Page 154 of The Shadowed Oracle
“Rest now,” Veston said to the prince firmly. Arryn might’ve been his superior, but the worry in his heart overruled duty. “I’ll watch over her.”
Arryn took a moment. He hardly had the faculties to speak, let alone argue. He brought his hand to his wife’s cheek once more, clearing the cold sweat from her forehead. He whispered a few words, promises, declarations—Ingrid did not know. She had a difficult time watching the exchange and made no effort to eavesdrop. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if Dean were the one in bed, barely breathing, injured in his efforts to save her. And Arryn, Callinora, they had been married, mates, partners for decades. She couldn’t watch.
With Raidinn’s help, Arryn shuffled out of the room. The sounds of their footsteps faded until the cabin door next to Callinora’s was opened. A few minutes passed. When Raidinn returned, his boots scuffling against the wooden floor, he said, “Your prince was sleeping like a baby before I even left the room. Poor guy.” He looked down at his feet. “Feel all kinds of shitty for kicking him.”
“He wasn’t himself,” Veston said. “You’ll see that soon enough.”
Dean stepped forward, looking hesitantly at the bed, at the sickly female covered up to her neck in fur blankets. “What kind of male is he, exactly? We’ve only heard about him from his wife.” Pivoting, he included, “Not that I didn’t believe her, but is he really that loved by the council?”
“Undoubtedly,” Veston said. His dark red hair was tied back now, armor off due to the heat from the candles. “His low birth only served to endear him more to the council, after they became familiar with what kind of man he was—is.” He delayed, biting something back. “Years before the war, long before Nestor lost his queen, he’d surrounded himself with Viator from lower-class backgrounds. After a lifetime among royals and high-born, the king developed a distaste for them. So, he opted for males and females who truly knew the people, the city. The council seeArryn as the best of both classes. In touch with the people, and plenty familiar with the duties that come with the throne.”
“But after the Queen passed?” Dean asked sharply. “What happened to them?” While the world-walkers were in Maradenn, right there in the heart of court, none of them heard much mention of the high council. The only instance where Ingrid had actually seen one was in the moments before the guillotine had come down on his head.
“Soon after our queen’s passing,” Veston said. “That’s when Ballius and his advisors were brought on.” His sigh hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken hatred. “The king’s grief made him fearful. Ballius played on that fear. Slowly, the high council was pushed away.”
Dean had this information already, yet remained steady with his next question. “Pushed away where? Removed from the castle?”
“No, nothing so severe.” Veston shook his head. “Either out of fear of retaliation, or, in my opinion, some loyalty for all their years of service, the king only stopped meeting with them. Alienated them from court.”
Ingrid darted her eyes to Dean. His face was pinched, like it always was when he was focused. She’d bet his next question was going to be about the council’s power—what Veston meant when he said the king might’ve been afraid of retaliation. After all, that’s what this conversation had been about, whether Veston knew it or not. Dean was assessing the likelihood of Arryn ascending the throne without Callinora. Just in case.
But before Dean could prove Ingrid right, Tyla interjected.
“Dean, please. You’re speaking as if the princess is already gone.” She was bereft, kneeling at the bedside with a hand on Callinora’s arm. “Just, not now, please. What if she can hear you?”
Veston’s eyes squinted at that. He clearly thought Dean was only curious, wanting to know more about the man he’d just rescued.
Which was only half of the truth. Dean was not heartless. He cared for Callinora. But Dean’s mission took precedence over all else. A switch would flip inside him, just like it had in the arena. No longer seeing Callinora as a formidable ally, a new plan for getting his Oracle to a safe place took form. Maradenn was abandoned without any qualms once it looked unfeasible, then, when he’d witnessed Arryn’s awakening, he drew up a new mission in his mind. To crown a new king.
A king that, as it happened, would owe him and Ingrid a great debt.
“Do you already aim toward the crown?” Veston spit. “Is this why you inquire about my prince?”
Dean’s face turned to stone, unapologetic. “Yes,” he said. “If not now, when? We don’t have much time to operate, in case you didn’t notice, soldier.”
“My name is Veston. That, or General will do.”
Dean’s mouth threatened a smile, though he read Veston’s eyes well enough to know it would be in bad form. The Maradenn general’s title, procedure, and protocol all meant something to him. Something above himself.
“We come from different worlds,” Dean said. “I think when we’re discussing the future of them, it’d do us some good to consider that, General.”
“And I think it would do you some good, world-walker, to familiarize yourself with the world you currently inhabit.” Pointing to Callinora, Veston added, “That is my princess. How able she is, it does not matter. I cannot sit idly while youagainspeak as if she were a meaningless casualty.”
“Fair,” Dean said. And for a moment, he looked every bit the empathetic male Ingrid knew him to be. But then he ripped that mask away.
Ingrid could only guess, but it seemed in that moment, Veston represented everything Dean felt was wrong with Ealis—how Viator honored tradition above all else. He despised Gannotar’s teachings and followers, though he never outright stated any allegiance to Izadora’s, either. Such pious religion was too close to the strict discipline his mother had employed.
Dean’s body tensed, jaw tight as he said, “What if I said a prayer for her? Could I discuss the future of your kingdom then?”
“You forget yourself!” Veston argued. “Take your?—”
Dean stopped him before he could finish. “Fuck your duty, General. Not only do I have a world to protect, I have her to protect.” He pointed to Ingrid. “Look at her. Really look at her. She is the last hope for both our worlds. You should be kissing her boots for evenbeinghere. For standing to fight, when all others have done for her is knock her to the dirt.”
The room went still as Dean moved toward Veston, his feet light, poised like an animal sneaking up on its prey.
“Do you understand?” Dean started angrily, then shook his head. “No. You don’t understand, General. A matter of weeks. Weeks! That’s all she’s had. All that was allowed for her to take this in. To become what she has to become.” He pointed mockingly to Veston, his sword, his confident posture. “So fuck your duty, Veston. Fuck your honor. Your title. You don’t know what it's like. You were born here. Lived in your rightful home all your life.”
“And?” Veston argued.
