Darius swept through the crowd with ease, while Cora shuffled in his wake, her heart racing as she skirted around the busy tables. A trio of men rose from their table at the same time, chatting as they closed in toward her, paying her not a lick of heed. She was forced to go around and lost sight of Darius. She shuffled this way and that, then finally spotted him at a small table at the back of the room.
With a weighted glare, she rushed the rest of the way there and planted herself in the empty seat, making an effort to pull it as far away from him as space allowed. She fought to catch her breath, seething at being put in such a position.
Darius leaned back in his chair, as if the pub were his home and not a loud room filled with inebriated strangers. His ease mocked her, making her want to hide her discomfort. If she admitted how flustered she was, she’d have to confess she’d never done this before. Never entered a public house or dined with commoners.
She’d never considered herself a sheltered person. Her early hardships had matured her in many ways, while life with the Forest People had given her the sense that she was self-sufficient and well-traveled. Only now did she realize how few of life’s mundane experiences she’d had. How truly sheltered she was. How little she could relate to the average citizen.
She was a terrible queen.
True, she’d only been queen for a matter of months, and before that, she’d lived with a secretive commune. Guilt plagued her nonetheless.
A willowy serving woman approached their table, dressed in a floral-patterned skirt and white top that hung off her shoulders. A red kerchief tied back auburn hair to display a sun-browned face adorned with freckles. Her eyes dipped to Darius’ black coat, with its high collar and stiff shoulders. Now that Cora was closer, she noted the gold pins at his lapels, showcasing a dragon in a circle of flame. That must be Syrus’ sigil. A strange sigil for a king who was rejected by every dragon he’d tried to bond. Did he still hold out hope he’d gain their approval after he became Morkaius?
Something brightened in the serving woman’s expression. “Welcome, esteemed soldier. You honor us with your great presence. What can I get for you this evening?”
“Zaran wine, 170 Year of the Eagle,” he answered with a charming grin.
The woman arched a brow at Cora.
“Nothing for me.”
“Ale for her,” Darius said.
The woman flounced off, slapping a patron upside the head when he pinched her backside.
“Lively, happy, healthy.” Darius gestured toward the nearby tables. “No one has been beheaded in the streets or drawn and quartered by moonlight. Who would have thought?”
She maintained a stony expression at his continued attempt at sarcasm. “Just because I don’t trust you doesn’t mean I assumed you were a bloodthirsty king.”
Though she had imagined something like it. How could she not when he’d produced such progeny as Morkai? The mage’s takeover of Ridine had resulted in an understaffed castle, dusty halls, and countless soldiers who’d been compelled to obey him by blood magic. She’d imagined Syrus would be like that too. Unkempt. Lifeless. Filled with cowed citizens with glazed eyes.
Nothing suggested the pub patrons were enjoying themselves by force. They drank. They laughed. Some even sang bawdy tunes. There was an array of people in different states of dress, different fashions, though all shared an aura of informality.
The serving woman returned with their drinks. Darius accepted his glass of wine with one hand and passed a couple of coins to the woman with the other. Cora’s eyes locked on his palm as he withdrew it. All she could see of the cut he’d made the blood promise with was a smear of dried blood. Not a gash or scar to be found. So he truly did have rapid healing.
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, not daring to drink the ale before her. “So, you’ve shown me Syrus. Why else are we here?”
“Yes, I’ve shown you Syrus, but you’ll look at neither me nor my kingdom with unclouded eyes until you have good reason to discard your prejudices. You have questions for me. Ask them. I’ll answer with honesty.” He took a long pull of his wine.
She did have questions, though she still needed to be careful how she asked them so as not to give too much away. Regardless, she’d take advantage of his offer.
Breathing deep, she pried the smallest hole in her mental shields and focused on his energy as she asked, “How long were you in Khero before you got caught as a pretend spy?”
“Not long,” he said, and his energy remained steady. “I’d learned about the spies from Norun who’d been caught in your kingdom so I made the same mistakes they did. Spoke to the same traitorous informants. Asked too many obvious questions. I was caught within a week. But I know what you’re really asking, and no, I didn’t tour all over your kingdom to secure key locations to worldwalk to. I only did that at your castle.”
“How long were you wandering around Ridine? Did you worldwalk out of your cell from the start? Where have you been hiding since you faked your death?”
“I haven’t been hiding in your castle, cousin.”
She bristled at the nickname. They may be distantly related, but they weren’t cousins. Allied monarchs often called each othercousin, but she and Darius weren’t allies either.
He continued. “First of all, I stayed in my cell like a good little prisoner until I was ready to leave. I only left to retrieve a replacement body, and after I planted the decoy, I returned to my soldiers in Norun. I’ve hardly set foot in Ridine since, aside from the last few days when I was getting the lay of the castle and trying my luck to meet with you.”
His energy continued to pulse with the steady hum of truth, but the last part tingled with something sharp and jagged. Maybe there was a lie hidden there, or more to what he was saying. She hoped it didn’t mean he suspected where she’d been on the nights he hadn’t been able to find her.
“I was lucky to finally find you this evening,” he said.
She gave him a pointed look. “In the middle of the night.”
