Rakel ripped her gaze from her food and stared at Oskar. “I beg your pardon?”
“This request is not being posed to you by a subject but by a bottom-feeder—the lowest of the low—who has quite a bit of nerve, I must say, to come all the way here with only a few guards.”
Concluding that Oskar wasn’t going to make sense any time soon, she turned her attention to Captain Halvor.
“An invader representative wishes to speak to you,” the captain said, giving Oskar a look of disapproval.
“ ‘An invader representative.’ Where’s the poetry in that description?” Oskar complained.
“In its simplicity,” Rakel said. “Do you know what he wishes to talk about? Do you think he will demand our surrender?”
Captain Halvor shook his head.
“The captain and I suspect he is mostly interested in you.”
Rakel stared at the prism-like ceiling—it had taken her months to get the cut of the ice just right for that effect. “I see. You think I should agree to his request?”
The captain shrugged, and Oskar said, “The choice is yours, Princess.”
“Make the arrangements—I will see him.”
“Very good. He’s waiting just outside the gates.”
She stood, a frown twitching on her face. “You chose not to open with that information because…?”
“Isaidhe came ‘all the way here,’ ” Oskar said as Captain Halvor led the way outside.
When she passed through the entrance of her castle, Rakel wondered how she missed the invaders’ arrival. They were camped just outside the wooden walls of her enclosure, like squatters. They even had a small tent pitched.
Most of Halvor’s soldiers were gathered around them, crossbows trained on them.
When the invaders saw her approach, one of them stepped forward to pull aside a drape of black cloth, giving Rakel entrance to the tent.
She stepped inside, but glanced over her shoulder when she realized Oskar and Captain Halvor weren’t going to follow her.
“Please, Your Highness, sit,” said a man—the only other occupant of the tent. His hair was the shade of black tea—a glossy mixture of black and brown. His eyes were slate gray—like a wet rock. He was tall—not quite as tall as Oskar the stork, though—and sported a lean build and skin tanned by hours in the sun. His features were pleasing and handsome, but he had a white scar that followed the tops of his cheekbones and sliced across his nose, giving his face a hardened edge. He wore the invader uniform, and the large, two-handed broadsword that leaned against the table was most likely his.
He had to be a magic user. His appearance was too different to be untouched.
Rakel raised an eyebrow. “I do not sit with those I do not know. You are?”
The man bent at the waist in a shallow but respectful bow. “Farrin Graydim. I am a colonel of the Allegiance of the Chosen Army, Your Highness. I lead the First Regiment.”
“Allegiance of the Chosen? Pretty name,” Rakel said, keeping her voice cold and detached as she seated herself.
Farrin sat in the other chair and said nothing. Instead, he studied her, his eyes taking inventory of her body. Rakel knew it was not a passionate gaze, but more similar to the stable boy when he’d inspected the reindeer after their joyride to Vefsna.
Am I pretty enough to join your army?Although her thoughts were caustic, she made certain not to betray her irritation and kept her face impassionate. She waited in silence for two minutes before she stood and turned to leave.
“I apologize, Your Highness, for my conduct,” Farrin said. His voice was a soothing, musical tenor. “You are an…unexpected find.”
Rakel settled back into her chair. “You mean to say you haven’t heard of me.”
“Only whispered rumors.”
“You didn’t believe them?”
“No.”
