Curiosity tapped against Ruenen’s brain. The King of Grelta was mysterious. No one ever saw him. He didn’t make public appearances, at least not for many years.
Nieve crossed one leg over the other and sat back in her throne. “You keep interesting company, Prince Ruenen. Not only women, but faeries and vampires, at that.”
Behind him, Ruenen heard the shifting of feet and clothes and armor. He imagined Marai’s hand moving to Dimtoir.
“I keep worthy company,” he said, sharpening his words with warning. “Everyone standing with me has the same goal to defeat King Rayghast.”
“How did you garner such loyalty from a race of people we have been at war with for centuries?” Nieve asked, arching a graceful eyebrow.
Ruenen scowled, spine stiffening. His pulse throbbed in his neck.
“Relax, Prince. I don’t fear or despise magical folk the way most people do. If I’m to send my troops to your war, I want to know more about why you are so trustworthy.”
Pain flared in his jaw as Ruenen clenched his teeth. Why, indeed . . .
“Because he views the world through open eyes.” Marai’s voice, sharp as a blade, sliced through the air.
Ruenen’s heart galloped against his ribcage in response.
“Because he trusts us.” Marai came to Ruenen’s side. Her arm grazed his, sending sparks up and down his skin. “He values life, no matter whose it is.”
Nieve stared at Marai, unflinching.
“This is Lady Marai,” Ruenen said; the words came out hoarse and thick. “She’s my personal guard, most honest advisor, and closest friend.”
Friend hardly described what Marai was to him. If he looked at her now, Ruenen knew he would damn all the people in the room and sweep Marai into his arms. The memory of Marai’s lips nearly brought him to his knees . . .
Instead, Ruenen focused on Nieve, whose face betrayed nothing. A mask of calm.
A door opened on the side of the chamber, and two figures entered. The smallest of the two leaned on the arm of the broad man at his side. The smaller shook from head to toe; each step was arduous, tentative. His gaunt face was tightly scrunched, as if concentrating hard, but his jaw twitched. His body was hunched, frail, and in constant, uncontrollable motion.
Nieve stood fluidly. “Ah, Husband, please welcome our guests Prince Ruenen of Nevandia, Lord Goso, and Lady Marai of the fae.”
The King of Grelta was slowly ushered up the stairs to his throne. The barrel-chested servant at his arm helped him sit gently down upon the cushion. Even sitting, the king jerked, not once calming to stillness.
King Maes stammered something quietly to his wife. She smiled warmly, giving his knee a pat. It was the first time her smile met her eyes. She whispered back to him before she faced the room.
“His Grace, my husband, is happy you’re here. He regrets his late arrival. It’s difficult for him to get anywhere in a timely fashion,” she explained to the Nevandian entourage.
Ruenen tried to hide his shock at the sickly king before him. This is why Nieve rules the kingdom. Why she welcomes others into her bed.
Nieve placed a hand on her husband’s quivering arm. “You’re here to forge an alliance, Prince Ruenen. Your friendship and trust with magical folk is admirable. No other ruler would be so bold. But it’s in fact Lady Marai’s words that convinces me to grant you the aid you seek.” Nieve stood and stepped down the dais. Her blue eyes scoured Ruenen’s face, as if searching for his weakness. “We’re a non-traditional kingdom here, Prince Ruenen.” Nieve gestured behind her to the king, who watched with bright, interested eyes. “Our king is ill, so I, a woman, must rule in his stead. Other kingdoms and empires on Astye doubt us. Scorn us. Consider us weak.”
Ruenen heard the subtle message. Men doubted her, a female ruler, a woman with power on a continent that granted few rights for “the weaker sex.”
“I spent many months here in Grelta before I took the throne,” Ruenen said. “Only a fool would look at your people and see weakness. They are hearty, determined, and resourceful. The women even more so.”
Nieve’s eyebrow twitched; she liked his response. “King Rayghast is abhorrent. I’ve heard how he treats his wives and female subjects. I know what torture he’s so fond of in those dungeons.” The elegant planes of Nieve’s face grew severe and harsh. “He sends his troops onto my land, pillaging my towns and hurting my people, without an ounce of respect for our borders. When his council sought my daughter’s hand for marriage, I refused. I wouldn’t let her be shackled to such a despicable man. Since then, I’ve felt Rayghast’s resentment breathing down my neck. Because I slighted him, I know Grelta will be the first after Nevandia on his trail of conquest. He doesn’t deserve to rule, and I certainly won’t allow him to conquer my territory.
“And Nosficio tells me of these so-called shadow creatures. He claims Rayghast created these violent beasts using some type of magic.” Nieve’s chest rose with contempt. In a loud, commanding voice, she continued. “He’s despicable, and a threat to all Nine Kingdoms. It is for these reasons, Prince Ruenen, that King Maes and I agree to ally with you.”
Ruenen let out an un-princely sigh of relief. Goso murmured his approval, nodding voraciously with his assistant and the Greltan council members.
“Of course, we cannot send all our troops to Nevandia,” Nieve said. “Eight hundred mounted cavalry should suffice. We must maintain defenses here along our borders. And our alliance should be forged with steel: treaties and trade guaranteed. And also marriage.”
Ruenen froze.
Nieve chuckled. “Oh, don’t look so frightened, Prince. Our daughter is but thirteen, and too young for you. I don’t believe in giving girls away as brides for political gain. No, we will find proper matches when the time is right between members of our courts. Perhaps when you have an heir of your own.”
Ruenen’s cheeks warmed and he let loose a weak laugh. Children seemed a long way off in his mind.
“I believe we can come to terms that benefit both of our nations,” he said. “Lord Goso is the better man for such details.”
Goso puffed out his chest and beamed. A Greltan councilman put a cordial arm around his shoulders, and Goso was soon surrounded in hushed conversation with the men. His assistant bobbed around on the outside of the clump, handing Goso documents and papers and maps.
“We’ve prepared a feast for tonight in your honor, Your Highness,” Nieve said, smiling once again. “I’ve invited a small number of the court, as well as our council. Let us cast these bonds as we eat and drink.”
Goso and the council applauded. King Maes’ face stretched into a tight, quaking grin; his eyes crinkled with warmth.
“It would be an honor, Your Grace,” Ruenen said with a bow.
Nieve barked orders to servants who’d been standing at attention against the wall. They disappeared as Nieve took Ruenen’s arm and guided him through a set of large double doors, into the magnificent banquet hall. Several long tables were decorated with winter greens, holly, candles, and silver runners. Ice sculptures of dancing women and men stood dispersed around the room, dripping slow puddles onto the floor. Splendid savory smells wafted up from the kitchen somewhere. Servants were already at work pouring wine into goblets on the tables.
A group of spritely musicians sat in the corner. They struck up their instruments when Nieve stepped into the room. Ruenen’s hands yearned to strum against his lute, and his voice ached to sing along. That corner, with those musicians, was where he’d much rather be.
Instead, the Nevandian guards stationed themselves behind his chair as Ruenen took a seat at the head table. Goso and the Greltan council sat across from him, fully engaged in energetic discussion. Marai moved to stand with Aresti and Nosficio against the nearby wall, away from others, but still within reach of Ruenen. Nieve’s Master of Spies blended into a dark corner, but his hawkish eyes watched all movement in the room.
“Would you desire a change of clothes, Lady Marai?” Nieve asked before sitting. With a thoughtful expression, she watched Marai standing against the wall. “There’s an empty seat for you next to Lord Goso.”
