“Introductions?” George asked.
Hopping from the pool, Isahn was seemingly unbothered by his state of near-undress. It was the norm in Domossan bath houses, of course, but her culture was unfamiliar to him.
He stuck out a well-muscled arm and offered, “Lord Yaranbur, Earl of Midlake. But call me Isahn, please.”
“Hildred Segreto, bastard of Domos—but don’t call me that. Call me Hildy.” Hil shook his hand.
George grinned as Isahn’s warm laugh rolled through the room.
“Greta will do, or Domina Neninios if you’re feeling fancy.” Greta smiled at the earl, coming over to shake his hand, too, before she sat on the tiles and began to ease herself into the water.
“Please, let me help you.” Elbow crooked, Isahn offered his arm.
Hildy shared a look with George before she dove in a fluid leap, making the tiniest splash as her feet disappeared beneath the surface. When she resurfaced, shaking out her cropped curls, she said, “I’m ready to dampen the mood.”
“Is that so?” George checked, picking up on her direction.
Stepping into her future role as Georgie’s official advisor, Hildy peppered Isahn with questions, making him retell the story of following his uncle north, listening in on the spies, and his abduction—from his perspective.
“Those are my boys,” Hil muttered, shaking her head.
“What are their real names?” Isahn asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Deiwa, Hildy, let him be. They’re Dunstan and Burke.”
“Burke is Odos?” Isahn paddled across the pool, joining her on her side of the square.
“Yes, and Dunstan’s the tall one.”
“Tocco,” Isahn confirmed.
“Back to me ruining the mood,” Hildy called, pulling them from their little moment. “Isahn, what do you know about the King of Domos?”
“I know you’re all trying to take him out.”
Gods,she and her friends talked too much.
“Good ear. And do you know why?”
Isahn shook his head, his sodden waves wiggling over his shoulders.
George sighed and pulled her knees up to her chin, wavering slightly in the water’s push and pull. “Let me explain a few things. We all hate talking about this, so I suppose it’s my royal duty to bring you up to speed.”
Perching on the edge of the bench, his eyes bore into the side of her face. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
Domos’s shame was her shame. She was born to lead these people, expected to maintain the status quo, trained up for it by her father, and disgusted all the while by what her forefathers wrought upon their people.
“First thing you need to know, my father’s a tyrant. Second thing, there are a great many enslaved people in the capital of Domos.”
“Gods,” he groaned.
“My father, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather, has kept people trapped there... using magic. They all claimed it keeps Domos’s economy afloat.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It is. It truly is.” The room wobbled before her as George thought of all those poor souls stuck inside the city at the whims of the king and his comrades. She blinked as she swallowed loudly. “Nearly all the staff are enslaved. He keeps wards from the nobility to keep their families in line even while they’re not in the capital. And he keeps...aidesas well. People forced into service, personal assistants. If you ever have the unfortunate experience of speaking with my father, don’t believe a word he says. All of the wards, all of the aides, most of the viceroys even—they’re not willingly employed by the palace or elsewhere in the city.”
