Page 75 of Queen of War and Ruin

“I seem to recall that you promised a few more of them,” Malrik replies, casually, like they’re discussing what to have the servants prepare for dinner.

Prince Laurance snorts. “Elrick’s a slippery son of a⁠—”

The king of Ethiria gives Laurance a withering scowl, and the prince shuts up.

“I seem to recall a promise that your army would stay in the mountains,” the king replies. His voice trembles, but his eyes are sharp and hard.

Malrik shrugs. “Two hostages in exchange for an entire kingdom. That doesn’t seem like much of a deal.”

“And our allegiance to your—” the king adds before his voice cuts off in another coughing fit.

Malrik looks bored.

“Right,” Malrik says, once the king regains control of his breathing. “But that’s not what the prince tells me.”

The king’s expression shifts, and a look of naked horror replaces his rigid determination. He turns to Laurance. The prince of Ethiria looks absurdly proud of himself. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Father,” Laurance says, with a slight bow to the king. “I can’t watch while you bargain away our kingdom. Not when we have an army.”

The king begins to say something, but it’s swallowed by another coughing fit. Laurance turns to the guard beside him.

“Call them out,” Laurance orders.

The guard hesitates.

“Call them out, damnit,” Laurance growls.

The guard pulls a whistle from a chain around his neck and blows three times, sharp and short.

At first, nothing happens. And then, slowly, men begin to assemble in the palace courtyard. They’re wearing the green and gold of Ethiria, and carrying a various hodgepodge of weapons, from swords to spears to pitchforks that look like they came from the stable.

Wait. I frown at the man carrying the pitchfork.

He works in the stable. I saw him yesterday, grabbing the halter of one of the horses from Vsenrog. And the man next to him looks like someone who brought dinner to us on the first night⁠—

“That’s your army?”

The voice is so raw and angry it takes me a heartbeat to realize it’s coming from Zarek. I turn to see him scowling at Laurance.

“Those aren’t fighters,” Zarek cries, his voice trembling with rage.

“How dare you insult them!” Laurance snaps.

Malrik steps between the two men.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Malrik says. “We are still in the middle of negotiations, are we not?”

Malrik turns to the king of Ethiria. Laurance’s father suddenly looks much older. He’s curled forward, almost like he’s been punched in the gut. He turns to his son with a stricken expression.

“How could you?” the old man gasps.

Laurance crosses his arms over his chest. He looks like a petulant child.

“I’m not interested in negotiating with Vsenrog,” Laurance grumbles.

Below him, the army of castle servants begins to file through the courtyard. They vanish behind the palace walls, then reappear in the soft light of the morning to form a thin, uneven line before the armies of Vsenrog. Muttering conversations drift up through the air, tangled in the smoke of Vsenrog’s fires. The back of my throat tastes bitter; I don’t know if I can watch this.

“You fucking idiot,” Zarek growls.