Our gazes meet. Linger. For the second time in as many days, we seem to have reached an impasse—but this time he’s the one that breaks it, getting to his feet and giving me a polite nod.
“Good afternoon, Ashwalker.” His eyes catch briefly on the crown in my lap before he turns to leave.
I toss that crown into the creek as he walks away, watching the current pull it apart and wondering what it will take to finally unravel the King of Mouren.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, I’m informed that my training will be starting later than usual.
I’m ecstatic about this, of course, because it means more time before I have to see Gareth’s scowling face. Even better, though, is that it gives me and Briar a chance to have brunch together.
She looks much better after a full day of rest. She’s eager to stretch her legs, so we leave our rooms behind and make for a small, sunny parlor that I’ve breakfasted in a few times before.
I’m still met with suspicious, borderline cold looks from most of the palace staff. After the pleasant smiles and greetings I received while strolling with the king and Arlo yesterday, it stings a little more than usual. But even if their bows are slightly stiff, and usually accompanied by a tense glance at the ring of favor I wear, they still do as I ask, putting together a mouth-watering feast for Briar and me to enjoy.
And I can’t find it in me to complain about their attitudesas I lounge on a sun-dappled chaise, enjoying my fill of fruits and pastries.
Servants continue to come and go as we eat, and more than one armed guard paces regularly by the door, but the space is private enough that we eventually risk talking more freely. I quietly catch Briar up on my latest trial, sharing Gareth’s words—which she can’t make sense of, either. We spend plenty of time discussing the upcoming Sun Harvest Feast, too, and all the ridiculous, wasteful energy and money that’s being spent on it.
“We could feed the entire Burn forthree monthswith the amount of food they’re preparing for one night,” Briar laments. She scrunches her nose up at the plate that she’s just piled high with eggs and smoked meats, looking like she’s suddenly lost her appetite.
“Marta would want you to eat it,” I reassure her, even though my appetite is quickly waning as well—and it goes away completely when I start to tell Briar about the next thing I endured yesterday: The walk that Reave and I took along the creek.
“So you managed to get him alone?” Briar sits up straighter, scooting to the edge of her chair, like we’ve just come to the climax of a book she’s been reading.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It was…interesting.” My cheeks heat. I bury my face in one hand, while the other tightly clutches my empty drinking glass, which was filled with juice and some sort of sparkling wine; I’m going to need more of the latter to get through this conversation.
“Did you end up getting any more useful insight about him?” Briar presses.
“I…I ended up exposing my breasts to him.”
“That’s an admittedly bold strategy.” She grins as I lift my head and takes my glass, pouring more wine into it before handing it back. “Did it loosen his tongue, at least?”
“Not really. We ended up in another standoff, neither of us agreeing to elaborate on what atrocities our respective bodies have been through.” I slowly sip my drink. “His scarred arms, the prince’s hands, the dragon-scale pieces that Kestrel always wears…”
“You think some sort of sickness runs through the entire royal family? I mean, aside from the diseases we already knew they had—of greed and whatnot.”
“I’ve tried asking everyone I dared. I’ve learned that the former queen died giving birth to Arlo, but that’s about it. The cause of the former king’s death is apparently a matter of debate within these walls, too. Some say he was sick. Others say he just disappeared one day and was found dead in the woods several weeks later.”
“Rumors back home said he went mad and threw himself from the bell tower in the middle of the city,” Briar says with a shrug.
“Yes; that’s what I’d always heard, too. But now I’m questioning everything.”
“Me too,” she says, her eyes glazing over in thought.
“I’ve been given some access to the library here,” I say, after I finish my drink. “But most of the history that’s central to Mouren—including records of the royal family—is in a section I haven’t been allowed into.”
She blinks, a slight smile curving her lips. “Well, maybe I can get us into those restricted archives by flashing my breasts at the librarian?”
“She’s a sweet, ancient little old lady,” I deadpan. “Somehow, I don’t think she’ll be swayed by this tactic.”
“Why not? Old people can appreciate beautiful things, too.” She grabs her breasts and hoists them up, giving them a little shake for emphasis. “You and I both know I’ve won a lot of people over with these.”
I throw a decorative pillow at her face.
