Page 19 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Frustration swells in his glare, delighting me as I offer him a smirk. “Consider how we might benefit each other, then,” he says, and I outright laugh at him.

“In what world could I benefit from you? Are you going to free me from this cell?”

“No,” he answers quickly, giving a small shake of his head. “It’s too dangerous to do so. The king would kill me before you made it very far from the dungeon.”

“The gentlemanly thing to do would be to risk your life for a lady.” I force a false smile to my face, a sick feeling stirring my gut as I arch my back slightly. I know what men want, what they all deem theirs already.

“Then I guess it’s good for me that you are not a lady.” My smile falls, and Xander clears his throat. “Look, I can’t offer you freedom, but I can give you what you might otherwise want most.”

I try to ignore the bait he’s dangled in front of me, but as the seconds tick by, it’s like my mouth can’t help but unhinge. “What do you mean?” I finally ask, hearing my own disappointment in my voice. He adjusts the helmet in his hold, his other hand resting on top of his sword’s hilt.

“You care about Princess Rhea. Enough so that you are willing to risk your life for her. Answer my questions about the princess. Give me something that I can return to the king with, enough so that it will discourage anyone else from being sent to question you, and in return, I will gather as much information about Princess Rhea as I can and update you on what I learn.”

The offer is more tempting than it should be, but there is no way to verify that any information he gives me is true anyway. Trapped as I am, I have no leverage other than to retain whatever it is he thinks I know about Rhea. Tracing over the tightness of his jaw with my eyes, I force my gaze over his right shoulder, down the dark hallway that leads to the room where the king and Jerrick had tortured me. Where Xander had merely stood by and watched. “Why is it the king trusts you to get information from me?”

At first, Xander doesn’t quite look sure how to answer. The hand resting on his sword lifts to tuck a few stray strands of his midnight-black hair behind his ear, his heartbeat still surprisingly steady. “I have worked with the king a long time,” he says, eyes darting in the direction of the dungeon’s exit, “and have always done what he asks.”

I roll my eyes but consider what he’s said. The king trusts him, but he clearly is okay with going outside of the king’s orders to a degree. Chewing on my lower lip, I weigh how I might be able to use this to my advantage. I don’t have to give him everything I knew about Rhea. And much like my doubts on what information he could provide me, there would be no way for him to know what is accurate and what isn’t. I stand slowly, a breath hissing between my teeth as I do. Xander watches as I near the iron bars, his dark eyes assessing. Lifting my chin, I hold his gaze. “You have a deal, guardsman. In exchange for information on Rhea, I will tell you what I can of her time in the tower while I was with her.”

With our agreement in place, Xander relays information about meals and when I can expect visits from him. Then, with a warning not to speak to the other guards, he leaves. I listen to his steps echo away from me, once more returning to the cot and drawing my knees into my chest. Resting my chin on top of them, I let my eyes fall closed as I replay our conversation. Escaping this place will not come easily, but earning the guard’s trust and using it against him is my only option. Then, once I am free and away from the king and his men, maybe I will see what the Mage Kingdom has to offer.

It is darker than usual when a sound rouses me from sleep, my eyelids still heavy. Fighting them, I blink until my vision clears, drawing myself up onto my elbow. Brushing the tangled strands of hair from my face, I stare past the bars as voices begin to trickle in. They are quiet at first—men speaking under their breath. But then a third voice joins them, this one decidedly a woman. Whatever she says prompts them to yell at her, and she goes quiet because of it. Turning my head, I listen for the sound of their heartbeats, counting two strong rhythms and one that beats softer but more quickly. Like the wings of a hummingbird.

They make their way down the steps and enter the hallway, a strange sound accompanying the creaking of their metal armor. “You didn’t have to knock her ass out,” one of the men says, his voice rough. It draws goosebumps to my skin.

“Well if she didn’t fight us so much, she could have been brought down here more gently,” his companion answers, heavy breaths bisecting his sentence.

My own heart ricochets in my chest, but I quickly work my panic down. If Rhea were captured again, surely the king wouldn’t take her to the dungeon. This is someone else… It has to be. Carefully, I make my way up from the cot, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my breaths from growing too loud. My bare feet are quiet against the stone, each step painstakingly slow so that I won’t lose my balance and stumble. My injured leg throbs to the beat of my heart, while the muscles of the opposite tense from being slept on. I finally close the few feet to the bars but halt just before them, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of the visitors.

