Page 89 of His Realm

He nodded.

“And to me, she needs therapy, she needs to talk about what happened, but here, in the world she lives in, she’s supposed to deal with her fear and trauma and go on.”

“See, to me, giving her a weapon, that’s the most powerful thing I can do for her.”

“But it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be like that at all.”

“You’re right,” he agreed and then stepped in front of me as ten men blocked our way. All were dressed in heavy leather, knee-high boots, shoulder pieces, and robes over that, with black fur-lined hoods.

Slowly, one of the men moved from the back to the front, stepping forward so he was facing Cirillo. Instantly, Cirilo stepped back, bumping me. Since I knew he didn’t scare easily, I assumed it had to be something else.

From what I could see around Cirillo, the man’s leathers were trimmed in gold, and instead of black, his furs were white. I had no idea what kind of animal it was—and honestly, I didn’t want to know; I was very pleased that the king had never been a fan of fur, preferring thick quilted silk and brocade instead. Varic was all about the vestments for official business being lightweight, allowing movement. One never knew when, and if, you would need to take up a sword.

Patting Cirillo’s shoulder, ready to address the man, I tried to steel my reaction so I wouldn’t take a step back.

The bottom of the man’s face looked like his skin was slowly drying out, withering so it was almost sinking into the bones of his face, his jaw and cheeks. The top of his face, his forehead, around his eyes, was sunken in, tightened, as though he were emaciated. He looked like he was in the early stages of decomposition. Like he was dead.

“I am Balon Maedoc, brother of the Lord of Ophir, Ødger Maedoc,” he said with a smirk.

I was so confused. Sabira was older than Balon, so was Isabella, so was Messina, and yet he looked like a slowly decaying corpse, and they were all beautiful. I was at a complete loss for words…or would have been if he hadn’t smirked.

My first reaction, unlike Cirillo’s revulsion, had been concern.

But he was baiting me, thinking somehow that because I was in his holding, I had no power or that I was weak.

I took a breath. “I am His Royal Highness Prince Consort Jason Maedoc, fyrir-einn of Maedoc,” I replied loudly, drawing Varic’s seal from inside my T-shirt and opening the coat so he could see the seal in front of him. “Good afternoon, would you please tell me on whose order my companion and I were brought here, and who, precisely, will be answering to the draugr?”

I enjoyed watching his mouth fall open, watching him turn toward his entourage, only to realize that everyone standing within the sound of my voice was on their knees.

NINE

We were closer to the side entrance of the castle than I thought. Unlike the palace in Valletta, this castle had been built to house everyone. It had been built to be a fortress. Balon explained everything about the castle as we walked together.

“So originally, everyone lived there with you.”

“That is correct,” he replied woodenly.

“I know you’re speaking English for my benefit, and I appreciate it,” I told him. “You speak it well.”

He turned and smiled, or tried to, but with his face looking like it did, it came off creepy. “My gratitude, my consort.”

Cirillo kept a hand on my bicep. Interestingly, he’d cast himself as my protector. It wasn’t that he liked me, we weren’t friends, but he also didn’t want to be alone on this adventure, and I was guessing, he wanted to get in good with Varic. Protecting me was a smart move.

Also, from his sidelong glances at Balon, he was more than a bit alarmed over the man’s appearance, and though I was pretty sure that whatever was happening with the lord’s younger son wasn’t catching, Cirillo seemed concerned. But I could have been misreading him as well.

“What’re you doing?” I whispered to him as Balon moved ahead of us at the side entrance into the castle.

“If he reaches for you, I’m going to pull you out of his way. Between your station and his lies a great chasm. He can’t be allowed to touch you.”

I understood then that he wasn’t scared that whatever was wrong with Balon was contagious—he simply didn’t want the man’s hands on me.

Inside, the castle felt stuffy, had that mothball smell, and they did not have the same level of cleaning that happened in Messina’s home. There were cobwebs, and it was dusty, but the rooms we were walking through, I quickly realized, were unused. Once we reached the main atrium, when I looked left, then right, I saw the true scale.

The palace in Valletta, even with its many staircases and over two thousand windows, would have easily fit inside the castle in Ophir, which was massive. They had built into the mountain, and some of that rock was still visible overhead and in the walls, along with the enormous white veined marble columns in the Doric style.

It was a marvel. Really beautiful, and the area we were in, which had to be the main receiving area of the castle, stole my breath away. There was a pool in the middle of the floor, and when I walked to the edge, I saw that it was beginning to ice over.

“Do you skate on this?” I asked him.