“I need to send a message to my king and queen,” I stumble, pulling my hand away and hurrying to my room. Dark eyes burn the back of my head, but I continue to ignore them as I ascend the stairs to the second-floor balcony, which leads to a hallway of guest rooms.
No sooner than I shut the door, there is a loud noise from the living room. I rush out just in time to see flashes of silver and green.
The Kingsguard.
I slink into the shadows when another figure strollsin casually. Thick, velvet fabric trails behind King Arion. Something unpleasant curls in my gut. I had barely acknowledged him during his visit.
And now I wish I could claw his eyes out.
I push myself into the shadows, covering anything on me that might glow or twinkle.
Vesilane and Castien both stand, staring at the king intruding on a place that was meant to be secret.
“My King,” Castien says as he and his daughter bow.
I think of all those years, all those measures he took to maintain his privacy. How did the king know where to find him?
“I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to come and pay you a visit after today’s trial,” Arion says.
I strain from the corner, trying to catch every word.
“Not at all, Your Majesty. It is our honor,” Castien says. His voice is icy. Guarded.
This is bad. Very bad.
Vesilane shifts, as if she were putting on a costume. Suddenly, she is no longer the wild-haired young woman mixing potions, she is polished and submissive.
The king turns his sight on her.
“My, that is quite the collection of herbs and…gems? Such variety. Where did you get them?”
My heart races. I shouldn’t have given her anything yet, should’ve kept my jewels to myself.
Castien steps in front of her.
“I bring them from my travels,” Castien bites out. “Vesilane, go to your room.”
She gives both her father and the king one last look, and then, after a subtle nod from Arion, she retreats.
Castien stands in front of Arion and his four kingsguard like a damn before rushing water. I hold my breath, not wanting to ruin anything.
“She’s lovely, Castien. You should be proud. Perhaps, once the human is dead, we might make an arrangement,” Arion muses, walking around the space, running his hand over the leather chairs and soft furs.
“What can I do for you, my king?” Castien says, not taking the bait.
His defensiveness might be a mistake, but I am not one to tell him.
Arion sits down on the same stuffed chair where I had been resting minutes before.
“During the trial, I noticed something strange with mywife,” he spits the last word as if it were covered in poison.
“Oh?” Castien says, moving to a small cart filled with crystal goblets and elven wine.
“She seemed to be in perfect health, despite her wounds from the day before. She fought like someone who had… assistance.”
“What kind of assistance?” Castien asks.
I wonder the same thing. It would be foolish for me to attend the trials. Has Castien been helping Arlet?