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I bear their chatter without sending any of them to a dark dungeon, which ought to qualify me for sainthood.
The rest of my court lounges leisurely around the garden, divided in small circles established by either rank, friendships, age, or beauty.
Sadly, the closest thing I have to a friend in my kingdom is my advisor, and though good old Otto is in attendance, he chooses the company of Harl Greystone. Even if I could bear the ingrate’s presence, his wife, the dark-haired beauty I sampled weeks ago, keeps sending me looks under her long lashes, so I know better than to make my way over there.
I'm waiting for superior entertainment.
When my patience is finally rewarded, I question every single choice I’ve made in the last thirty hours.
Helyn walks in alone today, dressed in the depraved, scandalous excuse for a dress I imagined for her. The first in a long list of torments I'm looking forward to inflicting.
I immediately regret my choice.
Entirely made of pearls strung in tight rows, the attire was executed to perfection by the royal tailor who used to dress my mother and the other concubines. I’m tempted to have him flogged all the same.
She wasn’t supposed to look like this. Not only lewd, but also regal.
Powerful.
As instructed, Helyn is naked underneath the pearl gown, offering us all glimpses of her smooth skin between the neat, even, creamy beads.
She strolls down the row of courtiers with her head high and no one laughs, too taken by the sway of her hips or the curve of her heavy breasts. It is a bracing sight for any man—or woman—and to my disturbance, I am among them.
My jaw ticks in annoyance, because this is supposed to be a lesson, a punishment, and a humiliation designed for her, yet here I am, struggling to look away, my mind flooded with filth.
I might have regretted my misguided attempt at shaming her, but for the deep flush coloring her cheek.
She hates this.
At least I can savor that victory.
Adelaid inhales sharply. "She looks like a whore!"
"Watch your tongue or lose it," I snap.
She's right, and making her look like nothing short of a harlot was the entire point, but an insult to my concubine is a slight directed at me and no king will abide that.
I stand and cross the garden to meet her, before my knights and lords give into their desire to approach her, if only for a closer look, a touch, a word from her lips.
It wouldn’t do to have to behead half my court.
My tongue runs over my teeth without my say-so as I approach, and I feel blood against my tongue. My teeth are sharper than I’d like.
She stops and snarls when we're a yard apart.
"If this isn't my concubine." I tilt my head back let my eyes wander through the length of her dress. "You certainly look the part."
Oh, the fire in her green eyes! Her fury is worth my discomfort.
"Why are you submitting me to this?" She fumes between her teeth. "I've never done anything to you, not once."
I cant an eyebrow. "Nothing?"
"It's not my fault if I score higher than you in class! You want to beat me? Try studying more."
She truly believes she's here because of her alchemy score. Isn't that cute?
I cross the distance between us. "You're to hold Elandheart, half of the southern island of Ravelyn, a territory powerful enough to challenge the crown, though you have no understanding of our land, no respect for our customs, and show no desire to educate yourself. In the weeks since you were named heir, you did not bother to come to your country, to your land, until you were summoned here." I scoff. "You're a disgrace to our kingdom."
