Page 58 of Royal Captive
Down the street, a woman’s voice split the air. “Stop! Don’t! What are you doing? He’s just a boy!”
People stopped and gawked as two royal guards dragged a young fae boy out into the streets. He kept his knees tucked up to his chest, forcing the guards to either carry him or drag him out into the evening air.
“This boy is a rebel. He got caught speaking against our king to one of our informants. He will be dealt with,” replied the one fae guard, his voice strained as the boy landed another successful kick to his shins.
“Impossible! He only goes to school and home. He …” Realization blazed in her eyes.
“Monsters! You keep your little rats away from our children!” Seeing she was drawing a crowd, she pulled herself up to her full height. “This is what they do! The king loses power, so they try to control us through fear, by attacking children! What cowards! What madness! THE QUEEN WILL RISE AND DESTROY YOU ALL!”
I jerked in shock as the boy kicked like a wild animal, ensuring that both guards had to focus on him and neither could subdue the moment. The crowd pressed in, and the guard’s eyes flicked side to side nervously. The situation wasn’t in his favor.
Calten put a hand on my arm in a silent warning to stay still and stay quiet.
We’d see about that.
The first guard yelped suddenly in pain, clutching his head and picking up a rock thrown at him by someone in the crowd. The other guard ducked as several more came his way, and by the time they both looked up, the boy and his mother had vanished. The thick crowd hid any traces of where they’d gone.
The guard sneered, then reevaluated his odds. Swallowing heavily, he jerked his head at his partner, and they went on their way.
The small, cloaked figure sitting a few tables from us was also gone.
Curious.
“Just another bloody day,” Calten mumbled, draining the last few drops from his mug. There were so many questions, yet the words wouldn’t form properly. Was this an accurate representation of the divide in fae society? Or simply a one-off situation?
Ask him something. Anything.
But the serving girl returned before I could put words to my thoughts, dispatching warm bowls of ‘meat pie’ with steam still emanating from the middle. To my delight, there was indeed sauce in them. It was more like a thick soup put into a loaf of bread.
I shot a glance at Calten, remembering Shyllon’s warnings of poison.
“Why’d you say no sauce? There’s sauce.” I pointed down at the pie like a simpleton.
Calten smirked. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to see you die, it’d be far more subtle than a public poisoning.”
He dug into his meat pie with gusto.
Frowning, I speared my fork into the steaming bread, and lifted it to my mouth.
It was delicious!
We ate in relative silence, or as silent as it could get with the busy street around us, the crowd collectively gossiping about what had transpired around us. I tried hard to catch whatever snippets of conversation that I could.
“Just shameful. Last week it was Domini.”
“I know, they’re grasping at straws.”
“Shows a weak king—”
“—and an even weaker court.”
“Is the pie to your liking?”
I jerked, mind slamming to a halt as I realized Calten was talking to me. My eyes lifted from my pie to his politely interested expression.
“Yes, thank you,” I said quickly, wondering if I could hear more from those two ladies at the potato stall behind me.
“Once we get back to the manor, all your clothes will already be in order, and you’ll have nothing to worry about,” he continued loudly, oblivious to my mounting frustration.
