Page 146 of Settle Down, Princess

“Jessalyn,” I corrected with a nod, “and yes. I’m ready.”

Chapter 84

Silas

Every time we were forced to come to Fallspire, I saw another part of Arik die.

He was good at hiding it. The lordlings didn’t notice the way my brother gripped his wine glass tight or the fact he barely took a sip from it. They were too caught up in their own thoughts, their own visions of victory, but Arik had been here before. I looked around the room and wondered at what he saw. The same bannermen who fought on the field with the duke during the first civil war in recent memory or… their tragic defeat? Men forget such things so easily, as was evident in the lords jocularity. They called for more wine when Roan showed them the devices he’d bought from Weasel, discussing excitedly how they would deploy each one.

But Arik didn’t.

He watched them question Roan, then me on their use. He caught the moment when these high born men asked us, those usually dismissed as street scum, for advice. He listened to their plans get wilder and wilder, but it wasn’t that which held his attention. My eyes followed his gaze, noting who he stared at most and for longest.

Or what.

I knew my country’s history. My father had little use for book learning, but when it was clear to him a nobleman’s son would have at least a passing acquaintance with the key moment of the past, a tutor was found for me. I was forced to endure the dronings of Brother Gerard from one of the local churches, reciting with him a list of all of the kings of Khean, right back to the first. Ragnar the Bold, who wore not a golden crown, but one made of deer antlers.

Just like the one sitting on the sideboard, along with the port and cheese.

Arik stared so fixedly at it that I was forced to inspect it more closely. Rust coloured stains on the bones themselves were probably blood, but whose? The antlers had started to brown, the smoke coming from the fireplace obviously building up on the surface, creating a faint patina. The ends had been cut long ago, the porous inner structure revealed, but none of this gave me any clues to work with, but he did. Lord Gelden, one of the duke’s bannermen from a small estate close to the border, he noted the attention Arik paid the crown and grinned broadly.

“You’ll be wearing that soon,” the man said, seemingly oblivious to my brother’s mood. He walked over and picked it up, carrying it with the same kind of formality the high priest might if Arik was kneeling in the grand nave, as was intended. “The true king of Khean.”

“The true king of Khean!” the others shouted, half gone to drink. If the duke was serious about planning Magnus’ demise, he should’ve done more to water the wine.

Gelden approached Arik, ready to put the crown on my brother’s head, when Roan turned around, just in time to catch the moment Arik snatched it from his hands.

“I am no king.” His voice was like ashes, but that was nothing compared to his expression. “You all know this. You were with me… We did not win the day. The gods did not grant us victory.”

“We might’ve had a chance if bloody Lord Vatarion and his allies didn’t decamp to the usurper’s side the moment the battle began,” one of the lords grumbled. “My father always said to never trust—”

“King’s rule through divine right, do they not?” Arik asked. “They are the ones that ensure the gods will is enacted. Well, the gods were never kind to me. A true-born son born a bastard.” Arik’s lips twisted as he snatched the crown from Gelden’s hands, leaving the other man’s face to fall. “I didn’t hunt the golden stag. It was a mercy killing.”

He marched over to the roaring fire, the apple wood logs filling the room with its smoky fragrance. It wasn’t the scent that drew him nearer, but the weight of the crown. Arik considered it for a moment, then tossed it into the fire, stopping to watch the flames lick the antlers as others made sounds of protest.

“I brought you news of the stag,” he told those assembled. “I brought you the devices that will best assist you in your plans, but I fear I must leave the rest in your capable hands. We must return to the capital.”

“Not yet, surely.” The duke’s tone was conciliatory. “You’ve ridden hard for a day and a night. Your horses need a rest if you don’t.”

“Lend me fresh ones,” Arik ordered, not realising only a prince would dare to make such a direct request of a duke. “The gods know we’ve made worse journeys under more difficult conditions. I need to be back in the capital. Every hour I spend away is another where my brother might make a move against the princess.”

“Sweet on her, are you?” Lord Frederick was a big, blowsy man with the reddened nose of a frequent drinker. “A nice thing, if the marriage is to be a love match. Haven’t seen you all aflutter about a girl…”

Gods, no, don’t fucking mention Ariel, I thought, jerking to my feet.

“Since he was mooning after your daughter, Fallspire.”

With the habitual lateness of a fool, Frederick realising what he was saying. His eyes flicked around as he saw that every person had fallen silent. Ariel’s death was horrendous. Even my own father had tut tutted about the wastefulness of it. He’d planned on using Queen Ariel’s position as a pressure point to try and bring her to our way of thinking, but instead she’d been beaten almost beyond recognition before being left dead.

“Perhaps its time for bed,” the Duke said, trying to smooth over the terrible awkwardness inside the room, but he didn’t manage it. “I thank the three of you for bringing me these devices and such welcome news. The least I can do is give you somewhere to rest and recover.”

“In the stables.” Didn’t they see how far they pushed him? Arik’s eyes were like burning holes in his skull. “We’ll doss down in the hay—”

“You’ll do no such thing.” The duke went to place a hand on Arik’s shoulder, but my brother jerked away without thought, chest heaving. “Arik. Arik.” He peered into the other man’s face. “A room for each of you.”

“Just the one with three beds will do.” Every one turned at the sound of my voice and I forced myself to smile. “We are but simple soldiers. I’m not sure I could ever get to sleep without the sound of Roan’s snores in my ears.”

“Snores?” Roan snorted. “Better than you’re little kittenish cries all night.” He made an almost lewd sound, like a woman reaching her peak as he writhed dramatically.

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