Page 32 of A Curse of Salt

‘And you should learn not to pester me,’ the King muttered, the visible stretch of his jaw clenched tight.

Aron only shook his head and chuckled again. They really didn’t fear him, I realised incredulously. Whether it made them foolish or brave I couldn’t decide, but the King appeared oddly tolerant of Aron’s pestering – for a man I knew could rip him limb from limb.

The evening wore on and, slowly, the tension in my chest began to dissolve. The cool undercurrent of my unease was warmed by something more than the crackling hearth. I drank in the crew?s banter, Aron and Una?s easy laughter and Mors? sly grins. Even Golde?s sourness seemed tempered by their mirth, though her surly façade rarely slipped.

It reminded me of Aberdeen, that cold mask of indifference. But walls went two ways. I’d spent enough time being shunned by my eldest sister to know that letting nothing out also meant letting no one in.

The first mate sat slumped in her chair, grinding a hole into the table with the point of her dagger and shooting me periodic glances that were every bit as sharp as her blades. I didn’t know what the first mate’s problem with me was – until Aron made a joke about my situation.

‘The real tragedy in all this is Ria bein’ forced to spend time with this chum-smellin’ beast,’ he quipped, reaching around me to clap a hand on the Heartless King’s shoulder.

I sucked in a breath, waiting for his reaction. When Sebastien spoke, his voice was a growl, laced with warning. ‘Told you, she’s your damn prisoner.’

Golde looked up then, raven hair slicing shadows down her cheeks. ‘Funny thin’ fer a prisoner to be invited to dinner.’

Malice glinted in her dark brown eyes, making anger swell in my chest despite the chills that spiked down my arms. I hadn’t done a thing to the woman, and I couldn’t understand the waves of hatred that rolled off her wiry form.

I tipped my chin higher, knowing weakness would get me nowhere. ‘Perhaps it’s because the company he usually keeps is so poor.’

Aron and Una burst out laughing, their delight ringing through the air louder than Golde’s outrage could. Even Mors broke a smirk at his own expense. I thought I caught a glimpse of an appreciative smile beneath the King’s hood, but he turned his face, leaving me sure it’d simply been a trick of the light.

Una looked over at me, her hazel eyes gleaming. ‘Think we’ll be gettin’ on just fine, lass.’ She beamed again. ‘Though I don’t s’pose ye’ve had any effect on His Majesty, eh? His ol’ mug ain’t changed in three hundred years.’

My heart clenched in my chest and I chanced a glance up at the King’s shadowed hood. I was almost certain Una was exaggerating. The King said nothing, fingers tightening on the arms of his chair as the uneasy silence pulsed around us.

Golde hunched forward in her seat, a strange quirk to her lips. ‘Ignore her. Whatever Una lacks in pretty much everythin’, she seems to make up fer wi’ her tongue.’

Una tipped her head back and laughed. ‘Ye wish ye knew what me tongue can do.’

Golde snickered begrudgingly, for once looking more chagrined than murderous. Aron, on the other hand, averted his gaze, suddenly engrossed with the food on his plate. I glanced between him and Una, curious.

Aron gave nothing away, but he pulled my gaze often that night, his jokes and outlandish comments providing a constant source of amusement. I wouldn’t have called him handsome, but there was something undeniably appealing in the way he threw his head back, peals of unrestrained laughter washing over the room. His eyes shone, more gold than grey in the light of the chandelier, wrinkled by years of smiling and sun. I could tell I wasn’t the only one drawn to them – Una’s gaze flashed towards him frequently, as if on instinct, reeled in by the ring of his laugh.

Eventually, Golde withdrew to the fireplace to stir the flames with her sabre, leaving the seat to the right of the King empty. Una was quick to fill it, seeming determined to lift his spirits – why she bothered, I had no idea.

‘Tell us, Ria,’ Una said, placing a hand on the King’s forearm as she spoke. ‘What’s it like, bein’ a princess?’

Her tone was bright and expectant, but my gaze was caught on her hand. Something inexplicably sharp cut through me at the sight. How could she touch him so casually?

The King shrugged off Una’s touch as the table fell silent, waiting for my answer.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I told them. I was no princess. And even if I was, I could hardly say what it meant. ‘My father hid us – me, my whole life. From King Oren, I suppose.’

Una furrowed her brows. ‘Ye didn’t know who ye are?’

‘Not until recently.’ I shifted in my throne-like chair, glancing around the table, my eyes landing on Mors. ‘My father’s a merchant, we grew up in Bray,’ I explained. ‘We did better than most, but we moved further north when I was fourteen. In hindsight, I guess poverty wasn’t the only thing we were running from.’

Mors’ eyes darkened from across the table.

‘What happened?’ Una asked. ‘Ye didn’t go hungry, did ye?’

My gaze cut sharply to her. I tried to decipher her expression, searching for a sign of some ill motive, but I saw only concern. Did she really not know?

‘Of course we went hungry,’ I said, trying to keep the bite from my tone. ‘For weeks at a time. Every winter, or whenever our father’s trade ran dry. Do you honestly not know how bad things are?’

I turned to glare at the King. He knew how much the people suffered – knew, and would do nothing to help. When he made no reply, I pressed on.

‘If you just stopped killing . . . People are starving for fear of your wrath. They only turn against you because they have no place else to go. You could ease so much suffering if—’

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