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Chapter 25 - Torch
Luella
After the burial, Metheus was declared the new king of Prozeus. It was the gloomiest of coronations.
Jaw clenched and gripping the throne’s armrest, he looked like a god of fury, not a fire stealer. I was given his mother’s former seat. I had always known I would be a Queen but did not expect to be a Queen of Prozeus before becoming Monarch of Queenspell.
The silence trembled. Even the closest friends and relatives did not dare speak, much less jest. Metheus was not someone to be trifled with, his steady gaze not really seeing anything but also seemingly seeing everything. Judging. I remembered when I was at the end of those piercing eyes.
After his father died, I gave him the space he needed. We slept with our backs to each other. I was frightened to cut the growing hush between us. It was like when we first met, but worst. At least then, he despised me. Now, I was nothing to him, but I could not even fault him. I could not imagine losing a mother or a father. He had lost both.
The mood was solemn throughout the first few days. When he broke his silence with me, I wished he had never spoken.
“Luella.”
I opened my eyes and saw him seated on the chair in front of my vanity table. He bought me one, handcrafted by witches. He would watch me brush my hair, chuckling and teasing at the attention I gave each strand. I missed the easy laughter. The friendship. We had become lovers without discussing the word “love.” No promises had been made.
“Metheus,” I murmured.
“I will send you off with Francilia and Rowali. You need to go home to Mogochislenia. I should have sent you right away. There is danger afoot, and I don’t want you to be here when our unknown enemies attack again.”
I bolted up from the bed, startled.
“You cannot send me away, Metheus. The six months are not up.”
“Almost, my darling,” he said, possibly not aware that he had called me a term of endearment for the first time.
He was right. In a fortnight and a few days, my time here was up. I should be back in Mogochislenia. However, we should have been together.
“But the contract states you need to be there with me for the next six months. You need to leave, as well, Metheus.”
“No. The one who signed the contract is now dead.”
My heart lurched in my chest. Was he nullifying everything now?
“That is not how it works, Metheus!”
“I know, wife. I know. Do not fret. We are married, aren’t we? I will take care of your soil, but letters have been coming, and you have read them with me. Your farms are doing well. The drought is almost certainly over. I am not needed there,” he said calmly.
But I need you, I wanted to say.
I should be happy that he sounded like he was in control. He no longer looked haunted, or at least that was the image he presented to me. Perhaps the eerie quiet was him thinking. Planning. Plotting.
“I am not afraid of our enemies. You know that I can burn them,” I offered, all the while studying his face. His reaction. His face had been so difficult to read these days that every slight quiver fed my curiosity.
“I know that, too,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. It was meant to show that he wanted me to feel at ease with his decision, but I was not. I was looking at a stranger again. The little tenderness that I found in those eyes was gone.
There was anger there instead. My husband was boiling for revenge, and he did not even want me to participate in his plans.
“I am staying here,” I said, standing to my full height in front of Metheus. He did not flinch. Why would he? I looked like a ripe mess, my hair wild and my chemise rumpled. I glanced at the mirror behind him and saw that my face was blotchy with sleep. I touched my cheeks. In the corner of my eyes, I saw my husband shaking his head. Disgust? Annoyance? We had moved on from that. He would often tease me when I took too long in front of the mirror. He fed my vanity, buying me clothes from various domains. I loved the cuts of the dresses in Arrowspear. More practical: shorter sleeves, less material, lower collars, and higher hems.
I would be adjusting to Mogochislenia when I returned. Because I did not think I could persuade my husband to let me stay here. I could see it in his eyes. He never asked much from me, but I did not think he would take no for an answer this time.
“No, you are not. It is not just your life depending on this. Bring my sister to Queenspell. She will be safer there.”
“How do you know your enemies are not mine? How do you know it’s an assassin from Arrowspear?”
There was a slight wavering of emotions, but he was firm with his decision. He was now king. The torched had been passed to him against his will before he was ready. King Doro’s successor would be a more dour version of him. I could not blame him.
