"What are you doing here?" I straighten.
"After chatting with Thrane when you arrived from the Northern Crest, I've been speaking with Professor Riggs about his research and think if anyone can convince the Dwarves to help, he and I can." Ronan's chest swells, his assuredness in himself growing. "I am far more charming than Thrane and more stubborn than my father." He shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. "And besides, Thrane asked us to help."
"Well, if you are speaking with them, then why am I here?"
"You'll be joining them," Thrane informs me. "It's your blood and kin after all."
"Fair enough." I breathe through my nose, steadying my thumping heart, and roll my shoulders back. "Let's do this."
Ronan nods and pushes the door open, holding it for me to walk inside first. I haven't been in this room before. But that's not saying much. I've only visited Starnborough a handful of times and most of my visits were with King Soren in his study or throne room. But this great hall is impressive. The arched ceiling reminds me ofPrue'sand the Old Kingdom. Wooden beams, two roaring fireplaces, stone floors, and dozens of comfy chairs and sofas to relax.
"This is the Grand Lounge," Ronan whispers as we approach King Torben and his son at the far end of the room. "During the summer, we open the balcony doors. It's the nicest breeze and this room boasts some of the best views of the city." He beams, as if he's proud to be showing me around his ancestral home.
But as pretty and cozy as the space is, I remain focused on the task at hand. Persuading Dwarves to do anything they haven't already decided to do themselves is a monumental task.
When the Dwarves notice the three of us approaching, their smiles fade.
Well, shit. If looks could kill, we'd be slayed two times over.
"Good evening, King Torben," Ronan tips his head in respect. "Prince Olav."
The Dwarven royals stare at us. I swallow hard. Neither acknowledged Ronan's greeting and there's been no invitation to join them. This is going from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. Heat burns my cheeks as the awkward silence stretches.
"I would ask if we can sit with you, but it looks as if I'm already doing that," Riggs' voice pierces through the tension.
The Dwarven King spies Riggs' wheelchair and barks out a deep, hearty laugh. He wags a ringed finger at the smiling professor. "Ah, you are quick-witted. I like that." The king motions for us to take the remaining seats. "Please, join us. We could use some jovial company."
Ronan and I exchange a look, but Riggs doesn't hesitate to roll his chair to sit across from the father and son. "Thank you for inviting us to share a glass of wine with you," Riggs' diplomatic manners kick in. "Or are we drinking ale?" He spies their ornate steins. "Something from Durne, perhaps?"
The king leans forward and whispers, "The Tronovians do not know good ale. If we are to make it through this wedding, we needed the good stuff."
The two men cackle, throwing their heads back as if they were old friends getting reacquainted.
"We have good drinks – "
I elbow Ronan in his ribcage, stealing his last words. He covers his retort with a cough, and I smile when the royals look our way.
"Yes, thank you for letting us join you, Your Majesty," I say sweetly, hoping the Dwarves missed what Ronan sputtered.
The shrewd king casts a disgruntled look Ronan's direction before softening when he takes me in. "You are Sylvane's daughter."
I nod. "And Enver Sol's."
He waves a hand to alert the staff of needing three more steins. "And if memory serves me correctly," he starts and I already know I'm not going to like what he says next, "the fiancé of the Beast of Midori."
Ronan balls his fist before quickly releasing it. I see the switch from Ronan my friend to Ronan, the future King of Tronovia. "An engagement broken off long ago, King Torben."
"Actually," I flash my left hand to diffuse the tension. "I'm engaged to Atlas Harland. King Soren's nephew."
The Dwarves don't seem impressed. They don't even offer congratulations upon sight of my ring.
Ronan on the other hand is beaming. There will be time for us to swap stories later, but for now, we have to get the Dwarves on our side and as of now, we're not looking good.
The king pours ale from a small barrel on the table into our steins and we all take one as to not further irritate the Dwarf.
"Let's be honest with one another," Torben hums after downing half his stein. "You are not here to keep me company. You are here to discuss the war."
Ronan nods, no need to hide our intentions. "Where do you stand?"
