Page 87 of Crownless King

The men came in next, flanked by Bavius and led by the Sky King.

I retreated to the fireplace again, hiding my face behind the fragrant pile of ladies’ cloaks in my arms. But the moment the king entered, I saw no one else. As if I’d spent the past year and four months in a desert, I drank in every familiar feature of his.

He looked just like on the day I first met him. Black cloak. The ornate handle of his sword was visible over his shoulder. The same unruly hair had possibly a little more silver in the front, now. The severe expression, usual for the former High General, was still there under the circlet of golden thorns of the Sky Crown.

This was every bit the cold and bitter Voron I knew from Elaros. With not a single trace of the smiling, sensual Voron I’d gotten to know in Vensari.

Bavius stomped to me. “I’ll take these.” He grabbed the ladies’ cloaks out of my arms, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I felt.

Praying that Sauria’s glamor worked, I smiled and bowed my head to the newcomers.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” I said in a voice altered by both the glamor and my nerves. “Gentlemen.” I reached for their cloaks, avoiding every chance for eye contact with the king.

He and Alcon were the only two I recognized from the former Elaros Court. Most of the men in his party were the High Lords who supported Voron in his claim to the throne. A few were new faces to me.

It appeared Voron had surrounded himself with different people than those preferred by his late brother. It was a change for the better, I decided, returning the simple greetings and friendly smiles of the new courtiers.

Voron placed his cloak on top of the others, and I couldn’t help but steal a lungful of his scent. Turning around to take the cloaks to my bedroom where Bavius had already piled the first batch on my narrow bed, I furtively pressed my face to the soft velvet of the royal cloak. It smelled cool and fresh, like the air after a storm, and so painfully familiar, my heart squeezed, skipping a beat. I felt lightheaded, having to grab onto the door frame for support on my way out of my bedroom.

“Please, dear guests,” I said, with an exaggerated energy in my voice. “Lunch is served.”

The sooner they ate, the faster they’d leave, and the sooner I could go back to my life of trying to forget Voron while raising our child who looked so much like him. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. I was glad Sauria had whisked Aithen away. If anyone saw him next to Voron, they’d know the two were closely related.

And then where would we be?

The king’s order for my deportation still stood. And even if it didn’t, how could I ever forgive the man who had cast me aside so easily? More importantly, how could I ever trust him again?

I had so much more to protect now than I’d ever had before. What would happen to Aithen if the world knew about his existence? My son was a prince by birth. Anillegitimateheir to the throne. And I was Aithen’s only protection against anyone wishing to use him in their political game.

That said, I wasn’t going to deny Aithen his birthright. Sooner or later, I’d have to tell him the whole truth about his father. But I’d do it when he was old enough to understand and able to protect himself from the dangerous intrigues of the highborn. I would not allow anything bad to happen to my baby. He would not have to go through what his father had gone through as a child.

My thoughts, as worrying as they were, kept my mind occupied, allowing me to focus on getting the dessert ready at the stove, instead of stealing glances at the man sitting at the head of the table.

Maybe when they had left, I would look back at today as just a dream. A momentary blast from the past that came and went, leaving no consequence.

Bavius brought a jug of ale from the cellar.

“You pour it.” He pressed it into my hands.

I didn’t want to go anywhere near the table, but forcing Bavius to refill the guests’ steins in the crammed dining area would most likely end in disaster. He barely fit behind the table even when there were just the four of us with Sauria coming over for dinner on occasion.

“All right.” I took the jug from him and inhaled a bracing breath, as if about to jump off a cliff. “I’ll do it.”

I approached the table, my leather shoes looking and thudding like hooves against the wooden floor.

“Would you like more ale?” I asked the lady closest to me with a smile, my lips feeling full and long on my elongated bovine face.

“Oh no, thank you,” the lady declined with a sweet smile in response. “I’m happy with my water.”

“I would love some, please.” Another woman moved her stein closer to me. “This stew is amazing,” she gushed as I refilled her stein. “What meat is it?”

“Wild boar.” I glanced at Bavius, who was fidgeting by the fireplace, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but in his own house right now. “My husband traps them in the woods around our fields. Stops them from destroying the crops.”

“You are an amazing cook,” one of the men at the table complimented. “It’s not easy to prepare wild meat in the way that would make it so tasty and tender.”

“Thank you. I used an old family recipe.”

I made my way around the entire table, stopping next to Voron at last. By etiquette, I was supposed to serve the king first, but it’d taken me this long to work up the nerve to finally approach him.

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