King Gareth pressed his horse forward, smiling benevolently at the crowd as they parted to make way for him, adding his name to the chant. “Chendas! Gareth! Iseldis!”
Ian had never hated a smile more.
Gareth held up his hand, accepting the happy chants but slowly encouraging the crowd to calm down. “Gather the wounded,” he called, as though the castle was under his control. “Take the Majis to the dungeons.” The Iseldis guard immediately followed his order.
Ian stepped forward to greet the incoming king and redirect his attention from giving orders inside the Iseldis castle.
Onric joined them as Gareth swung down from his horse. “Prince Ian, Prince Onric,” Gareth said. “I am relieved to see you both safe.” The man communicated one thing with his words, but the eyes he turned to Ian were dark and dangerous.
“Welcome to Iseldis,” Ian said, offering the customary greeting. Since Gareth had offered no bow, not even a tilt of the head, Ian offered no sign of respect in return.
Gareth looked around the courtyard. “I am glad I arrived when I did. A few more hours and this could have gone very badly for you.”
“Iseldis is not so weak that a few dozen attackers could bring us down,” Ian responded quickly, making sure he did not refer to the attackers as Majis.
“You appear to have been struggling,” Gareth responded, dropping his voice so the surrounding soldiers did not overhear it. “The Majis are very powerful; it is no shame to struggle against them.”
“It is unfortunate that all your studies produced no identifiable defense against magic users,” Onric said, speaking equally low.
Gareth’s smile faltered slightly at that. “It is good that I arrived when I did,” he repeated, raising his voice so those around them could hear.
“We were not expecting you,” Ian said, acknowledging the man’s words without affirming them.
“Yes,” Gareth said. He took a step forward, moving toward the door to the great hall despite the fact that Ian and Onric stood in his way. “I apologize for not sending word. I have much to discuss with your father.” He looked around the courtyard once more. “Where is King Frederich?”
“He was injured in the attack,” Onric said, his voice low and measured.
Gareth’s expression shifted into one of practiced concern. “How terrible.” He looked between Onric and Ian. “This must be so difficult for you. I am here to help.”
“I assure you,” Ian said, not moving aside as Gareth continued to press toward the doors of the main hall. “Iseldis is in excellent hands.”
“Your own?” Gareth tilted his head back, making it appear like he was looking down on Ian though they were both the same height. “My dear boy,” Gareth continued, though they were nearly the same age, “the Majis just attacked your castle, nearly killed your father, and your guards were helpless against their magic. I arrived just in time to prevent further bloodshed. Surely you can agree that, for the good of Iseldis, someone with more experience should act as steward of Iseldis until your father is well enough to return to his duties?”
Ian noticed the silence that rippled through the courtyard as the surrounding guards and soldiers listened to the exchange.
“You do not even know the state of my father’s injuries, and yet you volunteer to take his place?” Ian kept his voice loud, hoping to encourage any hint of mistrust toward Gareth that he could.
“You are right,” Gareth replied. “My concern runs deep, and I will aid you in any way that I am able. Now, send me to your father. I can assess his condition while you ensure the castle is secure.”
“Zimri can direct the guard in securing the castle,” Ian replied. He sent a quick glance to Onric. Was Gareth so confident in trying to see the king alone to finish what he had started? “We will accompany you to King Frederich.”
As they finally moved toward the castle entrance, Gareth fell into step beside Ian. “Oh, and I was so hoping to offer my congratulations to Princess Philomena and her new husband. Have they returned from their trip to Falqri yet?”
Ian kept his face schooled in the courteous expression he had long learned to hide behind. “They are not expected back for a sevennight at least.”
“Perhaps,” Gareth said slowly, “word should be sent for them to return as soon as possible. For their own safety.”
“It will take nearly five days for a messenger to reach them,” Ian replied, “not including the time for them to travel back, which would render such a communication unnecessary.”
They arrived at the entrance to the council chambers. Three guards stood outside the door but stepped aside as Ian approached.
Ian steeled himself for whatever lay behind the closed doors. His father must be in critical condition if they had not even moved him from the scene of the attack to his own bedchamber.
King Frederich was lying on a makeshift bed near the destroyed council table.
A large piece of masonry had fallen from the wall above, landed on the table, and split it in half. Rubble and debris littered the room. Though the structure of the domed ceiling appeared intact, a large hole revealed where the magical attack had hit from outside the castle.
Two physicians tended to the king while Queen Cara sat at his side, holding his hand in her own.
