Page 41 of Of Rime and Ruin
Afraid of me?
Frustration. Anger. He should not be afraid.
The rage flares cold in my stomach. My grip tightens on the knob, and I inhale sharply. Either I keep my shit together or go inside and forget the whole fucking charade before someone gets hurt.
I shrug the nagging thought away. I have no reputation for beingnice. Or for leaving my home, for that matter. Why shouldn’t he fear me?
It’s only natural.
“No need. I’m just going for a walk.” I release the doorknob to pull my cloak tighter.
He chews his lip, as if biting back judgment.
“Spit it out, soldier,” I snap.
“Apologies, Your Majesty. Please, proceed.” He gestures to the square, taking a shuffled step away from me.
“Something wrong with a king taking a walk through his own city?” I toss over my shoulder, approaching the gate. The metal latch is cold in my hands.
“N-no, Sire. Apologies. I don’t mean to overstep.” The fear intensifies in his eyes.
Pathetic. I make a mental note to test the mental resilience of the new recruits, then I grunt, pushing through the gate and into the courtyard. “Trail me, if you wish.”
He follows, keeping a safe distance.
“What’s your name, soldier?” There. I can be nice, when I try.
“O-Orson,” he says.
A nice name. “Have you been posted here long?”
“Since this season, Your Majesty.”
I grunt, having nothing more to say. The snow is slippery beneath my snowleathers. I pass the squealing guppies, watching as one of them—a small female—tackles her comrade to the ground. The male thrashes beneath her, but she pins his hands and whispers in his ear. His eyes widen, and he kicks her off. She rolls through the snow, laughing hysterically.
The female looks up, and her face drops when she sees me. She elbows the male, and they both stiffen, eyes wide, tracing my beastly frame from toe to face.
I clear my throat. Before I can say something, they scatter, bolting for cover behind the nearest tree like a couple of scarefish.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
Fuck.Was I not smiling until now? I massage my cheek. No wonder they fled at the sight of me.
With renewed resolve, I turn away with a whip of my cloak, heading for the shops.Smile. Look approachable. You’re their king, remember?
A king shopping on market day. There’s nothing wrong with that, right? Nothing is out of the ordinary.
I pick through the wares, fingering the bone handle of a curved hunting knife. It sits on a wide fur mat among others of its kind. I weigh it in my palm, wrapping my fingers to test the grip.
“Forty silver.” The merchant sits in a chair, whittling a stick with a small blade. His thick, dark beard crusts around his mouth, frosted where his breath has frozen.
“It’s a nice blade,” I comment. “And a reasonable price for your handiwork.”
He startles, lifts from his chair, and bows. “Your Majesty. I didn’t recognize you at first. Apologies.”
“It’s okay,” I say, placing the knife onto the furs. “I don’t get out much.”
The merchant stares flatly, then forces a smile. An out-of-tune laugh follows. “Right,” he says, hovering over his wares. “Anything I can help you with, Sire?”
