Page 26 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

Aren

A storm had descendedthe day after the dinner party, a monstrosity that plunked itself overhead and showed no inclination to move for the better part of a week. Vencia was subjected to a steady deluge of rain, which meant Aren was kept inside the majority of the time, mostly confined to his small room. Not for his comfort, he suspected, but rather because Silas’s soldiers had no interest in standing outside in the downpour.

Being so confined would have normally grated on Aren’s nerves, but instead he found himself lost in thought as he considered how he might use an alliance with the harem to his advantage.

The first step would be whether Coralyn succeeded in meeting with his people and delivering his orders to desist in their rescue attempts. Aren couldn’t think with the bodies stacking up, with faces he knew and loved slowly filling the walls of Silas’s awful garden. He’d rather be dead than endure that.

But if his people stopped dying . . .

While he did pull-ups hanging from the doorframe to the bathing chamber, Aren considered precisely what it was he might hope to achieve by remaining alive. Escape was an obvious, albeit a selfish, goal. Locked in this palace, he felt helpless to do anything to aid his kingdom. The only information he had about Ithicana was what select pieces Silas or Serin chose to give, all of which were to be taken with a grain of salt. He had no idea how much of his army had survived, where they were hiding, or whether they were in any condition to fight. Without that knowledge, it was impossible to strategize—like trying to fight in the dark. But if he could just get out . . .

On the heels of that thought always came the self-doubt that even if hewerefree, it would do nothing to change the tides. After all, what good had he done before he’d been captured? Fighting day in and day out, but always being pushed back by the Maridrinians and Amaridians, who had more manpower, more resources, more of everything. His presence wouldn’t change that, and Ahnna or any of the other watch commanders were just as capable of commanding Ithicana’s army as he was.

You’re worthless.

He tried to shove away the thought, which reared up again and again, despite his best efforts.He’dcaused all this by trusting Lara. All of it was his fault. Which meant, perhaps, that Ithicana was better off without him.

Growling in irritation, he dropped to the floor and started doing sit-ups, the chains around his ankles and wrists clinking.

“Don’t know why you bother,” one of his guards said from where he stood leaning against the wall. “Seems like a waste of effort.”

“Maybe,” Aren said between sit-ups. “I just don’t want to start looking like you.”

The guard’s face reddened, and he cast a sideways glance at his comrade, who smirked. “I suppose it’s important to look your best on the way to the executioner’s block.”

Aren’s brow furrowed. Not because the threat particularly concerned him, but because he was beginning to questionwhySilas was keeping him alive. To bait Lara was the reason he’d been given, but a great deal of time had passed since his capture, and if anyone had heard a whisper of the Queen of Ithicana’s whereabouts, it hadn’t been repeated to him.

Maybe she’s dead.

The thought sent a flurry of emotion through him, and in one violent movement, he stood and went to the barred window, looking out into the courtyard.

It was possible she hadn’t escaped Ithicana. Storm season had begun when Maridrina had attacked, and Lara was no sailor. Nor had she any practical knowledge of Ithicana’s geography beyond what lay in and around Midwatch. There was a very good chance she’d died within a day of her wild sprint away from him, one of the many dangers lurking on Ithicana’s shores or in its seas having gotten the better of her.

Except his instincts told him that she wasn’t dead. That, however impossibly, she’d survived. Which meant her silence was by choice.

She’s not coming.

Aren wasn’t certain whether he felt regret or relief about that fact, only that she refused to leave his thoughts, her face taunting him.

I love you,Lara’s voice whispered in his head.

“Liar,” he muttered back at her. As he did, his eyes fixed on a lean figure moving into the courtyard, a book in one hand. Turning to his guards, he said, “I want to go outside.”

* * *

Keris satat the same table where they had first spoken. Surrounding him were his youngest half sisters, the little princesses clothed in vibrant dresses that were miniature versions of that worn by the wife presiding over them. Judging from the musicians sitting to the side, the girls were about to receive some form of dancing instruction. Despite being in the center of the twirling group of girls, Keris paid them not an ounce of interest, his gaze fixed on the book he held in one hand.

Aren sat across from him, chains clanking as his guards fastened them to the bench. Only when they stepped back did the prince lower his book and fix his azure gaze on Aren. “Good morning, Your Grace. Come to enjoy the brief respite from the storm?”

“Rain doesn’t bother me.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Keris set his book on a spot on the table that had dried in the sun, attention going to the guards who lingered. “Is there something you need?”

Both men shifted uncomfortably. “He’s dangerous, Your Highness,” one of them finally answered. “It’s best we remain close in case he needs to be restrained. He’s very quick.”

Keris’s brow furrowed, then he bent to look under the table at Aren’s legs, his voice slightly muffled as he said, “He’s chained to a stone bench.” Sitting upright, he demanded, “Just how feeble do you believe I am that I can’t outpace a man chained to a bench?”

“His Majesty—”

---