Page 43 of The Scarlet Star

Ryn screamed when the guard grabbed the beggar’s hair, tilting his head back so his throat was exposed. The beggar didn’t cry or protest; he gazed up at the sky in amazement as if seeing the clouds for the first time. When the Folke guard tightened hisgrip, the beggar finally shrieked, the sound echoing down the street.

“Are you crazy?! Let him go!” Heva shouted at the guard.

“And look at him making another ruckus!” the Folke growled. Ryn tried to pry the guard’s hands from the beggar’s hair, but the guard shoved her backward so hard she stumbled over her own feet. Heva reached to catch Ryn but missed, and blurs of colours sped by as she spun into a fall.

Two hands caught her forearms, steadying her.

Ryn blinked at a navy coat inlaid with gold. Stitching of a white dragon coiled up the sleeve. A drop of fear sank through her as it dawned on her whose coat that was. Whose hands held her.

She lifted her eyes slowly to find a king looking back at her.

King Xerxes’s blue eyes were sharp. He lifted his gaze to the Folke guard harassing the beggar, then he dropped Ryn’s arms. At least thirty Folke followed him as he walked past.

“Is that the King?” the crowd whispered. “Outsidethe palace? Can that really be him? Is this really what he looks like?”

“Your Majesty!” The guard dropped the beggar’s hair when he noticed. He forced a strange laugh. “I’m just dealing with a disruptive beggar.”

Xerxes smiled. Ryn studied it, trying to decide if it was real. Xerxes was striking when he smiled, even when it didn’t appear genuine, and a few young women in the crowd started giggling. But Ryn couldn’t be happy the King was pleased at the sight of a beggar being tormented. She wouldn’t have helped the blind man see if she knew the whole kingdom would turn against him.

All the Folke guards—including Heva—stood at attention now, silent.

“I wonder if it hurts when someone’s hair is grabbed like that?” Xerxes thought aloud, and the guard chuckled.

“I imagine so, Your Majesty! This man was making a terrible ruckus, so I—”

Xerxes grabbed the Folke guard’s hair. Citizens in the crowd gasped and drew back as Xerxes held the guard exactly how the beggar had been held. The guard wailed in alarm, his eyes open wide as Xerxes forced him to look up at the sky.

The King leaned in, and Ryn heard him whisper, “Anyone would make a ruckus if their hair was grabbed like this.” Xerxes’s face darkened. “How dare you wear my colours, represent me, and harass my people in the streets? And howdareyou grab my maiden like that?” He tossed the guard away.

Ryn’s mouth hung open as the guard scrambled backward and clasped his hands in pleading.

“Folke,” Xerxes called, and the Folke down the line lifted their heads. “Strip this guard of his uniform. He’s not worthy of it.”

Xerxes turned like he meant to leave, but he paused, glancing over at the beggar. Then at Ryn. Back to the beggar. “Give this beggar a year’s salary and food for this inconvenience,” he added. His throat bobbed as he left the crowd behind.

He caught Ryn’s hand on his way. A rhythm lifted in Ryn’s chest as Xerxes pulled her with him through the palace gate. She wasn’t sure if it was an accident when his thumb brushed over her knuckles, or when his fingers tightened around hers. Xerxes didn’t react to the crowd lifting hollers and cheers and shouting questions at his back while he took a shortcut through the garden.

Ryn’s knees trembled as they reached the wide palace entrance, and she nearly stumbled up the stairs.

Twice. Twice now, King Xerxes had shown up and saved her.

Xerxes didn’t let go of Ryn’s hand until they were in the atrium, and there, he turned so they were face to face. He was frowning.

Ryn folded her hands in front of her and glanced toward the entrance to see if Heva had kept up.

“Are you mad?” Xerxes asked, and her attention darted back to him.

Mad?No one had ever called her that. “I was trying to be kind—”

“What were you doing outside the palace in the first place after beingattacked by assassinsonly days ago? You really must have the memory of a brick,” he said. “And getting that close to a beggar?!” His chest expanded, and he exhaled as he dragged a hand through his hair, scuffing it out of its neat state. “What if he’d drawn a dagger and held you hostage for ransom? Don’t you know how often that happens to rich nobles?”

“I’m not a rich noble,” Ryn murmured. The King should have figured that out by now since she didn’t even have her own clothes to wear. She bit her tongue after she said it though, hoping he understood that she was admitting to not beingrich, and she wasn’t at all admitting to not beingnoble.

Xerxes pinched his lips and blinked slowly. “Don’t make me angry,” he warned. “It won’t be good for anyone.” When she didn’t reply, he took her arms and turned her wrists up. He began inspecting her thumbs, her knuckles, the undersides of her hands.

“What are you looking for?” Ryn asked. He tugged her sleeve up an inch.

“Bruises,” he said.

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