The small group passes a lit torch anchored to the wall, the flame dancing over their golden armor and reflecting small flares out in each direction. The two men are large, roughly Xander’s height if I had to guess. Talking to each other, they don’t notice me watching as I move my gaze from them to the woman they are dragging between them, the sound of her legs against the ground the strange sound I heard before. Her head hangs between her shoulders—the hair at her crown messy, while the rest is tied into a loose braid.

“It’s odd that the king wanted a lowly inn owner,” the rougher of the voices says, his upper lip snarling. “What could she possibly have to do with the princess’s kidnapping?”

“Be careful of how you speak,” the other retorts as he reaches a hand behind himself, pulling out a ring of keys. “To some, it might sound like you’re questioning His Majesty’s decisions.”

“And what if I am?” The barred door squeaks as they unlock and pull it open, entering the cell together. The woman doesn’t react as they bring her in, the sound of her unconscious body hitting the cot making me scowl.

The two exit, one wiping his hands down the front of his armor, while the other twirls the keys around his finger. “Then I’d tell you that you’re a dead man,” he says.

“Of course I am loyal to our king, I swore the same oath as you! I’m just saying, men are not always the brightest creatures, and a man who feels scorned by one he thought he could trust?” He whistles low and shakes his head. “It can make even the smartest of us susceptible to bad choices.”

“Poetic, Jackson, but I think you’re less concerned with the king making bad choices and more reluctant to get sent out to Celatum again.” His hand lands on Jackon’s shoulder, giving it a shake. Jackson chuckles as he locks the cell door, looping the keys back on his pants.

“Why wouldn’t I be? There is nothing there but shitty food and even shittier women. Speaking of…” His head jerks my way before they both turn. I leap backwards, landing on the balls of my feet and crouching down low to keep my balance. I bite down on my lower lip to keep my gasp at the pain of the movement in, my heart pounding in my chest as I quietly crawl to the cot. There isn’t time to position myself comfortably, not as their steps near. Laying on my side—my back to the bars—I curl my fingers in towards my palms, squeezing my eyes shut as they step up to my cell. “This is the shifter, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I heard she was naked when she shifted.” A laugh, low and heady, fills the cell, and my stomach churns. “Pity that isn’t the case now. Guess someone is taking care of her.”

“Xander, I hear,” Jackson says, and I imagine his mouth tugging to the side in amusement as he speaks. “Though we both know that killjoy isn’t taking care of anyone save the king.” They both laugh at what I assume is a joke, though I’m not sure I understand the context. They linger outside of my cell, speaking as if there isn’t a person sleeping a few feet away from them. Or pretending to sleep. But, eventually, they leave, and only when the dungeon is quiet for a few long minutes do I allow myself to relax, rolling onto my back as I release the breath that feels as if it’s been trapped in my chest for hours.

My mind returns to the same few words they said. Inn owner. Celatum. I blink against the darkness, my fingers gently massaging the muscle just outside of the wound on my thigh. I don’t know if there are many inns in Celatum, but I can’t imagine the king would order his guards to bring someone in unless he was sure they had helped the princess. Which means, only a few cells away from mine, an old woman named Immie is now being held at the whim of the king.

Chapter Thirteen: Xander

Steam surrounds me as I step out of the shower, reaching for the soft blue towel that hangs from a hook on the wall and wrapping it around my waist. A headache pounds between my temples, thoughts of the shifter and also what is to come today for the first Trusted trial robbing me of sleep the night before. Making my way to the sink, I brace my hands on the counter’s edge and hang my head low. Despite coming to a tentative agreement with the female who refuses to give me her true name, I know that getting information on Princess Rhea is not going to be easy.

My gaze catches on the bottom drawer beneath the counter, and without thinking, I pull it open, lifting a stack of towels out and setting them on the floor, revealing a small black leather-bound journal. It belonged to Alexi, and after his death, I had gone to clean out his room in the barracks and found it hidden in a drawer of his dresser. I can’t say why I’ve held on to it. It’s not like I knew Alexi personally. But something prompted me to take it. To keep it away from prying eyes, especially if something in this journal might pertain to the princess. Carefully setting it on top of the towels, I reach for the only item remaining.

Righting myself, I hold the small portrait of my mother up to the stream of sunlight coming in from a small window. Gods, I miss her. Her smile and the way she hugged. Her voice and her nickname for me. Watching her die had been a culmination of events that felt, at the time, impossible to stop.