Page 3 of Heart of Shadows

She lay on her belly, nude and flushed on the rumpled sheets and entirely unashamed, making no attempt to cover herself. Rosella was the supposedly innocent daughter of the king, his youngest and adopted child—some said his illegitimate daughter by another she-elf. But Dimitri was no longer fooled. Rosella knew exactly what she was doing. He had been a willing, though naïve volunteer for her affections before she had trapped him into her service. Now, he was a master of meaningless intimacy to keep her pleased. One way he ensured a space at her father, the King’s side—and his own survival in a royal court brimming with betrayal and ruin.

“Your father requires my attendance at the council, Princess, and I am already late due to your last request for me to remain just a little longer.”

“But it was worth it, wasn’t it?” The minute tightening of the skin around her eyes was a warning sign he had learned to read early on.

He could not disagree. “Of course.”

Rosella sighed and rolled onto her back, exposing two perfect breasts as temptation. Her golden hair pooled around her, glowing in the candlelight. How she loved when he ran his fingers through it. He clasped his hands firmly behind his back and lowered in a bow.

“My lady.”

“Fine.” She huffed, rolling away to snag a silken dressing gown. He caught the flash of genuine annoyance.

“I’ll return soon, as always.”

“Yes, yes. When business allows,” she snapped.

Pressing his lips together, he suppressed a retort and strode forward to catch her wrists as she stood. Dimitri drew her close, sliding his hands down her sides and placing the ghost of a kiss upon her lips, then one on her neck. She melted into his touch. He retreated before she could ensnare him again.

Her last glimpse of him was his usual wolfish grin and a wink before he vanished from her chambers, his cockiness undiminished as he swaggered past her attendants, each one more disdainful than the last. Dimitri straightened his clothes as he strode toward the great hall. It would not do to turn up at a council meeting late and ruffled. After all, he could only push his usual reputation so far. It was a careful line, dancing between all the masks he wore to keep himself and his people safe.

Storm clouds chased him across a courtyard inside Pelenor’s royal palace—autumn came early, nipping at the heels of a hot summer. The shivers across his skin had little to do with the weather, though. He resisted the urge to rub his arms as he approached the doors, glad for the long sleeves that hid the goosebumps. Great dragons hewn of oak guarded the way, their ruby eyes gleaming.

Dimitri schooled his expression into blandness as the guards heaved open the ornate doors. In he strode, his steps quiet on the polished marble floor that stretched across the huge, vaulted space. Before him, council members sat or stood on the chequered marble floor like game pieces upon a playing board. Standing before them all and the centre of attention was the King of Pelenor himself.

A few heads twisted toward Dimitri, then swiftly turned away when they realised who it was. He did not grace any of them with his attention, not even his own father, though he noted in the periphery of his vision the customary disgust in his father’s curled lip and the curt shake of his head before he turned his gaze back to the king. That was nothing new. Dimitri had long given up on his father’s gratitude. His family’s current fortunes were entirely Dimitri’s doing, however accidental, but no appreciation ever came. No one ever thanked a bastard son.

“—no concern of ours,” the king said, not stopping speaking at his entrance. Dimitri breathed out with silent relief, soothing the frisson of fear that rose in him to always remind him of the boundaries in this hateful place. His lateness had most certainly been noted by the elven king, whose ears were as sharp as his own, but Toroth had deigned to ignore him. Dimitri preferred it to be so.

“Your Majesty, if I may,” a councillor interjected.

Toroth ceased speaking and fixed him with a stern gaze. He did not like being interrupted.

The councillor cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. “These are our own borders that are under threat, so would it not be prudent to?—”

“No, Thaeus, it would not be prudent. The goblins do not threaten our borders.” The king’s glare burned the room in a brazen dare for anyone to contradict him. No one did, though a few cloaks rustled—as loud as dissent became in that court before Toroth crushed such notions. Shadows pooled around them, light and shade starkly contrasting the king’s face as he stared them all down.

“Their strife is with the dwarves, as ever it has been. It is Valtivar’s borders that are threatened, not Pelenor’s. If the goblin dissent grows, so must the response of the dwarves. I will not lose our men to their petty battles. If the dwarves cannot control their own homelands, if they cannot control the scourge of these pests, then frankly, they are unworthy allies. I will most certainly not commit the Winged Kingsguard to assist, as you earlier suggested. It is beneath their notice.”

But a rain of dragonfire and magic would be mighty helpful. Dimitri did not voice the thought. The king was a law unto himself.

“My sources inform me that the goblin uprising is mostly confined to the eastern reaches of Valtivar,” continued Toroth.

Dimitri held back a scoff. He was the king’s source. That was how the illegitimate son of a minor elven lord had built himself a standing of power and fortune in the elven court—by utilising his skills in trading truths, lies, and secrets. Rosella was the unwitting origin of half of it, for ladies talked amongst themselves in circles the menfolk were not permitted to enter. Through her, he had a window to it all as she blathered to him during their trysts. He wondered if she knew he used her as much she used him, furnishing his own nest with everything she gave him. Surely, she had to know he felt no genuine affection or attraction towards her, much as he expertly repressed the repulsion her touch brought him. Certainly, there was no affection on her part—she used him to dig at her father and to do her own dirty work in the court when needed.

Over the years, Dimitri had found secrets were a currency beyond blood or money that held their own value—not that the king liked to admit the wealth of his knowledge came from such a source of low standing. It was a path Dimitri relied upon for his own survival in a court of lies and backstabbing, where his fall from favour or worse lay just around the corner at the feet of fate’s fickle twists. Living under the king’s rule always felt like one step away from ruin. But, Dimitri was used to the unadulterated edge of anxiety that was his constant companion. It kept him alive.

“Remote holdings and abandoned outposts in Valtivar have been targeted. It seems the goblins seek to build their own kingdom and cast down the dwarves.”

Dimitri’s lips thinned. Now Toroth parroted him almost word for word. “The dwarven lords hold enough power in their armies to defeat any such uprising.” Exactly as he had told Toroth on first delivering the news.

The king turned toward Dimitri at last. His lip curled. “You have no business here. Out.”

Dimitri opened his mouth in indignation, but remained silent. He could not find a retort that would not land him in irons. The king advanced a step. Councillors shrunk from him. All heads turned to Dimitri. He closed his mouth into a firm, thin line. A paper thin defence, but his air of disdain was all he had to draw upon. Now it seemed he was worthy of their attention—their full, undivided attention—as they mirrored the king’s disgust. He reflected it back to them.

Let’s play this fickle game again, shall we? Dimitri stood taller, his face impassive, violet eyes meeting the king’s own. “Your Majesty?” He allowed not one flicker of fear to edge his voice. It was ever the same—Toroth came to him when he wanted something, and was the first to turn the other cheek when Dimitrius no longer suited his company.

“Do not presume that because you defile my daughter you are permitted to attend such meetings.” The king flicked a ring-laden finger at him in dismissal and turned away to address the rest of the council once more.

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