“I’m right here,” I said again, suddenly unsure of myself. This was a counselor to the high court. I didn’t know how much power he had, and if I acted rashly, I had no idea how he would respond in turn.
“You threw a boot at me.”
His unblinking gaze met mine, and I ground my teeth to hold it.
“I did.”
“A boot you would not dare step on a fur with, yet you deemed it acceptable to throw it at me.”
“Yes, because I’m–”
“I now understand the issues you ran into along the way.” Anderz's face broke into a smile. He walked to the table and pulled a chair out, motioning for me to sit. “If you would, my petulant princess, have a seat?”
My lips pressed into a thin line as I stole a glance at Sainte. Despite the sweat and grime from the road, a hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Surely that meant it was safe.
I sat, dropping my other boot to the floor and leaned forward on the table, eager to participate in the conversation as an equal.
“Sit up straight, Princess.” Anderz settled across from me.
I cleared my throat, obliging him, then placed my hands demurely in my lap.
“Let me be blunt, the Wynterians have long mourned your death. Today you rode in looking like someone that the regent aptly described as ‘dragged through a dungheap.’ Besides Captain Nytestorm and myself, only General Jorgeson knew you might be alive. The band of men that joined our captain were the most trusted of our warriors. The court will follow the crown, whoever’s head it lands on.
“You are stirring up the emotions people have both feared and hoped for over fifteen years,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Few friends remain by your side in this endeavor. You have set down a challenge that many have not seen in their lifetimes. Remember, you stand at the mercy of both gods and priests, and the priests, my dear, are firmly aligned with Adastrus.”
Deep unease flitted through my chest—I was out of my depth. I had avoided anything Wynterian in Landing’s End and the ports. And now, confronted with this venture, I couldn’t shake my inadequacy.
“Can I trust you?” I blurted.
He lifted a single peppered brow, then a sly smile split his face. “Perhaps.”
“Counselor Dyre is the only one who would keep Adastrus from outright killing you,” Sainte said as he sank into a chair. He groaned, lowering his weight with care.
“What’s in it for you?” I asked.
Surely if he was a politician, there was a motive behind his desire to see my brother removed and me put in his place.
“I’m a simple man. I have no agenda,” he said, watching me with hooded eyes.
“Doubtful.” With a scoff, I flicked my wrist in a show of dismissal. “I haven’t met a noble that doesn’t have an agenda.”
“Met many nobles, have you?”
I snorted. “Pilfered their treasuries enough.”
When Anderz deadpanned, I couldn’t help but grin. Even if I didn’t get a rise out of him, watching his face shut down told me I hit some kind of nerve.
A knock sounded, and Sainte shot to his feet, his speed belying his weariness. He managed to push the chair in and take a few steps back before the door was thrust open and a woman wearing white and gold strode in.
She was tall and thin, a wisp of a woman. Her long black hair was as dark as my own, but lacked the blue sheen mine had… when it was clean. Her light eyes widened when she saw me, but her mouth lifted in a small smile.
“So it is true,” she murmured, walking over. “My name is Gilead, Your Highness. I am to tend to you.”
“I need no tending,” I stood with a wince, muscles sore and stiff from so many days of riding, “though a bath would be welcome.”
“The prince regent asked that we care for you, see to any wounds you might have,” she pressed.
