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“Where is he?” The words fell from my lips faster than I could stop them. I waved my free hand and shook my head. “I’m sorry, ignore me. Sometimes it just comes out, even if I don’t want it to.”
King Windre tucked a few loose strands of hair behind his pointed ears. “It’s understandable.”
“You said the rest of us. Um, who is the rest of us? And when might I expect their arrival. It would be nice if I had been given the chance to clean up first.”
“Whoever feels like they might want to join us. The invitation to eat dinner with me is always open in my home. Now if they choose to join us, or eat away in their rooms, is entirely up to them. While we wait, why don’t you tell me more about you?”
Red could be here.Could doesn’t necessarily mean she will though. So no need to overthink it, Milo.I’d lost count of the days that had passed that she hadn’t bothered to visit. I shouldn’t have tried to count in the first place. This is why you’re weak, Milo.
“Milo?” King Windre repeated.
“Sorry, what?” I lifted the wine to my lips for a small sip, still trying to pull myself from my thoughts.
“Tell me more about you.”
“I’m not very interesting,” I confessed.
“Nonsense, I’ve never met someone who didn’t have a story to tell.”
For a moment, as his finger trailed the rim of his cup, I wondered if he had a weird sense of humor. I gave it a good pause, a full lull in the conversation, to see if he would continue on, not actually interested in my life just like any other noble Fae wouldn’t be. Seconds went by and he didn’t hurry to change the subject and continue talking about himself. One of his eyebrows lifted as he waited quietly.
“I’m assuming you want my and Randsin’s story?” I quirked a brow.
“Not necessarily.” The King stroked his chin in thought.
“Alright, um, my mom was a kitchen maid and my father was a soldier in the Queen's army. My father was often gone to travel, my mother was too busy with work to care for me. She often brought me to the kitchens, where I cried through the day, or as I got older, made messes and burned myself on the hot pots.” I swallowed trying to remedy my drying throat and ran my fingers over a small scar on my hand.
“After my eighth birthday, a witch prophesied that an outsider would infiltrate the castle and take what the Queen holds dear and remove her from her position. Rumors flooded the city about it; everyone was on edge, most of all the queen. It worried Queen Atarah so much that she took all the boys in the capital and bound them to her by blood as her guard. No warnings, no announcement. She took us all.
I was pried from my mother’s hands in the dead of night. Corralled into the streets with all the others. Some of them were weeping, crying out for their parents who could do nothing more than stand by and watch. Others walked in silence with mock bravery.”
“And which were you?” King Windre asked.
“Neither. I threw up down my night clothes.”
“Ah. And would it be correct to assume the prophecy was about Randsin? He took what she holds most dear. The token?”
“Power. That token is power. Not only because it is said to give someone unlimited magical ability, but in Tierasia, the Fae who has the token is the Fae who holds the crown.”
King Windre sat forward, folding his hands neatly on the table. “Does that make Randsin…king?”
Chewing on my lips, trying to forget about the painful memories, I took a moment to mull the idea over before I brought my attention up to King Windre’s thoughtful gaze. “I suppose he could be. He would have a right to claim that throne. But he would have to get through all who are blood bound. There are hundreds of us. All with different specialties. Archers, spies, assassins, foot soldiers, torturers like me. That would be no simple task.”
A hum of agreement vibrated as King Windre’s swirled his glass of wine then drank. His cup was close to empty when he set the glass back down with a satisfied smile. “How did you come to be a torturer?”
“After she ripped us from our homes, she made us watch as she killed imprisoned Fae in a variety of different ways. They noted our reactions and sorted us from there.”
“That’s horrendous. What sort of reaction did you have?”
“I smiled,” I said dryly. King Windre’s eyes grew wide, his lips twitched with curiosity.
“Not from their deaths,” I continued, “but at the way they executed them. I quickly found I didn’t have a taste for their demise. The bloodshed made my stomach turn at that age. So I focused on anything else to keep my mind busy as she killed Fae after Fae. I didn’t spend the time crying for my mother as others did. My mother worked in the castle, so she snuck over to see me often enough. Instead, I forced myself to catalogue the different methods they had for ending a life. Making my own names for them when I didn’t know what type of tool they used.”
“How deranged,” King Windre purred.
Voices carried down the hall signaling the end of our conversation. Echoed steps approached for dinner. I gripped the stem of my glass as I recognized the voices as feminine.
Will Red come to eat with me? No, Milo. Stop caring. She doesn’t care about you and you shouldn’t care about her. You have your freedom to work for, and then you can stop caring about the weight of an entire country on your tired shoulders. You’re doing this foryou.
