“I’m here to protect the prince, not to relax,” she said.
All three councilmen frowned deeper. Fenir shook his head.
Women of Astye were not employed as guards or knights, or much else, for that matter. They weren’t welcome in council chambers or meetings, except in Grelta where Queen Nieve ruled. Ruenen was surprised the Witan allowed Marai to remain inside the throne room.
“What’s your name?” asked Steward Holfast, not unkindly, but his wary eyes stared down Marai.
She pursed her lips. Her name was one of her most coveted secrets.
“That doesn’t matter—” began Ruenen.
“Marai.”
Ruenen glanced back at her. Her hard expression didn’t change as she met his gaze, but he hoped she could read the warmth in his face. The apology. The gratefulness.
“Commander Avilyard told us of his encounter with you on the road over a month ago,” Holfast said, moving the wooden chest aside and interlacing his fingers upon the table. “He explained how you were captured by Tacornian forces. The late Commander Boone was quite determined to have you. I’m curious . . . how did you escape the Tacorn dungeon?”
“And with all of your limbs intact?” added Vorae.
Ruenen didn’t appreciate this man’s sarcastic tone.
“Perhaps it’s better to start at the beginning of Prince Ruenen’s story,” Marai said, her voice edged.
Again, Holfast’s eyes lingered on her. “Very well, Master Ruenen. Why do you believe yourself to be the son of our great King Vanguarden?” Holfast gestured towards the painting of Vanguarden and Larissa.
Ruenen took in a breath. How surreal this defining moment was. To build up all these thoughts and assumptions over twenty-two years, to imagine this homecoming, and now here it was. How could he ever put it into words . . .
I can’t wait to write a song about this, he briefly thought.
“As a child, I was raised in a monastery by Head Monks Amsco and Nori outside the Nevandian border. They were the ones who told me King Vangaurden and Queen Larissa were my parents, and that I’d been sent to the monastery to stay hidden from King Rayghast. That my birth was a secret.”
If anything Ruenen said so far was familiar to the Witenagemot, they didn’t show it. They listened politely, faces blank.
“Tacorn soldiers destroyed the monastery when I was eight, killing Monk Amsco and Monk Nori, and I was once again rushed off to safety. I passed hands many times, from stranger to stranger, until I ended up in Chiojan with a blacksmith named Master Tomas Chongan. I lived there for several peaceful years, but Rayghast tracked me down and sacked the city. I escaped once again, and have been on the run ever since.”
The Witan exchanged looks.
“You believe King Rayghast knows you’re the lost heir?” asked Councilman Fenir. He had round, owlish eyes that openly displayed his anxiety.
“If he didn’t believe me to be the prince, why would he tell his people otherwise?” Ruenen posed. “Marai and I were paraded through the streets of Dul Tanen, then strung up in the Tacorn dungeons. Rayghast did not, for one moment, doubt me.”
“How did you escape?” pressed Holfast, staring at Marai again.
The hair on Ruenen’s arms rose as a prickle of fear spread over him. Did Holfast know what she was? Is that why he kept peering at her so intently?
“Why does it matter?” Ruenen asked. “We escaped, and we’re here now.”
“It matters, Master Ruenen, because no one escapes Rayghast and his dungeon. No one is set free. Unless you were released because you’ve been turned spy,” Holfast said, face darkening.
“I am not a spy,” said Ruenen, fear turning to frustration. He had to keep Marai’s truth a secret. They would attack her instantly if they knew she was fae, and everything would be ruined.
“Why can’t you tell us how you escaped?”
Ruenen nearly bolted from his seat. He was about ready to walk out the door and never return. His knuckles turned white on his chair’s arm rests. This was a bad idea . . .
“I got us out,” came Marai’s voice.
A hush fell over the room. The guards didn’t shift in their armor.
“A woman? Hah!” Vorae scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, Lord Steward, I’m half-fae,” she said, and the room exploded.
Armor clanked as Avilyard and his guards closed in, weapons unsheathed, surrounding Marai and Ruenen in seconds. Ruenen jumped out of his chair, reaching for her, narrowly avoiding being skewered by a spear.
“I wasn’t aware any faeries survived the great purge,” Holfast said calmly, betraying nothing.
Marai’s words were as shocking as if she’d tossed a glass of wine into the faces of Fenir and Vorae. They blanched, tan faces ashen, leaping to their feet.
Holfast, however, showed no such shock. “Why exactly are you helping a human? Especially one who considers himself a descendent of the very king who started the mass killing of magical folk.”
King Talen, Ruenen’s grandfather. But it had been Rayghast who’d slaughtered the camp Marai had lived in as a child. It was Rayghast who’d killed Marai’s parents.
Marai remained calm and cool, despite the blades pointed at her face. “My goal is for Ruenen, the rightful king of this country, to ascend the throne. I care not what you think of me, but I assure you that I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
Marai had no physical weapons, but she didn’t need them to kill every single person in the room. Lightning could do more damage than a blade. She could open a portal and disappear with Ruenen in an instant.
“I beg your pardon—” said Fenir, swelling up like a croaking toad.
