“Be careful, Cethin,” he finally said before he stood and left the room. Duty had won out; it always did for the male.
The door thudding closed echoed in the enormous study, and he stared at nothing for the longest time.
Being careful had never served him. His parents had ruled with caution, all their actions being reactions to something else. He preferred to be proactive, willing to push boundaries and take risks.
Pricking his finger, he swiped a smear of blood along the bottom desk drawer to his right. The magic keeping it sealed tight lifted, and he pulled it open, retrieving a leather-bound journal. Worn with time and use, the dark brown cover was soft and pliable.
Flipping it open, he read through the copious notes he’d taken over the decades.
If others only knew the risks he’d taken for his people.
The laws of old he’d broken.
But in all his research and experimenting, in searching across the lands of a kingdom that was now his, he’d yet to find a rumored land. He was certain it held answers he needed, but the city itself was said to be a myth.
He’d even gone to the Greybane Estate to casually bring it up to Razik, but before he’d gotten the chance, the attack had happened.
In the end, he was running out of options, and still, the female in the cells seemed to be the one thing that would fix everything. So he’d find a way to force her hand. He was, after all, the king, but more than that, he’d been bending fate to his will for a while now. She would be no different.
Spending the entire night and dawn hours sitting on the shore, he’d gone over his options. Weighing possible outcomes. Pros and cons. Costs and risks. But he knew better than anyone that you can only plan for so much. Eventually, you have to make a move and figure the rest out as you go.
So that was what he was doing as he exited a shop in the city, a bundle of female clothing under his arm. He was having more delivered to the castle later in the day, but he needed one set of items now. A dress. Undergarments. Socks and shoes.
He also stopped at a bakery and picked up a small order of rolls baked with cinnamon and topped with swirls of sweet frosting. More so for himself than anything.
Traveling back to the castle, he bathed quickly and put on fresh clothing before grabbing his purchases and making his wayto the cells. He took his time, descending several sets of stairs and taking the path to the west wing.
There were two ways into the cells. One way was inside the castle, the entrance he would use. It was guarded by no fewer than three sentinels at all times, and a minimum of six if there were people being held in the cells. The other entrance led outside, emerging onto a path. There were stone walls on either side, the walls patrolled at all times, and the path led straight into the Nightmist Mountains. There were no side paths. Your options were facing the terrors of the mountains or going back inside the castle.
The current rotation of guards straightened at his approach, and he nodded at them. “No escort is needed.”
They all glanced at each other because protocol mandated that no one went down to the cells alone. Even the guards went in pairs, and two always escorted visitors.
But not everyone else was the king.
He arched a brow, waiting for someone to challenge him, but they all bowed their heads.
The lead guard opened the door for him, and as he passed, Cethin said, “I’ll send word if I need anything.”
“We’ll be ready, your Majesty.”
Descending another set of stairs that took him beneath the castle, he heard the door snick shut behind him. His boots echoed in the stairwell, everything cooler down here. Despite routine cleaning, traces of moss clung to the stone walls. Moisture in the air made everything a little musty, and the smell mixed with that of those being held within the bars.
Jarek had ensured she was at the end with no one around her, and Cethin didn’t look at the other few prisoners. His focus was singular, and he was determined to leave here with the outcome he wanted.
He knew she was awake. He’d given orders to send word as soon as she stirred, and that message had come as the sun was rising.
That message had set everything in motion.
Finally, he reached her cell, stopping directly in front of it and facing her fully. She was seated on a pallet of straw, her knees pulled up to her chest and the blanket wrapped around herself. He could see the tattered remains of her pants, her bare toes curling into the straw. Her hair was a wild tangle of knots. He could have brought her a brush. Then again, she could have ten of them once she agreed to his proposal.
With her chin resting on her knees, her amber eyes flickered up to his, smoke and ashes swirling slowly within their depths. He didn’t know what that meant. Was she tired? Weakened? Still under the effects of Niara’s enchantment?
“Tiny fiend,” he said after an extended silence.
“King,” she rasped, her voice scratchy and raw, he assumed from the violent screaming. He was amazed she could speak at all, and he should have thought to bring her tea. Again, something to remedy after this conversation.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said, stepping closer to the bars.
