Page 62 of Queen of War and Ruin

Something has obviously gone wrong in the palace of Ethiria. I’ve never seen so many guards and servants pushing through the halls, all of them with frantic, wide eyes. We walked past dozens of low, whispered conversations, and even the guard looked unnerved when he stopped in front of the open door to the reception hall.

The lamps are still lit, and a pile of dishes still sits on the sideboard, as if whoever was supposed to come collect them has just run off instead. It’s obvious with just a cursory glance that none of us left anything in this room, let alone something as large as a cloak, but still, I stalked through the door and glared at each of the chairs in the room as if they had personally insulted me.

“—an army,” a voice whispers from the hall.

I freeze, listening to the low, frantic voice.

“That’s fucking impossible,” the man who led me here growls.

“Rodrick saw them with his own eyes,” the voice counters, with a slightly panicked edge. “It’s an army. The whole godsdamned army!”

The room feels much colder now. I glance at the pile of dishes left by the door, then at the shadows of the men standing in the hallway. If I wait much longer, it’s going to be obvious I’m listening to their conversation.

But if we leave too soon, Lilias and the others won’t have time to escape.

“Come on,” the guard says. “Rodrick’s yanking your chain, you dumb fuck.”

“Come see for yourself,” the other voice hisses. “There’s a line of torches coming down the mountain.”

I step into the hallway and clear my throat, like I’m used to people dropping whatever trivialities they’ve been discussing the moment I walk into a room. Both men turn to look at me. I cross my arms over my chest.

“I’m ready to be escorted back to my room,” I say, like I’m making a royal proclamation.

The guard glances at the man standing next to him. He looks pale, like he’s about to be sick. I sigh, like all of this is so far beneath me it’s actually painful.

“Yes, of course,” the guard mutters.

And then his eyes go wide and the blood drains from his face. I turn to follow his gaze, fear throbbing through the base of my skull.

Vsenrog soldiers. Walking down the hallway in the palace of Ethiria, fully armed, their eyes hard beneath their helmets. Two of them. No, three. That’s Elstin, Conrad, and I can’t place the third.

These are not the men who were gambling with the soldiers last night. No, Elstein and Conrad usually guard the king’s private quarters.

My body suddenly goes very cold. The soldiers step back, standing at attention along the walls of the hallway.

And King Malrik stares at me in the shivering lamplight.

“You sniveling son of a whore,” Malrik spits. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

I stand very still as the king of Vsenrog stalks toward me. My mind screams at me to run, but my body is frozen in place; suddenly, I’m remembering the story about the rabbit who surrenders to the hawk.

Malrik stops in front of me, stares me in the eye, and then raises his hand. I see it coming, but I don’t bother to flinch. Fighting it will just make it worse.

His open palm hits my face with a crack. My head rocks back; my vision flashes white, then red. The taste of blood spreads across my tongue.

“That’s for my son,” Malrik snarls.

I swallow hard. At least Malrik thinks I did it. At least he has no reason to suspect Lilias.

“Syvan was a problem,” Malrik growls, “but he was my problem. I had him under control, damn it!”

I shift my jaw, feeling my skin burn where the king just hit me, then blink as my vision swims with sudden tears. Malrik narrows his eyes at me.

“You idiot,” he spits. “You could have been something, Zarek. You really could have.” He shakes his head, then steps back. “Now look at you. The prince of Dungal. As worthless as the rest of your kingdom.”

He laughs. It’s a hollow, mirthless sound. Gods, he must really be upset. Malrik leans so close to me that I can smell the onions he had with his dinner.

“The snake of Vsenrog,” he sneers. “Do you know why we started calling you that?”