Page 19 of King of Flames and Shadows

Darian doesn’t flinch at my words. But when I look at him, I catch the briefest flicker of something in his eyes. Concern, perhaps, or trepidation.

“You have already ordered half our forces be relocated south to manage the rioting in Brittletale, my Lord,” he says quietly. “And the Grimkeepers at the Fellveil are stretched perilously thin. Commanders of Fjordmarse are speaking of a military coup. Nothing has been said to me, but we all hear things.”

I stiffen. “And you think their people will listen?”

“Who knows what lengths they’ll go to?” Darian’s voice is grim. “We only have so many men. They can only do so much. And less than half of our troops can shift in battle, leaving the rest vulnerable to attacks by concentrated forces from the East—”

“They’ll regret it,” I growl, a low, dangerous sound. “I’ve allowed those vermin to linger in this land long enough. If the houses want to play with fire, I’ll show them what it means to be burned.”

“My Lord,” Darian says, with some level of frustration. “My Lord, I understand your anger, and you are justified in it, but I believe you don’t …” He hesitates.

“Speak your mind, Darian,” I command impatiently.

He clears his throat. “We must not take lightly the position of this stronghold. The truth of it is plain, Arvoren. We are surrounded by enemies. And without tactical acumen, wewillfall, My King, and this city will crumble along with its throne.”

A silence falls between us, heavy with his words, his fear, my rage, my quietude. I turn away, staring out the window once more. The city gleams beneath me, a jewel in the mist.

If he were any other soul, I’d kill him for his cheek. But I cannot. Not when he is right.

“What of you, Darian?” I ask quietly. “Should I fall, which house might have you?”

I see his reflection shift in the glass, then steady. “Yours, my Lord. You know I am of your house to my death.”

It’s the answer I wanted. Nonetheless, it does little to comfort.

I clear my throat. “I assume you’ve something else to report?”

Darian hesitates, a rare thing he has apparently taken the habit of. It angers me, but I do not speak it.

He shifts, the leather of his gloves creaking softly as he removes them, tucking them into his belt. “There are already … whispers, my lord. About the young mistress.”

My shoulders tense at the mention. “Calliope.”

“Yes. The men … they’ve started calling her the Young Mistress. There’s speculation. People are curious about your intentions with her.” He pauses, choosing his next words with caution. “I … can’t say I blame them. We thought you were taking a bride. But she is, if the word is to be believed, some common slave, and yet the word of her presence in your castle has spread.”

“And what are your thoughts?” I ask coolly, turning to face him fully. “Do you think I’ve lost my mind, Darian? That I’ve grown weak? That I must take some concubine to retain my senses?”

“No, Your Majesty. Never.” His reply is steady but fervent. “But I know you. And I know when something preoccupies you. She’s …” He trails off, searching for the right phrase. “Is she what you were seeking?”

I cut in, voice sharp. “Speak plainly.”

He meets my gaze, unwavering. “Will she give you an heir?”

In his question are a thousand broken rules, a thousand disrespects. Of all my commanders, servants, courtiers and advisors, Darian has always been the one to challenge me, toquestion my motives without fear of reprisal. He knows where the line is, but now, he is toeing it.

I don’t have to ask to know who he is thinking of. My only living kin is my brother, and neither of us would live to see him king—we’d sooner kill him than allow that.

But without an heir, either my house dies with me, or Ulric takes my throne, enemies or no, insurgence or no.

I turn away once more to study the glass of the window as it captures the candlelight before me. So fragile. An inch of miscalculated tension from breaking.

“I don’t yet know,” I admit quietly. It’s the closest thing to vulnerability I’ve shown in years, and it makes my skin crawl. “She intrigues me. I can’t explain it. There’s something… something I can’t quite grasp. She’s not like the others.”

“Because she defies you?” Darian’s tone is gentle, almost probing.

“Perhaps,” I murmur. “She looks at me as if I’m a beast—yet not a monster. She is fearless. No human woman I’ve yet met has been so.”

“You want her to fear you,” he says softly.

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