sharp bone structure and smooth golden skin making him appear strangely ageless.
He was wearing a black leather tunic, matching trousers, and heavy-buckled boots. The uniform of a spy, not a soldier, but Elias was as loyal to the crown as Vine. After all, he was Alarik’s own blood, not that King Soren’s younger brother Steffen had ever deigned to recognize his own son. Elias had grown up in a small cottage in the foothills behind the palace, kept at arms’ reach from the Felsings and their fortune, until Alarik himself offered Elias a role in court.
As a child, Elias was always fascinated by the machinations of royal life. He would often sneak on to the palace grounds at sunrise to eavesdrop on the soldiers’ training sessions, skulking like a rat in the shadows of the arena. Alarik was the only one who’d ever noticed him.
He was staring into his mug of coffee now, his blue eyes depthless as though he was reading secrets within.
Captain Vine plucked a lemon off a tree and held it up in greeting. ‘I didn’t take you for a fruit farmer.’
‘I didn’t even know this room existed,’ said Alarik, glancing sidelong at Johan. ‘Since when do we have an orangery?’
‘Since Anika demanded one,’ said Johan.
Alarik huffed a long-suffering sigh. Of course this ridiculous hothouse was his sister’s doing – another one of her random whims carried out with expert Gevran precision.And the crown’s coin. An orangery of citrus trees to rival those of Caro on the southern continent, and she hadn’t even bothered to stick around to pick the fruit.
‘I do miss your sister at our council meetings,’ said Vesper, sitting back in her chair and kicking one long, leathered limb over another. ‘She was something of a weapon herself. All gunpowder and temper.’
‘A living, breathing cannon,’ muttered Alarik, with rare fondness. He missed his sister, too. The clack of her towering heels on the marbled tiles, the shrill echo of her voice as she sashayed through the halls, barking orders at the guards like she, and not he, was the king. ‘The palace is certainly a lot quieter without her.’
‘Unless you count that ceaseless chorus of roaring beasts,’ said Elias, who, having returned to the palace late last night, was already tiring of it. Alarik could tell by the ruinous scowl on his face and the crinkles gathering on his nose. Elias made no secret of his unease around the beasts that lived here, and they were certainly far noisier now that so many of them were untrained. ‘Which reminds me, whereisyour new wrangler?’ He nodded at the empty chair opposite him. ‘We’re not yet a complete war council.’
‘You’re my spymaster,’ said Alarik, pointedly. ‘You tell me where she is.’
‘My eyes have been on the north border, as you commanded.’
‘The wrangler was due to arrive this morning,’ said Captain Vine, frowning at the empty chair like it might make her appear. ‘I’ve left word with the servants to bring her up when she gets here.’
‘I’m not waiting on her account,’ said Alarik impatiently,and the others grunted in agreement. It was far too hot in here already, and the heady citrus scent was giving him a headache. Anika and her whims.
